Page 7 of Not In The Christmas Plan
As unserious as Grant is, his running commentary does serve as a welcome distraction until the events of the day—and likely all of the pie he ate—catches up to him. One minute he’s going off about unnecessary secrets, and the next he’s fast asleep.
I turn the T.V. up loud enough to drown out his snoring so I don’t miss the joke I’ve seen play out at least a dozen times. This time, however, I don’t laugh. It’s not the same without Dad and Ivy here to watch it with me.
I miss Dad’s quips about friendships having run their course or how he would have tried convincing Ivy and me that Morris Chestnut’s attractiveness is overhyped. Like somehow women from different generations, socioeconomic backgrounds, and cultures have all gotten it wrong.
I miss being the last one to succumb to the post-Thanksgiving meal coma as Dad inevitably fell asleep on his recliner, plate of crumbs perched precariously on the armrest, while Ivy tried hiding under the blanket to hide her own drooping eyes.
With Ivy on my mind, I reach for my phone to see if any text messages have snuck in, but there are none. I put it back down and rub a hand over my face.
How long could it possibly take for her to deliver two babies and call to let me know they’re all safe and healthy?
A snore rattles from my left, and I look at Grant again. Grant who’s sleeping like a newborn baby. I consider picking up the pillow separating my side from his and chucking it at his head. Why should he be able to relax when I can’t?
I’ve got the pillow in my hand, ready strike, but hesitate. I usually only take small glances, but tonight I let my eyes linger as I really take Grant in. Strong jaw, broad nose, relaxed lips too soft for how much trouble they cause me. The rising panic fades, replaced with the usual mixed-up cocktail of grief, attraction, and warning settling heavy in my stomach.
This man, I think. Before the thought can go any further, my phone buzzes against the coffee table.
I lurch for it as my heart skyrockets. There’s a text from Linda.
Nia and Amani have entered the world. Nia arrived at 12:32 am. Amani at 12:43.
My heart swells so much it hurts as the names of my sweet nieces are etched onto it.Nia and Amani.
We knew the twins were girls, but Ivy and Braxton had kept their names a surprise.
I love them so much and suddenly, I want to do all the things—order a plethora of giant bows and tiny bonnets, learn to sew and make them monogrammed quilts. Call up Dad and celebrate him being a first-time grandpa, then tease him over still being the only male onour side.
The last thought it enough to wipe the smile off my face as pain blooms in my chest, knowing that's the one thing I can’t do.
Still, I want to share this moment with someone. I guess tonight that someone will have to be Grant.
I let the pillow fly, and it lands right against his face with a satisfyingthwunk.
“What the?” He jerks awake, looking around before finding the pillow in his lap and glaring at me. “What was that for? I was just resting my eyes.”
I roll my eyes to avoid staring at handsome he looks all confused and aggravated. “You rested your eyes so well you missed the second half of the movie.” I point to the rolling credits. “Anway, check your phone. We’ve got some good news!”
I sing the last part, and his sleepy annoyance instantly melts away. He digs out his phone and swipes it open. With the light from his screen illuminating his face, I see the exact moment his full lips curve into a smile.
Then, he’s off the couch, pumping his fist like his team just won a championship. “Let’s go!”
I’m not about to be out-celebrated, so I hop up too. “Let's go!” I shout. “I’m an auntie!”
I tip my head back, letting relief and excitement wash over me in an intoxicating rush. Grant must feel the same, because he grabs my free hand. He twirls me in a circle before throwing up a hand for a high-five.
I slap his palm, then we do the same but with our elbows, and finally we turn to the side and bump hips.Only, Grant’s so much taller than me, I have to hop to make contact.
When it’s over, we’re both laughing and breathless.
“Hey, you still go it,” Grant says.
“Of course.”
As if I’d forget our victory dance from game nights at Ivy and Braxton’s. We won so many rounds of Pictionary, I could do the moves in my sleep.
My phone buzzes in my hand, breaking the spell of old, fun memories. I look away from Grant to see another text from Linda.
We’ve just received word that Ivy is all sutured up. We haven’t seen her or the babies yet.
