He gives me a quick nod, though, so I know it’s okay to continue. “A long time ago there were a bunch of people. They had a really tough time and were really poor.” I know I’m simplifying the story of the Jews being freed from Egypt, but she’s six. Her attention span isn’t really that long so I need to hit the highlights and quick before some twinkly lights distract her. “These people had to use oil to light candles so they could see in the temple, but they didn’t have enough to last very long. Except, one little thing of oil lasted a whole eight days. So we light the candles to celebrate the miracle of light.”
Calypso stares at the menorah for a few seconds then turns to me, a sweet look on her face. “That’s it?”
“Sprite!” Matthew says, but I hold my hand up to stop him.
“There’s a lot more to the story but I think that part is pretty amazing, don’t you?”
“Yes, but…” Her eyes begin filling with tears. “Santa doesn’t come to your house?”
I see where this is headed and as I have no desire for her to have a meltdown, I squelch her disappointment quick. “Oh honey. Don’t feel bad for me. You may have Santa, but that menorah also means I have eight days of presents.”
Her face immediately changes. “Eight days? Like Christmas every morning?”
I bobble my head because no, not like that at all. I don’t want to disappoint her either, though. Why must children be so inquisitive?
“Not like Christmas exactly. But when I was your age, every night I would receive a new present to open. They started out small on the first day but by the last it would be something super awesome.”
Calypso whips her head around to look at her dad. “How come I don’t get eight days of presents?”
He chuckles lightly. “We’re not Jewish, honey.”
“Hrmph.” She stomps her little foot, a scowl on her face and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “Stupid Santa.” Thank goodness Santa doesn’t monitor this house or that could have been a naughty list making statement right there.
Matthew ignores her, focusing on me instead. “Will you spend any of the holiday with your family?”
“Nah.” I cross my arms and lean against the table, still watching Calypso enjoy holding Sven. “Now that I’m an adult, they go on an extended cruise every year. Besides, it’s not easy to take off the time from work anyway. I just hang out with Luke, and we watch movies.”
“You should come to our house for Christmas Eve dinner.”
He says it so nonchalantly, it almost doesn’t register. “What?”
“I said, you should come to our house for Christmas Eve.”
I immediately begin shaking my head. “No, no, no. I can’t intrude on your family time.”
“What intrusion?” he asks with a shrug of his shoulder. “It’s really informal. My parents come over, mostly to keep my mom distracted so she doesn’t whine about how my brother left the nest and never comes to see his family on Christmas anymore.”
“He doesn’t?”
“He’s in the military and stationed overseas. She’s also dramatic and possibly hitting the eggnog a little too much.”
Makes sense.
“It also means my dad doesn’t have to be up and over to our house before the sun rises on Christmas morning. Plus we always have way more food than we need. So come on. It’ll be fun.”
I stand there, thinking through my options. Stay home by myself and watch Hallmark? Hang out at Matthew’s and eat holiday food.
Sounds like a no-brainer to me.
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter 25
Matthew
One of my favorite smells in the world is my mom’s prime rib. Each Christmas Eve morning she blows into my house with her sacks of supplies and starts her cook prep. Slicing, dicing, and… whatever else it is she does. I have no idea but I know the Christmas music starts early, the coffee is brewed, and my kitchen looks like an episode of one of those cooking competition shows.
While Mom is here singing along to both traditional and modern holiday tunes, Dad stays home claiming that is the only gift he needs each year. Silence. Well, and the promise of hot buttered rum and pie.
Since Calypso takes her role as sous chef seriously, I’m able to take the day and get things done around the house I tend to put off. Okay, so I clean the bathrooms and do laundry. In my defense it’s the crummy cleaning and laundry we all avoid. The tile grout and bedding. The people that follow my social media would die if they knew romance book cover model, Matthew Roberts spends his holidays washing princess bedding and scrubbing showers. Or maybe they’d like it. My mom says anytime my dad mops the floors she loves him a little more. Something about her love language.
