“Epic Nerf Gun Battle of Doom!” Keri shouted and all the adults laughed. Joe’s new bride had already suffered through the Tandem Cannonballs of Doom and the Annual Kowalski Volleyball Death Match Tournament of Doom over the summer, but she wrestled Stephanie’s gun away from her and took after the crowd.
A minute later they heard Brian’s screech and Beth’s triumphant shout. Then Bobby yelped and all the footsteps started pounding in a new direction.
Kevin felt his mother’s arm slide around his waist and he kissed the top of her head. “I like this girl, Kevin.”
“I do, too, Ma.” A lot.
***
Her cellphone chirping out a rather tinny and way-too-cheerful-for-the-hour Christmas song woke Beth the next morning. She fumbled for it and managed to answer it before it went to voicemail. “Hello?”
“Merry Christmas!”
Kevin’s voice was as cheerful as the ringtone and she winced. “What time is it?”
“Nine o’clock, which is way too late to be in bed on Christmas morning. I’ve been crossing the hall and listening at your door since seven, but you won’t get up.”
She stretched and looked at the clock. Nine o’clock. “That’s kinda creepy, you know.”
“Maybe a little.”
“I should get to sleep late after the Epic Nerf Gun Battle of Doom.”
“Ma gave me a batch of homemade cinnamon rolls. All I have to do is pop them in the microwave for a few seconds.”
Throwing back the covers, Beth sat up straight. “Your place or mine?”
“I’ve got coffee made.”
“Yours. I need a few minutes to get dressed.”
She heard him snort over the line. “You don’t get dressed on Christmas morning. Everybody knows that. I’m putting the sugar in your coffee cup as we speak.”
“Two minutes,” she said and snapped the phone closed.
She brushed her teeth and hair and washed her face in record time, then grabbed Kevin’s gifts and went across the hall. His door was standing open and he grinned when she walked in. “Merry Christmas!”
The pajama rule obviously applied to him, as well, since he was wearing nothing but a well-worn pair of drawstring flannel sleep pants, riding low on his hips.
Merry Christmas, indeed. She repeated it back to him and eyed his table, where two steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of Mary’s cinnamon buns were waiting. But first she went to the small, artificial Christmas tree in the corner of the living room and set her gifts down next to a gigantic box with her name on it. While the size of the box intrigued her, she was thankful it appeared he’d held himself in check rather than burying her in an avalanche of presents she couldn’t reciprocate.
“Presents first?” he called and she laughed. Christmas mornings at the Kowalski house must have been insane when Kevin and the others were kids.
“Coffee first. Always.”
“It’s decaf, because—”
“Shhh! Don’t say the d-word out loud. It destroys the pretense.”
They sat at his table and drank coffee and plowed through the warm, sticky cinnamon buns while Beth tried hard not to stare at Kevin’s naked chest. It was impossible to avoid it entirely, but she tried not to let her gaze linger. They were in a good place, relationship-wise, and she didn’t want to give him any ideas.
The second she’d licked the last crumbs from her fingers, Kevin jumped out of his chair. “Presents!”
Their baby was going to have the best Christmases.
The thought blindsided her and her eyes teared up as she imagined Kevin and a small child shouting and laughing as they rushed to the tree and tore into wrapping paper. She blinked away the unshed tears and joined Kevin in sitting cross-legged in front of the tree. In a few months she wouldn’t be able to sit like that anymore.
“You first.” Kevin picked up the big box and set it in her lap.
She took a few seconds to savor the moment and look at the present. Either Kevin had unexpected skills or he’d paid somebody—or coerced a friend or family member—to wrap it for him.
“Come on,” Kevin urged. “Rip it open.”
Usually she took her time unwrapping a gift, picking at the tape and carefully unfolding the paper, but Kevin’s enthusiasm was contagious. She tore into the paper and lifted the lid off the box.
Folded up under a layer of tissue paper was a beautiful, warm—and expensive-looking—winter coat. She pulled it out of the box, already in love with the weight of it and the sumptuous feel of the dark green fabric. And it was plenty roomy enough for a growing belly. It was the kind of coat that went right past winter necessity to luxury item. The kind of coat she’d probably never buy for herself, which he knew.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure? There’s a gift receipt if you want to change it.”
“I love it.” She buried her face in it, as much to hide the few tears threatening to escape as feel the warm fabric against her cheeks.
“Okay, I get to open one of mine now, and then you have another.”