Page 83 of War on Christmas

“Merry Christmas, Jem,” she says, patting Andy’s glossy black curls. “And Merry Christmas, Freya.”

To my surprise, Freya—who has so far been completely nonplussed by her family’s presence—blushes as she leans forward to give my mom a hug.

“Merry Christmas,” Freya says quietly, her voice husky and sweet. A little hesitant.

We talked a lot last night, naked and twisted around one another in the hotel sheets. Freya insists that she’s the “forever” type—at least where I’m concerned—but she’s still not sure if she’s the marrying type. Which, I assured her, is fine. I don’t need my relationship with Freya to look traditional; I just need her to be mine. However, as I watch her with my mom, shy and a little unsure of herself, I can tell that at least part of her hesitancy is rooted in doubt that Mom would want her as a daughter-in-law. Luckily, I know my mom will be thrilled to fold Freya, tattoos and all, into our tiny family.

We’ll see how it goes.

Mrs. Nilsen steps next to my mother, and they exchange a smile. “I didn’t want you to have to choose between spending Christmas with Freya or your mom,” she explains, handing me a small plate loaded with breakfast pastries.

Before I can say thank you, Bethany’s boys start to chant for presents, and everyone scurries to grab seats.

Bethany’s crew claims the couch, with Bethany on one end, Drew on the other, and the four kids squished between them, elbowing and jockeying for room. Our mothers share the loveseat, both watching the commotion with satisfied smiles. Thad and Sam choose spots on the floor next to Freya and me. Mr. Nilsen, on the other hand, barely sits down at all, running from one corner of the room to the other with a giant garbage bag, collecting each stray piece of used wrapping paper.

I’m fascinated watching the Nilsen’s big, loud family as the kids tear through a mountain of presents. I’m so fascinated—and let’s face it, also sleep deprived—that I completely forget about a certain event that’s supposed to be taking place until Thad stands up and grabs a small paper bag from under the tree. Without thinking, I squeeze Freya’s hand. She’s twisted around talking to Bethany, but she turns to me and raises an eyebrow. I jerk my head toward Thad, who’s blowing out a breath as he sinks in front of Sam, cross-legged, and takes her hands in his.

“Sam,” he says, his voice thick, and the room goes silent. Which, given the volume ten seconds ago, feels like a Christmas miracle. Next to me, Freya freezes.

“For the first three years I knew you, I loved you from a distance, never thinking we’d get to be anything more than friends. Then, one fateful birthday—due to desperation and one too many drinks—I did a…well…” Thad’s face turns neon pink. “I did a love spell.”

Everyone laughs, their teasing happy and good natured, and my eyes flit briefly to Freya, who’s smiling broadly. If Thad did a love spell, I’d bet anything that Freya was there, egging him on.

Thad, who never hesitates to laugh at himself, joins in before continuing, his attention focused on Sam. “For the love spell, I had to write down what I was looking for in a partner, and ever since I told you about it—super early in our relationship—you’ve wanted to see what I wrote. And I’ve always told you—”

“Absolutely not,” Sam finishes for him.

“Absolutely not,” Thad repeats, then lets a long pause build. “Until now.”

“Yes! Best Christmas presentever!” Sam raises her arms with a triumphant shout, and we all watch with interest as Thad peeks in the paper bag and pulls out what looks like a spice jar filled with a mishmash of herbs and other random objects. He twists off the top, which appears to be covered in melted wax, and as he pulls out three green leaves—bay leaves?—I lean down to Freya’s ear.

“This wasn’tyourdoing, now was it?”

Freya chuckles, not taking her eyes off Sam, whose hand is fluttering over her heart as she reads the writing on the leaves.

“I merelyfacilitated,” Freya replies quietly. “Thad did all the important parts.”

“Well, what’s on them?” demands Mrs. Nilsen.

Sam looks to Thad for permission, and he nods. So, she takes a deep breath and reads loud enough for everyone to hear, “I want someone who’s my best friend. Someone who understands me. Someone who isn’t afraid to be a dork with me…” And the list goes on, Sam growing more and more emotional with each item. By the time she gets to the last item, “Someone who gets my goofy side, but also know I’mmorethan that,” her voice is shaking with every word, and Thad doesn’t look too dry-eyed either.

“You’re all of it, Sam,” he says. “I honestly don’t know if I believe in the spell or not, but we’ve been together for over a year now, and…” He swallows hard, and my own throat closes around a knot of emotion for my friend. “It’s been amazing. Better than anything I ever, ever could have dreamed up in my cubicle during those three years as just friends. You’re it for me.”

Sam has her arms around his neck before he can pull out the ring, her enthusiastic, “Yes!” filling the living room.

We’re already laughing and clapping and hooting when Thad pulls back far enough to say, “Babe, I was just going to ask if you wanted to sell the condo and go house hunting.”

Sam, not fooled for a second, tackles Thad to the ground—I’m not surprised; she’s stronger than she looks—and starts grappling with him for the bag.

“Let me see the ring!”

“What ring?” he asks, grinning, at which point, Sam crawls over him to snatch the paper bag from his hands and pull out a velvet box.

All hell breaks loose as everyone rushes over to see the ring and offer their congratulations, and next to me, Freya sighs, the sound a little sad and heavy.

“What is it?” I ask, tightening my arm around her.

“Thad got Sam a freaking diamond ring for Christmas, and here I am with nothing to give you.” She pouts, her forbidden-fruit lip sticking out so delectably I can’t stop myself from leaning over to kiss her. Just for a second. Freya, however, won’t be deterred. “It’s our first Christmas officially dating and I’m already failing as a girlfriend.”

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