Chapter Three: Christmas

***

Ophelia:

Mom has been buying me... books.

Some very interesting, painfully not-subtle books about teen sex and relationships, in an attempt to educate me.

This latest one, Finally... by Judy Blume, was really depressing, actually. And super awkward. These teenagers fell in love except their families kept hinting at them that they were too young for that kind of commitment. And then they had sex, and it was... um, not very romantic. It made me cringe because the guy kept... um, well... you know, way too early and... then they got it to work but eventually the main character fell out of love with him, and...

"Mom," I groan, unimpressed, dropping the book onto the couch beside her once I finished it. "What exactly were you trying to tell me with this book?"

She smiles a small, mildly-amused Mom smile at me. "It's a classic, honey."

"It was really sad."

She shrugs. "It was supposed to be realistic."

I cross my arms and plop down onto the sofa next to her, my eyes focusing on the brightly-decorated Christmas tree that glitters next to the fireplace across the living room from us. "I definitely prefer fantasy."

Romantic literature is so much more, well, romantic.

"I just want you to have some... facts, Ophelia. Have you gotten to Looking for Alaska yet?"

I roll my eyes. "It's next on my list, but if it's as heart-wrenching as The Fault in Our Stars then I might have to give it a skip."

She gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Life isn't all butterflies and unicorns, pumpkin."

"Well, I know that but I just prefer not to think about it, you know?"

A resigned sigh. "I guess you'll just have to learn the hard way some day..."

I shove her arm gently and she laughs. "Why are you suddenly so pessimistic, mom? Geez."

"Just want you to be... you know. Prepared for the world." She musses my hair. "I think I've kept you nice and sheltered for long enough."

I can't help but giggle. "One hickey, and suddenly I need to face the hard facts of life?"

"Yes, exactly. Made me realize that you're not a little kid anymore."

Aw. She sounds kinda sad as she says it. I lean in and wrap my arms around her shoulders. "I'll always be your little girl, Mom."

She gives my hair a tender pat before saying, "Love you, sweetheart. Now, go, shoo, before you make me cry."

She's hitting menopause and her hormones are all over the place.

"Love you, too."

***

Christmas is on a Tuesday this year. Our family goes a little... overboard. I mean, we have three Christmas dinners. The weekend right before Christmas, we'll drive into Hamilton to have dinner with Grandma Nelly and Grandpa Andrew and Aunt Katie and Uncle Martin and my cousins. And then, on Christmas Eve, we'll have dinner at Grandma Erika and Grandpa Will's, with Aunt Vanessa and Uncle Nick and their kids there too.

And then, on Christmas, Uncle Dylan and Aunt Vic and Aunty Ali and Uncle Zach will come over to our place and we spend the night eating lots of take-out food and watching movies and playing board games and stuff.

I wouldn't tell my grandparents this, but our third Christmas dinner has always been my favourite.

And not just because it's always meant that I get to spend time with Luke.

Well, you know, a little because of that, but...

It took me forever to figure out what to get him for Christmas. His eighteenth birthday was at the beginning of December, and I had trouble deciding what to get for him back then, too. Guys are so hard to shop for. You can't just get them jewelry or beauty products or stuff like that. And, we just started dating so I wanted it to be extra special. In the end, I decided to take him out to dinner and that new movie he's been wanting to watch.

He was kinda reluctant to let me pay for us but I insisted because it was his birthday and anyway, I have a job so it's not like I couldn't afford it.

He put his arm around me at the movie theatre and I snuggled closer to him, and then we ended up kissing a little and I thought it was a really good movie even though I only really watched half of it.

When we were having frozen yogurt after, I confessed to him that I didn't know what to get for him and he told me that going out with me was the best gift ever, and the way he looked at me, the smile on his face, told me that he really meant it.

Oh yeah, and then we kissed some more in his car before he dropped me off at home.

But, anyways... I was talking about Christmas. Yeah. I finally came up with the idea to buy us tickets to go see the Glorious Sons concert in the spring. He loves their music so I knew it would be the perfect present.

I just... really want to make him happy, you know?

"Hey, Feelz."

"Hey, Luke."

It's been so crazy with all the family Christmas stuff that I haven't seen him since Friday, and when he pulls me against his chest for a hug, I don't want him to let me go. He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head and I want to drag him away from everyone so I can kiss him for real.

"It's like I don't even exist anymore," Uncle Dylan sighs, pretending to be bitter before he wraps me in a big bear hug and makes me squeal.

Darcy snorts. "None of us exist anymore," he grumbles, helping Aunt Vicky with some of the food they brought as they pull off their jackets and boots in the front foyer.

I give my brother a good thwack on the shoulder, blushing.

It's like six PM on Christmas evening as everyone starts arriving. We stick all the food on the island, the presents under the Christmas tree.

"Just wait 'til Sienna gets here and we'll see who's talking," Luke teases back. He and Darcy shove each other a little and I roll my eyes, smiling, because Luke's definitely right.

Aunty Ali's eldest daughter Sienna is a few months older than Luke. She and Darcy... well, nobody really knows what the heck is going on there, to be honest. Just that it's something.