Keeping myself busy today was also strategic. It kept me from having to answer the dozens of questions my mom had about Carrie. Tell me about this job of hers. Is it only squirrels? How does she feel about your modeling? Where are you taking her for New Year’s? You know your dad proposed to me on New Year’s Eve, right?
That last one has bounced around in my head all day and although that step is very far off, now I feel pressure to convince Carrie to spend the evening with me. Obviously, I want to spend the night ringing in the new year with her. I also know she’s unbelievably leery when it comes to relationships.
“Daddy! Daddy! Where are you?”
Pulling a towel from the linen closet, I wait for my shouting child to find me. From the level of screeching, I have a strong suspicion she has been hitting the sugar. When her little body slams into my legs, I let out an “oomph” and brace myself so I don’t smack my head on the door.
“Whoa there, Sprite. What are you—?” The rest of my question evaporates as I take in her appearance: flour covered cheeks, a tiara, candy necklace, and a little apron that says “Today I’m Making a Mess.” There were never truer words than what is printed on that bright pink fabric.
“And you need a shower.”
“How about a bubble bath?” Her little face lights up at the possibilities.
“We don’t have time for that. We have a guest coming for dinner. Did Grandma leave?”
Nodding her head, she skips into her bedroom. I follow her into the room and watch as she gently takes off her tiara and candy necklace, placing them on her nightstand. It’s these simple moments that I cherish. One day she’ll be a teenager, full of hormones and probably some anger toward her overbearing father. These are also the moments I am sad that Delilah misses. She should see her daughter reveling in the wonder of a plastic piece of jewelry that she treats as if it’s actually adorned with real rubies and sapphires.
“Okay, little one. We need to get a move on. There won’t be time to do your hair so grab your shower cap and let’s get you cleaned up.”
Showers are a lot faster than baths any day, but since we don’t have to wash and condition her hair, my little mermaid is in and out in no time. Since we tend to be a pretty casual family, holidays or not, she tugs on her new Christmas leggings and red sweater. I’m helping her adjust her tiara when my parents announce their arrival.
“Oh, Papa is here!”
“Hey, I’m here too,” mom teases from the doorway.
“Yeah but you were already here. Papa probably had the sads because he didn’t see me all day. Papa! I’m here! Where are you?”
Laughing, I stand from the bed and my mom shakes her head. “That child is too much. You need to find yourself a wife and give her a sibling.”
And here we go.
“I managed that one without a wife.”
Rolling her eyes, she pushes up the sleeve of her decorative sweater and glances at her watch. “That may be and while it wasn’t the life choice we would have made for you at the time, she’s a gift and we love her. Now, if Carrie will be here at six, you better get your ass in gear. It’s a quarter till.”
Shit. I move toward the door but come up short before mowing my mom over. She only giggles before stepping aside and letting me pass. Rushing to my room,
I begin stripping off my clothes, tossing them aimlessly across the room before starting the shower. Making quick work of it, I take the speediest shower of my life. Toweling off, I get myself dressed and begin focusing on my hair when the doorbell rings. Of course she’s on time.
I finish up and make my way to the living room where I’m greeted with Carrie kneeled down, eye level with my little girl. She’s wearing a white sweater with her hair down in long loose waves. But it isn’t the way her hair looks or the how the sweater hugs her body that has my attention. It’s the way she’s looking at my daughter, her eyes sparkling and her smile wide. I have no idea what Sprite is saying to her, it could be the grandest story or the silliest joke. I’ll never know, and it doesn’t matter, because from the look on Carrie’s face, it’s fantastic.
“Wow, that was the fastest shower I think you’ve ever taken. It’s like you didn’t want to miss anything. Or anyone.”
“Mom,” I warn.
“Oh hush. She’s lovely. And, look at our girl. She simply adores her.” I don’t respond and then she pats my arm. “And I don’t think she’s the only one.”
Rolling my eyes, I step away from my mom and move toward my girls. “Hey, you made it.”
