“Stop. I’m sure this crosses some sort of imaginary friends-with-benefits line, but I wanted to get you something. So go on and open it.”
I cross my legs and prop the phone up so Garrett can see me. There’s a slight tremor in my hands, both excited and nervous to see inside. I run my finger along the edge of the ribbon before tugging, watch the bow fall apart, then promptly rip into the wrapping paper.
When I open the box, a giggle bubbles in my throat, and I pull the first item out.
“So we can have dance battles,” Garrett says, watching me turn the Just Dance video game in my hand.
“I’ll destroy you. Is your ego built to handle that?”
“Maybe I’ve been practicing.”
“Practice all you want, Garrett, I’m still gonna bury you alive.” I set the game aside and pull out a sweatshirt, laughing again as I read the silver words that loop across it. “Sparkling Personality? Really?”
He’s doing a shit job at hiding how funny he thinks this is, snicker-snorting as he vibrates. “Get it? ’Cause you’re so pleasant and sweet.”
“Uh-huh.” The next item is clothing too. A pale blue and purple romper made of ultra-soft fleece, zipping in the front. When I spy the word on the butt, Garrett’s laughter quickly spirals into hysterical territory.
“They say angel on the ass,” he wheezes. “Angel.”
“Unbelievable. You’re really on a roll right now, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry.” He swipes at a tear. “I couldn’t help myself. Plus, they’re super cheeky, so your ass is gonna hang out of them.” He wipes both eyes again and pushes a heavy breath out, trying to get control of himself. Both actions annoy me, yet for the life of me I cannot stop smiling. “There’s one more.”
I pull the skinny silver wand out of the box, the claws attached to the head that make it look like some sort of extra-long fork.
“It’s a back scratcher,” Garrett explains, “but I thought, if you use it gently, you could tickle your own back when I’m away.”
I extend the wand and slip it down the back of my pajama top. My eyes flutter closed as I moan. “Oooh, Garrett. You might’ve just inadvertently replaced yourself, big guy.”
“Fuck that. Nothing replaces these fingers.”
“They are my favorite fingers.” I look down at the pile of gifts. “Thank you so much, Garrett. I love everything.”
“It’s no Princess Bubblegum, but I hope it brought you a little happiness anyway.”
“It did. Thank you for thinking of me.”
My gaze drops to my slippers as my own words register. Because at the busiest time of the year, between juggling his busy hockey schedule, the holidays, and traveling home to see his family, this man thought of me, and I honestly can’t think of the last time somebody did.
“I can’t remember the last time I got any gifts from someone who wasn’t family.”
Silence hangs between us like an anchor, keeping my eyes downcast. I’m worried I’ve taken us into unchartered territory, somewhere Garrett had no intention of going with a simple gift.
“But I think you are my family,” he finally replies softly, urging my gaze to his, patient and kind, full of compassion. “The guys, Cara, Ollie…they’re the family I found here, the one I chose, and I think you’re part of it, too, now. I want you to be, at least. You feel like you belong in it.”
I turn away in time to catch a sneaky tear that finds its way out of my eye and tries to roll down my cheek. Stupid holidays and big, cocky hockey players who are secret teddy bears.
“I’m not crying,” I tell him, sniffling. “I have this, like, leaky tear duct thing. It’s a condition.”
His laugh is my favorite sound, his smile my favorite sight.
“Merry Christmas, Jennie.”
“Merry Christmas, Garrett.”
“What in the sweet fuck are you wearing?”
“What? This?” Carter looks down at his shirt, tugging so the single word is visible, as if it weren’t already large and in charge. DILF. “Ollie got it for me.”
“It was meant to be a joke,” Olivia murmurs, “but it’s his favorite gift. He won’t take it off.”
“Wanna see the best part?” Carter pulls Olivia into his side, beaming proudly. “Show ’em yours, pumpkin.”
Her face flushes. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“C’mon.” He shakes her arm. “Be loud, be proud, Ollie girl.”
She does it, but she sure drags her ass about it, slowly pulling her sweater over her head, and I don’t know whether to laugh at her or cry for her.
Because the shirt she wears underneath sports one simple sentence: I HEART DILFs.
“Pip,” I whisper to Olivia, my shoulders shaking, laughter rumbling in my chest. I try to hold it in, I swear. “What did you do?”
Her shoulders slump, eyes downcast. “I fucked up.”
“What’s a DILF?” Mom asks, which only makes me laugh harder, and when Carter joins in, Olivia storms down the hallway. “It was just a question!”
Beside me, Hank smiles. “I feel bad for all the people who will never get to experience a Beckett Family Christmas.”
I feel bad for Olivia, because now she’s doomed to a lifetime of them.
I’m glad to have her, though, because I haven’t seen Carter this happy at Christmas since our dad died. His smile never wanes as he hugs her into his side, linking their fingers, kissing her shoulder or temple every time he passes by.
I think Olivia brought him back to life. Now he’s always the same brother I grew up with—goofy, outrageous, with a massive heart—not just when the cameras aren’t around.
So when he tells us he has an exciting Christmas activity for us to do as a family, I’m not surprised.
Still not surprised when he rips the sheet off the kitchen table, revealing several boxes of gingerbread houses, the kind you build and decorate yourself.
A little surprised they’re made of Oreos, though.
“I’m just saying.” Carter slathers a cookie with icing, sticking it to his cookie roof. “Whoever thought of this is a genius. A whole village made of Oreos?” He makes a sound, like he’s having a revelation, and turns, wide-eyed, to Olivia. “What if we name the baby—”
“No.”
“But—”
“Not happening.”
Carter frowns, grumbling something about the Grinch being a five-foot-one pregnant woman, and Olivia steals a mini-cookie out of his hand, tossing it in her mouth. It turns into a fight over cookies and edible decorations, and eventually Carter’s holding everything above his head and laughing while Olivia tries to climb his body to retrieve said items, all the while Hank’s eating whatever he can get his hands on beside me.
“Hank.” I snicker. “You’re supposed to be putting them on your house, not in your mouth.”
“Oops.” He pops another cookie between his lips. “Am I not putting them on my house? Couldn’t quite tell. I am blind, after all.”
“You’re not using that as an excuse to eat your cookies, are you?”