Aunty Ali, Uncle Zach, Sienna, and Jason all arrive a few minutes later. Jason's the only one who's younger than me. He turned 14 over the summer and just started at my high-school this September.

"Votes are in," Dad announces as he passes Uncle Zach a beer. "This year's movie is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation."

Half the room cheers and the other half groans. Every year, we watch one Christmas movie near the end of the night. We used to draw it out of a hat but then someone came up with the idea to do an online-poll kinda thing, that way everyone can vote for what they want.

"Ugh, that movie is so stupid," I complain. I voted for Home Alone 2. Last year we watched The Nightmare Before Christmas and some people almost started a protest because it's arguably not a real Christmas movie.

Sienna and Darcy tried convincing our parents that we're all too old to be forced to watch stupid Christmas movies. A couple years ago, we watched The Polar Express and most people fell asleep by the end of it. But our parents all vehemently agreed that it's a tradition and that we'll just have to suck it up.

"Ophelia, can you go grab some more paper plates for me from the storage-room?" Mom asks distractedly, busy buzzing around the kitchen, making sure all the food is warm and that there are drinks and cups and cutlery.

"Sure, Mom."

"I'll give you a hand," Luke says softly into my ear, sending a shiver racing down my spine. He laces his fingers with mine and we walk down the hall, opening the door and flipping on the light to the basement. We're barely at the bottom of the staircase when wraps his arms around my waist and spins me around, pulls me towards his chest so a breathless giggle escapes me.

"You look really pretty, by the way," he says, his breath tickling my forehead. I'm wearing a red-and-grey-and-green knitted dress with these cute Christmas-y designs etched into the fabric, with black tights and my favorite little snowflake earrings. "How was your weekend?"

"Good. Yours?"

"It was good," he replies, nudging my nose with his. "Except," he mumbles, "I missed my girlfriend. Haven't seen her in a few days."

My heart swells and butterflies flutter wildly around my gut. "I'm pretty sure she missed you too."

"Only pretty sure?" His hands float down the curve of my waist to hold onto my hips, to tug me closer to him so I can feel his body against mine, and he looks down at me with those dark eyes of his, and it makes it hard for me to breathe.

My hands thread themselves into his hair and he presses me gently against the wall and I crane upwards at the same time he dips down and our lips press together, firm and soft and wet...

A little groan leaves the back of his throat at the same time a small whimper spills from my mouth. He is so warm and strong, oh my gosh... His fingers caress my waist as he holds me and my arms wind around his shoulders and my lips open willingly so he can slide his tongue past them and into my mouth.

I feel that little thrill of heat that floods the bottom of my gut when I feel his... um... you know, start getting bigger and harder at the front of his jeans. Since a week and half ago when I had that conversation with him, and the one with my parents, I've become more keenly aware of his, erm. His boners.

He doesn't get them every time we kiss but I've definitely started noticing them and they make my insides feel even mushier, make my skin feel so much hotter. We haven't, um, really talked about it.

Usually, as soon as it happens, just like right now, he pulls away and takes a breath, gives me one last kiss, a peck on the nose or forehead, and puts some distance between us so he can, uh, calm down.

He blinks a couple times, purses his lips a little to wipe the wetness off of them and then, with his voice a little lower and thicker he reminds me, "Paper plates, right?"

"Yeah," I agree, trying to get my heart-beat back down to normal as we walk into the storage room. I grab a package of plates from a shelf near the door and then we trudge back upstairs to join everyone else.

We pass out plates and everyone starts loading theirs up with pizza and Chinese food and hot-wings and mac-and-cheese and lots of other not-so-healthy stuff.

"Hey, Mel," Aunty Alison comments, looking up at the one of the corners at the threshold to the kitchen, "What happened to your mistletoe this year?"

"Couldn't find it in any of the boxes," Mom explains. "Must've got lost last season."

Dad chuckles, wrapping an arm around Mom's shoulders. "She hates the stuff, remember? Was probably looking for an excuse to get rid of it."

"What do you have against mistletoe, Aunt Mel?" Sienna asks as she pours herself some ginger-ale into a red Solo cup.

Now everyone is looking over to Mom, who I swear is flushing a little.

"Yeah, Melanie," Uncle Dylan echoes. He has mischief written all over his face. "What do you have against the poor mistletoe?"

Mom narrows her eyes at Uncle Dylan. Hm, this is interesting.

Aunty Alison laughs, a glimmer in her grey eyes. "Nevermind, I remember now."

"Spill the beans, Mom," Sienna insists.

"Nothing," my mother says with a dismissive wave.

"Come on, Uncle Dylan," Darcy eggs. "What's the secret?"

He and Sienna are such instigators.

Dad shakes his head with a tired sigh, exchanging some kind of wry look with Mom.

"Never told you kids this story, huh?" Uncle D takes a sip of his beer and leans against the island before confiding, "Way back when your mother and father had only just met, Darcy..."

I watch Mom gently pry a glass of whiskey from Dad's fingers and take a swig.

"...The Press invited me to one of the staff Christmas functions. All your mum's colleagues thought she had the hots for me, you see..."