Smiling up at me, she rises as my mom leads Sprite away. She may drive me nuts with her meddling but right now I’m grateful.
“Looks like it. I hope it’s okay, I brought Sven with me. Jamie is with her family, and I wasn’t sure how late I’d be. Plus, he wanted to thank Olaf for saving him.”
Glancing around, I don’t see a cage anywhere and open my mouth to ask when she says, “I put him in the laundry room. Your mom distracted Sprite while your dad helped me. We’ll take him out later and make sure she has time with him.”
“Good idea. Can I get you something to drink? Eggnog? Wine?”
“Oh, umm… your dad mentioned hot buttered rum?”
Nodding I motion for her to follow me to the kitchen. I move around asking about her day as I pour us both a cup of the rum drink. That’s when I notice the dish on the counter.
“I brought potato latkes. I hope that’s okay.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything, you’re our guest.”
“It’s no big deal. I also brought the gelt and my dreidel. Maybe I could teach Sprite a little more about my traditions? I don’t want to overstep or any—”
“She’d like that. Thank you, Carrie.”
With a huge smile on her face, she takes her cup and settles in on the couch where my dad and Sprite are sitting. The loud shriek from Sprite and boisterous laugh from my dad as Carrie pulls her items from a bag make it impossible not to smile.
“Papa, do you want to play?” Sprite asks my dad who immediately scoots himself closer to where they are sitting. He’s never been able to say no to his granddaughter.
Carrie looks over her shoulder. “You wanna play with us?”
I hold my hand up. “Nope. I’m on backup cooking duty in case Mom needs help. I’m just going to sit and watch.”
She nods once and turns back to the game, explaining the purpose of each piece and the rules.
“What I’m giving you right now is called gelt.” Carrie passes out what look like gold coins in front of my dad and Sprite. “Each of us get ten to start.”
“They’re chocolate!” The thought of having candy in her hands before dinner makes Calypso a little too excited.
“They’re made of chocolate, but right now we’re going to pretend they’re money,” Carrie patiently instructs.
“Can I eat them?”
“It depends if you win the game or not.”
Calypso doesn’t appear to like that answer but complies anyway.
“Everyone puts one of their gelts in the middle. This is called the pot.” All three of them toss one where Carrie indicates, although Calypso holds tightly to her nine remaining pieces. “You’re going to spin the dreidel like this. Whatever side it lands on will tell you what to do.”
Calypso looks closely at the wooden game piece. “I don’t know what that says.”
“That’s because it’s a Hebrew symbol that means ‘nothing happens.’ So all the gelt stays in the pot. Here.” Carrie pulls out a laminated paper from her bag and places it on the table. “This shows all the symbols and their meaning. It will help us to not get confused. Are you ready to try, Sprite?”
She nods excitedly and picks up the dreidel, balancing it carefully on the table. Then she spins it as hard as she can and it goes flying across the room, nailing the wall.
“Um… maybe try a little less speed,” Carrie suggests as Sprite bounds across the room to try again.
It takes them a while to get in the groove, but once they do, the competition gears up and all three are enjoying themselves. The pot is quickly filled then emptied and just when it seems one person is going to lose, suddenly they’re back in the running. The hardest part is getting Sprite to stop jumping up and down long enough to spin.
Everyone is laughing and having a good time until Carrie finally notices what I knew was happening all along.
Gaping at my dad, she exclaims, “Hey you’re cheating!”
As always, he immediately denies any wrongdoing. “I am not.”
“You are too! You just added a gelt to Sprite’s pile.”
Calypso gasps and looks down, delighted at this turn of events. “Thanks, Papa!”
“No way!” Carrie continues to get riled up and this competitive side of her is making me laugh. “You can’t do that.”
Dad shrugs like he’s naïve to the whole thing. “I was just helping out my grandbaby. We’re a team.”
“There’s no teams in dreidel. Matthew, help me out here.”
