Page 30 of The Art of Being Merry
His head bobs up and down. “Yep. I can’t wait to get our tree. Can we get a huge one like Mr. Nicholas has?”
A chortle bursts free, both at his excitement and how he’s forgotten we’ve discussed this. “Nope. Not even a chance a tree that size would fit through our front door, let alone stand in our living room.” His good mood sours. I don’t let it affect me. It’s simply not feasible. “But we’ll get the biggest tree for our room.”
A small smile creeps onto his lips. “That’s great. Love you.” From his supine position in the bed, he holds his arms out. I clutch his small body against mine, whispering loving words into his ear. “Night, Jacey. Sleep tight.”
“Night, Mama.”
From the top bunk, Atlas watches our exchange. Again, I’m not sure when the habit started with me saying goodnight to Jace first, but Atlas is always patient, no matter that Jace sometimes asks a bunch of questions right before bed. Not so much to drag out bedtime but because he’s genuinely inquisitive. I think his mind has a lot of ideas for a five-year-old—gee, I can’t imagine where he gets them—and his imagination runs rampant, and nighttime is the time they unleash. Some days, he gets most of them out in the bath, and other nights, like tonight, he’s too tired.
“What was your favorite part of the day, my boy?”
Atlas taps his chin, pondering the question I ask nearly every night. “I can’t decide on just one. And I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep tonight because I’m so excited about our Christmas tree.”
Again, I laugh. “Well, you better do your best or you’ll be too tired to get the tree tomorrow night.”
His eyes bug out. “I’ll do my very best to fall right to sleep.” He stretches his mouth in a yawn. “Yep, I’m tired.”
I kiss his cheek and forehead and hug him. “Night, Atlas. Love you.”
“Night, Mama. Love you the most.”
I dread the day he’s too big to make statements like that. I let him have it, even though my love for him is as big as the world’s oceans and no way could his be the “most.”
At the door of their room, I flip the light, wondering how I got so lucky to be chosen as their Mama.
No matter my relationship with their father is in shambles, they’ll always be the best thing that came out of being with Keith.
9
dax
“Hey,want to come for dinner tonight? I’m cooking steak.”
From my desk, I stare incredulously across the room at my brother. “What’s the catch?”
His brows furrow. “No catch. Can’t a guy invite his brother over to his house for a nice dinner? Why, you have other plans?”
“Indeed, I do.” I don’t mean to give it up so easily, but I’m too damn excited to contain it.
“No, really,” he says.
“No, really,” I parrot. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans.”
Why he’d think I don’t make plans in my spare time is beyond me.
“Mom and Dad won’t mind.”
I grab the closest piece of scrap paper, wad it up, and toss it in his direction. He easily snags it out of the air. Should have thrown a baseball or something harder.
“My plans don’t involve our parents, idiot. I have a life.”
“Oh.” When he infers what I’ve said sinks in, he raises a brow. “Oh. Gotcha.”
It’s more how he says it than what he says. Like he knows exactly what I’m doing, when it couldn’t be further from the truth. But do I want to correct him? Do I want him to know I’m helping Clementine and the boys get a tree?
I’m undecided.
“You going to her place? ‘Cause I’m sure you’re not bringing her to yours.”
