Page 56 of Naughty-ish

Christmas morning, I contain the kids as long as I can. Their typically early-to-rise meter is turned up a notch or two and they both wake at five a.m. Needing a few more minutes as I’d spent half the night organizing and reorganizing my thoughts, I hold them off until six.

Then, I spring them loose.

Mitch was due at seven. He doesn’t arrive until eight. When he starts to argue that I didn’t wait, I hold up a hand to stop him. I’m not fighting with my ex on Christmas. I’d actually not like to speak to him as he never offered to pay for the Zlot 720 or the Like Me Doll for Eloise. Mitch knows I’m under financial constraints again. He doesn’t even blink with support. Of all the people I don’t need in my life, Mitch is number one, but for the sake of our children I’m stuck with him for years.

He helps set up Nash’s gaming system and nods once at Eloise’s new doll.

I make breakfast which Mitch doesn’t eat. He’s eager to leave the house by ten.

“This didn’t work,” I say to him when the kids begrudgingly head upstairs to dress for the remainder of the day to be spent with Mitch’s family. Nash is already a ball of exhaustion and whiny with tears because he wants to stay home and use his new games. Eloise asked if she could take her new doll with her and Mitch agreed, which led to Nash wanting to take the Zlot system with him. I refused.

Mitch isn’t getting the honor of playing a game he didn’t purchase with our son. Nor is the system going to mysteriously remain at his place.

“Yeah, we need to rethink next year.” Mitch scratches the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes.

“Well, we have an entire year to reconsider.” With a hand on the stairway banister, I take a step up on the landing preparing to check the kids have all the pieces of their outfits on. Socks. Underwear. (Yes, Nash can forget.)

“I’m asking Paige to marry me.”

I brace for the stab to my chest. The saber sword to split me open. However, only a pinch hits my sternum, like a sudden case of heartburn.

I’m no longer in love with my ex. He destroyed that love. He isn’t part of my life other than his role as the father of my children. There’s a man living next door with more concern for my kids than this guy, who is about to start a new family.

“Congratulations,” I choke out. Not a drop of sincerity fills my voice, but I’m not envious of Paige. The twinge of disappointment is the idea Mitch has someone while I don’t.

Then again, I have the kids and we’ll be good. We have new traditions and a cute little house with a garage that tilts a little more to the left each day.

And a good neighbor who watches out for us, like the elf on the shelf, only Nick can’t be packed in a shoe box. I don’t want to bundle him up and store him away.

As I slowly climb the stairs, taking a second to calm my thoughts and blink away unwarranted tears, I consider that it might be time to write a new list for my future.

+ + +

When I called my parents to wish them a Merry Christmas, they asked me to join them for dinner, but I was feeling rather introspective and serene this year. I wanted the day to myself, especially after writing most of the night.

I’d planned to use the day to allow further inspiration to arise and decided to take a walk, hoping nature would speak to me. To the extent that one can find nature in a city. Snow had fallen overnight. The ground is covered in a light blanket of whiteness while the sidewalks and streets are free of any dusting.

The neighborhood is quiet. The local park is empty of children. A lone man quickly walks his dog, eager to return to his family or friends. As for me, I saunter, taking my time to breathe in the silence and fill my lungs with the fresh, cold air. The temperature is crisp and my cheeks chill, but I’m layered underneath my thick long coat and heavy boots.

I walk and I walk, and just take time, allowing my thoughts to scatter or collide.

And I think about my little story, evolving from an idea to a concept to a storyline about coming home for the holidays.

I am home. Inside my heart, I’m at peace. I’m happy with me, although the concern for a job prickles my thoughts.

Not today, I say.

I love my children. I love my parents. What more is there to need or do in life than the gift of love.

Eventually, with an ache in my legs and the cold filtering through the layers, I head toward my house. As I near, I notice Nick’s truck in the shared driveway.

My heart does a strange little leap inside my chest, and I stumble over my own booted feet. I need to pass Nick’s house to get to mine and I slow my gait, although I don’t know what’s suddenly weighing me down.

As I approach his place, his front door opens.

“Holliday,” he quietly calls out.

“Merry Christmas, Nick.” I stop on the sidewalk facing his house, hesitant while expectant. I should say something more. I should ask how he is. I should ask questions about his sister, his family. But all I can do is stare at the beautiful man who lives next door to me wearing dark jeans and a bright shirt, rolled to his elbows. The red cap rests on his head.