She turns around, palms up like she’s waiting for me to say something. Which I finally do.
“Welcome to the Roberts family Christmas Eve dinner. This is why we stopped playing Monopoly.”
And Calypso giggles as she takes a bite out of one of her gelts.
•••
Dinner was delicious, the drinks were flowing, and Sprite was more excited to have Sven and Carrie celebrating with us than most of her gifts. Darryl was able to video chat with us, and my mom cried the entire time. He flirted with Carrie, she blushed, and I wanted to pummel him. I’ve never been the jealous type, but tonight while my brother charmed her into blushing and giggling, I wanted to stake my claim. Tell him to back off because she was mine. Then she told him he was sweet but not her type and I relaxed. With a huge smile on my face.
“I think Christmas was a success,” Carrie says with a yawn, Sven nestled into her chest with his little blanket covering him.
“This is nothing. We still have our presents tomorrow.”
“Wow. I know Sprite was jealous of my eight days of presents but I’m a little envious of her haul.”
“Spoiled. You can say it. She’s spoiled, and we’re doing a disservice to her.”
When the topic of our conversation moseys into the room with a new stuffed squirrel in her arms, we turn our attention to her. Sheepishly, Calypso stands at the end of the couch, her bottom lip out in contemplation. With a raised brow, I wordlessly remind her of her promise.
“Carrie?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“I’m sorry Papa and I played creatively at your special game.”
Okay well, it’s not exactly the apology we discussed but it’ll have to do. I’m exhausted and Santa still needs to eat his cookies and leave his gifts.
“Thank you for saying that. You know,” Carrie says, sitting up to give her full attention to Calypso. “My holiday is only just beginning. Maybe you and I can try again tomorrow. If we’re lucky your daddy may even play with us.”
Relief washes over my baby as she smiles and nods her head in agreement. “Alrighty. I think it’s time for little girls to go to bed. Santa won’t come if you’re awake.”
“Okay, Daddy. Umm, Carrie, would you tuck me in?”
Her question doesn’t shock me i
n the least but seems to have taken Carrie by surprise. She turns her head to look at me for guidance. With a slight nod and a loss of my brain cells, I hold my hands out to take Sven from her. She gasps and I shake my head.
“Give me the fur baby. Sprite, no stories. Straight to bed, okay?”
“Kay. Come on, Carrie!”
Dragging her down the hall, Calypso is rambling about her bedtime routine and prayers while I stand and take Sven to his cage. Once he’s settled, I turn off the light and start moving toward the living room when a noise draws my attention to the hallway toward Sprite’s bedroom. That’s when I see something hanging from the entryway. Of course she did.
I stand on my toes and tug once then twice to pull it down.
“Whatcha got there?”
“Shit, Carrie. You scared me,” I whisper yell.
“Sorry.”
“Mistletoe,” I reply, holding it up for her to see.
Her tongue slips between her lips and dart from the weed in my hand to my mouth and back again. Is she thinking of the last time we kissed?
“Carrie?”
“Hmm?” Weed. Lips. Weed. She’s going to give herself a headache moving her eyes back and forth that fast.
“I’m a traditional guy. Mistletoe is a tradition.”
Smirking, she focuses her eyes on me.
“May I kiss you?”
“Matthew, you don’t have to ask me every time you want—”
I take that as a yes and slip my hand around her waist, pulling her body flush to mine. Surprising me, she doesn’t hesitate and slides her arms around my waist, her hands gliding up my back as her chin lifts. Lowering my mouth, I capture her lips. Needing to touch her, I drop the mistletoe and grip the nape of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair. The movement alone draws a sound that will stay with me forever. A mewl, not quite a moan or a whimper, passes from her mouth to mine.
Deepening the kiss, I pull her closer and then I feel her hands shift. Moving from my back to my front and for the slightest moment the thought of where her hands will go next sends a jolt of electricity straight through me. Then her hands grip my shirt and she slows the kiss before stopping it completely.
Model Behavior Page 19
