Page 128 of Stranger to Love

I squeezed her knee, and she captured my hand, her fingers interlacing with mine so tightly it was almost fucking painful. She’d given them a new life, but they’d given her something she clearly hadn't felt in a long time: a seat at a table where she was wanted for who she was, not what she could provide.

The atmosphere in the lounge was thick with laughter. Dad was already making his rounds with a tray of Bucks Fizz, ignoring the fact that it was barely fucking noon.

"I'm telling you, Carrie," I joked, eyeing the neon-orange liquid, "don't trust the vintage. He probably got a crate of this off some dodgy guy at the warehouse. It’s either a festive treat or paint stripper; there is no in-between."

Dad let out a mock-offended gasp, but before he could defend his 'supplier,' a sharp, high-tech fucking trill cut through the room. Carrie’s phone was vibrating on the coffee table. I watched her eyes drop to the screen, and for a split second, the warmth in her face vanished. Her posture went rigid, that professional steel snapping back into place instantly.

"I am so sorry," she said, her voice smooth but clipped. "I really should take this."

She offered a quick, tight smile to my parents before heading upstairs. I watched her go, a small knot of unease tightening in my chest. She didn't just walk away; she fucking retreated.

We carried on—Dad insisted on a toast to "new friends and warm houses"—and for twenty minutes, the house was filled with the sound of wrapping paper being crinkled and Mum’s quiet humming. When Carrie finally reappeared, the "Dr. Carter" mask was firmly back on, though there was a slight tension around her eyes that wasn't there before.

She sat back down beside me, her thigh brushing mine, and leaned in to press a lingering kiss to my cheek. "What did I miss?" she asked, her voice light, though she didn't quite meet my eyes.

"Just Dad trying to convince us that orange juice counts as one of our five-a-day if there's enough cheap sparkling wine in it," I said softly, turning to her. "Are you okay?"

Carrie nodded, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. Her fingers were slightly cold. "Fine, darling. It was just my parents. They FaceTime'd with one of my brothers and his family to say Merry Christmas. You know how chaotic those calls can be."

"Oh, nice," I said, nodding happily. I didn't want to be the one to dampen the mood by prying, especially since she seemed so intent on being present. Something was fucking going on with her. "Glad you got to see them."

I settled back against her as Dad finally won the battle with the remote, triumphantly landing on the Gavin & Stacey Christmas specials. The room filled with the familiar theme song, and for a while, everything was perfect. But as I leaned my head on Carrie's shoulder, I couldn't help but feel her hand clutching mine just a little too tight, her thumb tracing the edge of my new necklace over and over again, as if she was grounding herself.

Whatever that call was, it wasn't a fucking happy family chat.

Christmas dinner was a casual, crowded affair, eaten on our laps while a classic film hummed in the background. I had half-expected Carrie to offer to take over the kitchen—her natural instinct to manage everything was usually so fucking strong—but she didn’t. Instead, she stayed entwined with me on the sofa, letting my parents navigate the kitchen at their own pace. Seeing her let go of that control, simply existing in the chaos of my family, made my heart fucking ache with a new kind of affection.

Once the plates were cleared, the "good stuff" came out. Carrie had stocked the kitchen with a bottle of single-malt whiskey that probably cost more than I made all fucking year, and as the cork popped, the room filled with its rich, peaty aroma. Apart from Mum, we all took a glass, the spice of the liquid fucking burning happily in my throat as we fully indulged in the Christmas spirit.

I found myself leaning back, just watching her.

Carrie was still in her silk pyjamas and robe, her dark hair a little messy, laughing at one of Dad’s terrible fucking jokes. It was a sight I never thought I’d see: the formidable Dr. Carter, a woman who commanded lecture halls and controlled empires, sitting in a tiny house in her nightwear, sipping whiskey with my parents on Christmas Day.

They didn't need the fanfare or the luxury. They didn’t fucking care about her bank balance or her status. They just wanted her company. And seeing her fit into the gaps of my life so seamlessly made me feel fucking breathless. For the first time, she wasn't just a force of nature that crashed into my world; she was a part of it.

"You're staring, princess," Carrie murmured, her voice low enough that only I could hear it over the sound of the TV.

She didn't look away from my dad, but she pulled my hand to her lips, kissing my knuckles. The heat of the whiskey was in her eyes, mixed with something else—something softer and far more fucking terrifying.

"I was just thinking," I whispered, leaning my head on her shoulder. "About how lucky I am."

Carrie’s grip on my hand tightened, and for a fleeting second, that shadow from earlier—the one that had appeared after the phone call—flickered across her face again. She covered it quickly with a smile, but I felt the sudden, sharp tension in her frame.

"I'm the lucky one, Alex," she said, her voice uncharacteristically thick. "Believe me."

As the afternoon faded into a mellow, whiskey-warmed evening, the energy in the room shifted. The festive high began to settle into a quiet, heavy fatigue. I noticed it first in my Mum—the way her smiles didn't quite reach her eyes anymore, and how her posture had slowly slumped against the cushions. Fuck, it broke my heart. The strength she had summoned for the "pancake station" had clearly run dry.

I stood up, my heart squeezing with that familiar, protective ache. "Come on, Mum. Let’s get you tucked in. I’ll help you up the stairs."

But Dad was already there, his hand steady on her shoulder. "Don't worry, darl," he said softly, giving me a tired but reassuring wink. "I’ve got her. You stay here with Caroline."

I watched them go, my throat fucking tight as they navigated the narrow staircase with practiced, slow steps. I sank back into the sofa, a long, shaky sigh escaping me. The reality of her illness always felt a little fucking sharper in the quiet moments.

Carrie didn't say anything at first; she didn't try to fix it with a cheque or a lecture. She simply slid her arm around my shoulders, drawing me into her side. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of my head, her presence a solid, unshakeable anchor in the dim room.

"Would you like to go to bed too, Alex?" she asked, her voice a low, soothing vibration. "It's been a very long day."

I nodded against her shoulder, the fucking exhaustion finally catching up to me. "Yeah. But Carrie? It really was the best day. The best one we've had in years."