might cry. But she doesn’t. She holds it together and leans up on her tiptoes in a way that reminds me of another mountain house, in what seems like another lifetime. “I have something to tell you,” she whispers as she kisses my cheek.
I pull her into a hug, knowing full well what she wants to tell me. She’s not done mothering. She’s not ready for kids in college. She needs another baby. And she’s afraid to tell me that because I was so worried about me, so worried about what sort of genetic contribution another child of mine might get, that I never once thought about what she was giving up to ease my concerns.
But we both stay silent and enjoy the peace we have. We just dance alongside Ronnie and Spence to Silent Night , our feet slow and our hearts full.
And then I glance up at Spencer and find a confused look on his face. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Where the hell are Rory and Oliver?”
“Shit,” Ashleigh says. “Fucking Five.”
Chapter Twelve
I hold Rory’s hand as Oliver finally gets his turn at Santa Claus. He’s rattling off gifts like he’s got a catalog in front of him.
“And I want a bike, just like my dad’s,” he says.
The Santa here in downtown FoCo is pretty realistic. Genuine white beard and everything. “Ho, ho, ho,” Santa says. “What kind of bicycle does your daddy have, son?”
Oliver screws up his face. “Bicycle? My dad makes Shrike Bikes. I don’t want a bicycle, I want a motorcycle! I want one with white skulls and black ravens. I want the tank to be scarlet red, just like the one my dad rides to work in the summer. I want leather seats and cool pegs. And I want a jacket to go with it. And tattoos, just like the ones my mommy drew on my dad. And I want—”
“Little boy, you can’t have a motorcycle for Christmas! Ho, ho, ho!”
“What?” Oliver squeaks, like his dream is being crushed. “Yes, I can. My dad made all the girls a Shrike Bike. Ask my sister!” He points to Rory and we get a stern look from Santa.
“Trikes,” I correct Oliver. “He gives the kids Shrike Trikes . Not bikes.”
“Yeah.” Rory laughs. “Are you kidding? My dad wouldn’t give us motorcycles!”
“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa says again, setting Oliver down and shaking his head a little. “Well, a trike I might be able to manage. Now hurry along and don’t forget to put out cookies for me tonight! Ho, ho, ho!”
Oliver shoots Santa a look, but reluctantly walks over to Rory and me. He lets off a huge sigh. “He wasn’t even listening to me.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ollie,” Rory says, taking his hand in her free one. “Santa can’t afford a Shrike Bike. Only Daddy can give us Shrike presents. And I’m sure he’s got something special for you under the tree.”
“If it fits under the tree, then it’s not a real Shrike Bike.”
“Come on,” I say. “It’s almost dark. Let’s go look at the lights before we have to get home.”
“Yeah, what time is it? We need to go grab the present and Uber back to Vail soon,” Rory says.
“Plenty of time,” I tell her. It’s already four thirty, so we’re going to be late, but I don’t care. I’m not ending our date until we have that perfect moment.
Now it’s Rory’s turn to sigh. She stops walking just as we reach the huge community Christmas tree and looks up at me with a smile. “This was the best day ever, Five.”
It really was. Fantastic lunch at Anna Ameci’s, ice skating—even though Oliver ate shit like six times and then wanted to stop. The carriage ride, window-shopping, and then the art gallery. We had to sneak by Sick Boyz, which was open until one today, to avoid all Rory’s uncles. But they’re closed down now, and we can enjoy the walk back over to the Shrike showroom where she insists she has the perfect present for her mom stashed away in the back of Spencer’s office.
I look down at Rory. Her sapphire-blue eyes and her sweet, sweet face. She’s the perfect girl for
I pull her into a hug, knowing full well what she wants to tell me. She’s not done mothering. She’s not ready for kids in college. She needs another baby. And she’s afraid to tell me that because I was so worried about me, so worried about what sort of genetic contribution another child of mine might get, that I never once thought about what she was giving up to ease my concerns.
But we both stay silent and enjoy the peace we have. We just dance alongside Ronnie and Spence to Silent Night , our feet slow and our hearts full.
And then I glance up at Spencer and find a confused look on his face. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Where the hell are Rory and Oliver?”
“Shit,” Ashleigh says. “Fucking Five.”
Chapter Twelve
I hold Rory’s hand as Oliver finally gets his turn at Santa Claus. He’s rattling off gifts like he’s got a catalog in front of him.
“And I want a bike, just like my dad’s,” he says.
The Santa here in downtown FoCo is pretty realistic. Genuine white beard and everything. “Ho, ho, ho,” Santa says. “What kind of bicycle does your daddy have, son?”
Oliver screws up his face. “Bicycle? My dad makes Shrike Bikes. I don’t want a bicycle, I want a motorcycle! I want one with white skulls and black ravens. I want the tank to be scarlet red, just like the one my dad rides to work in the summer. I want leather seats and cool pegs. And I want a jacket to go with it. And tattoos, just like the ones my mommy drew on my dad. And I want—”
“Little boy, you can’t have a motorcycle for Christmas! Ho, ho, ho!”
“What?” Oliver squeaks, like his dream is being crushed. “Yes, I can. My dad made all the girls a Shrike Bike. Ask my sister!” He points to Rory and we get a stern look from Santa.
“Trikes,” I correct Oliver. “He gives the kids Shrike Trikes . Not bikes.”
“Yeah.” Rory laughs. “Are you kidding? My dad wouldn’t give us motorcycles!”
“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa says again, setting Oliver down and shaking his head a little. “Well, a trike I might be able to manage. Now hurry along and don’t forget to put out cookies for me tonight! Ho, ho, ho!”
Oliver shoots Santa a look, but reluctantly walks over to Rory and me. He lets off a huge sigh. “He wasn’t even listening to me.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ollie,” Rory says, taking his hand in her free one. “Santa can’t afford a Shrike Bike. Only Daddy can give us Shrike presents. And I’m sure he’s got something special for you under the tree.”
“If it fits under the tree, then it’s not a real Shrike Bike.”
“Come on,” I say. “It’s almost dark. Let’s go look at the lights before we have to get home.”
“Yeah, what time is it? We need to go grab the present and Uber back to Vail soon,” Rory says.
“Plenty of time,” I tell her. It’s already four thirty, so we’re going to be late, but I don’t care. I’m not ending our date until we have that perfect moment.
Now it’s Rory’s turn to sigh. She stops walking just as we reach the huge community Christmas tree and looks up at me with a smile. “This was the best day ever, Five.”
It really was. Fantastic lunch at Anna Ameci’s, ice skating—even though Oliver ate shit like six times and then wanted to stop. The carriage ride, window-shopping, and then the art gallery. We had to sneak by Sick Boyz, which was open until one today, to avoid all Rory’s uncles. But they’re closed down now, and we can enjoy the walk back over to the Shrike showroom where she insists she has the perfect present for her mom stashed away in the back of Spencer’s office.
I look down at Rory. Her sapphire-blue eyes and her sweet, sweet face. She’s the perfect girl for
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