I cover my mouth to stifle the laughter. The room fills with snickers and giggles and Mom just shakes her head. Oh my. There's practically steam coming out of her ears. "More like, they knew that he had a thing for me," she clarifies, shooting Uncle Dylan a withering look.

"So, they sneakily put up some mistletoe and as Aunt Mel and I were dancing, we passed beneath it..."

"Oh, God," Sienna exclaims.

The look on Uncle Dylan's face as he reminisces is pure trouble. "And they insisted that we snog, and since Aunt Mel was looking at me with such longing in those big brown eyes of hers..."

"Oh, shut up, Dylan," Mom snaps. "You wish."

Everyone tries to stifle their laughter because of how upset Mom looks right now.

"Was there tongue?" Darcy calls out playfully.

Mom's head whips around, scandalized, shoots Darcy a you're-in-so-much-trouble-young-man look. Dad looks like he really needs another drink right about now.

Uncle Dylan winks at Darcy. "Let's just say—"

"Story-time is over, thank you," Aunt Vicky interrupts smoothly, shoving a chicken-wing into Uncle Dylan's mouth so he almost gags on it. She shoots Mom a sympathetic look and a telepathic connection—some kind of deep understanding—passes between them. Aunt Vicky winks at her and Mom gives her a grateful half-smile.

Aunty Ali is still laughing softly to herself. "Now that was a really funny Christmas, you guys."

As everyone makes their way with their food into the living room where we set up extra chairs and tables, Aunty Ali continues her reminiscing. "If I remember correctly, Uncle Dylan bought Aunt Mel such a wonderful Christmas present that year, right Mel?"

Mom pinches the bridge of her nose. Poor her, she looks about ready to melt into the carpet.

"Your Uncle Dylan," Dad explains, unamused, "Has a very inappropriate sense of humor."

"Oh, and let's not forget about that Christmas party," Aunty Ali continues, sipping her wine and looking more amused than I think I've ever seen her.

"You guys are so weird," Jason mumbles.

"Are you going to finally tell us about that Christmas party, Uncle Dylan?" Darcy asks. He and Sienna sit on one of the couches, arms brushing, plates resting in their laps. "Every year, you guys mention it but never give any details. What kind of crazy sh—"

"Language, Darcy," Mom sighs.

"—crazy stuff happened at that party?"

From the looks on all the grown-ups' faces, it was a very scandalous party indeed.

"Some things, Darcy," Uncle Dylan smirks, "Children mustn't ever know about their parents, understand?"

Luke leans in to whisper into my ear, "I think my dad used to have a crush on your mom."

I snort. "Or maybe my mom had a crush on your dad."

I guess some things in life will always remain a mystery.

The rest of the night is filled with food and presents and laughter.

Luke's eighteen now so no one says anything when he tips a little bit of Jack into his Coke. As we're all settling down in the living room with the lights off and blankets spread around and hot-chocolate in our hands and the fire-place crackling and the movie loading onto the big-screen, he lets me steal his cup for a small drink. It's not bad. I kinda like the warm sting of it as it slides down my throat.

We're tucked in the back corner of the room and it's dark so people can't really see us. He sits comfortably in a big armchair that reclines with his long legs stretched out in front of him, and I sit with my back against one of the arms and my legs curled over his lap and my head in his shoulder and a quilt draped over us.

At some point in the middle of the movie when his cup and my mug are discarded, we both shift around a little. I press my hand against his strong chest, can feel the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt, the steady beating of his heart thudding beneath my fingers. He slides an arm around my shoulder and I lean in and he leans in and we kiss each other. One of his hands settles into the curve of my waist, slides down to my hip a little. I snuggle against him as we kiss, my fingers drifting into his hair.

The movie is loud and there's lots of stupid sound effects and laughter so I hope no one can hear the small sounds we're making as my tongue explores his mouth and his fingers play with the hem of my skirt that's bunched midway up my thighs. I can feel his fingers just brushing my knee and and the side of my thigh through the thin fabric of my tights and I suddenly imagine what would happen if his palm slid across my leg, up, back to brush against my bum, but of course that doesn't happen.

By the time the movie is over and the lights turn back on, I'm sure we're both all flushed and disheveled but nobody says anything.

At the very end of the night, Luke and I find a quiet, empty corner of the living room so we can finally give each other our presents.

I tucked the tickets into a card and when he opens it and he sees them, the smile on his face makes me glow from the inside out.

His gift for me is a small, neatly wrapped box with a tiny bow on the top. I gently tug apart the ribbons and wrapping and when I pull the lid off the black box on the inside, it's a beautiful delicate silver bracelet with a little circular charm that says Feelz on it.

He puts it on for me, the tips of his fingers brushing oh-so-softly against the tender skin of my wrist. "I love it, Luke," I breathe, leaning forward to brush my lips in a soft, happy caress against his. "Thank you."

And then he pulls me into his arms for one last hug before he leaves for the night, and I am ten-thousand percent sure that was the best Christmas ever.

***

A/N:

Fav xmas movie?

And the holidays are almost over. Time for those New Years Resolutions, everyone.

Maybe I should try to curb my smut addiction come 2020.

Nah.

XOXO Ami

***

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