The Words We Leave Unspoken(66)

I plop down next to her on the couch and she pulls me closer and holds my hand.

“We were just talking about how over-the-top your father was about Christmas. Do you remember that year he broke his arm? Charlotte, you were probably only two.”

I remember. “He fell off the roof, putting the Christmas lights up,” I say.

“Not just the lights. He had bought a light-up Santa with a sleigh and all eight reindeer. I told him to set it up in the front yard, but he insisted it be on the roof for the full effect.”

“Our house was lit up like National Lampoon’s Christmas that year,” I say remembering how magical it looked at night when my dad would flip the switch.

It’s quiet for a moment and then my mom says, “Charlotte, here, just realized that she’s in love with Grey.”

“Mother, seriously,” Charley scolds.

“So the question is, what are you going to do about it?” I ask. I knew that Charley felt something real for Grey, but I also knew that she had to realize it on her own. I just hope that it’s not too late. Grey doesn’t seem like the type to sit around, pining for a woman.

“I don’t know,” Charley says quietly. I sit forward and glance at her. She looks terrified, sitting on the other side of my mother, gripping her hand with her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Well we could get drunk,” I suggest.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea, Gwen,” my mother says.

“Wine or liquor?” I ask, as I stand to grab something from the kitchen.

“Wine and I’ll get it. You sit and relax, Gwen,” Charley says as she hops up and heads for the kitchen. I sit back down and cuddle up next to my mom. She pulls my hair aside and kisses me on the forehead, an endearing gesture that I find myself reveling in. “I love you Gweny,” she whispers, squeezing me against her side tightly.

The way she calls me by the nickname she gave me during the early years melts something inside me and I whisper back, “Love you too, Mom.”

Charley’s back in a flash with an uncorked bottle of red wine and three glasses. She pours each of us a loaded goblet and then we clink our glasses together as she says, “Merry Christmas.”

We drink, we laugh, we reminisce. I can’t remember ever feeling so connected to my sister or my mother. When Charley gets up to grab another bottle of wine, John comes in wearing a Santa hat with his arms full of presents.

“Partying without me I see?” he says with a wink as he sets the gifts down in front of the Christmas tree.

“Oh, honey, you already wrapped all of these? Why didn’t you tell me, I would’ve helped,” I say.

“I know, but I didn’t mind. You already did so much today. Do my wrapping skills meet your approval?” he teases.

And then Charley says with a slur, “Perfect John. It looks like Santa’s elves wrapped them.” She punches him in the arm playfully and nearly spills her wine. John takes the glass from her hand and finishes off what’s left in it.

My mother and I laugh. I get up and arrange the presents under the tree, the same way I have for the past ten years.

We finish off another bottle of wine before we decide to call it a night. I know that the kids will be awake at the crack of dawn and anxious to open their gifts from Santa Claus. My mother hugs me goodnight, holding on for an extra beat before kissing my cheek and letting go. Such a subtle gesture but one that leaves a lump in my throat.

I follow everyone out of the room, flipping off the lights along the way except for the white lights on the Christmas tree. I glance back from the stairwell, admiring the soft glow from the tree, the smoldering logs in the fireplace, the stockings that hang from the mantel each with the kids’ names embroidered in red at the top. I want to hold on to the moment just a little bit longer, to revel in the warmth of the room, the way it fills my heart to the brim.

“You coming?” John whispers from a few stairs above me. I turn and follow him upstairs, to our bedroom.

When John and I finally crawl into bed, he leaves his bedside lamp on and hands me a small box.

“What’s this?” I ask with surprise.

“Merry Christmas,” he says.

I pull the lid off the box and lift a small black velvet case from its confines. I glance at John and he nods toward the case. I open it to find a stunning diamond and platinum ring. The center gem is a nearly three-carat emerald cut diamond surrounded by a halo of smaller stones. The delicate band is adorned with diamond accents, giving the ring a glamorous effect. It is the most exquisite ring I have ever seen.

“It’s beautiful John... I don’t know what to say. I love it.” I’m stunned as I pull it from the box and hold it up to the light. It’s nearly blinding.

“Your wedding band is so small, I just thought it was time for an upgrade.”

“I love my wedding band, though,” I say, holding up my ring finger and admiring the simple gold band set with a beautiful solitaire diamond, a much smaller affair. But it reminds me of where John and I began, in a small apartment in the city, eating dinner on the sofa because we couldn’t afford a dining table. So young and crazy in love.

“You could wear it on a chain around your neck to make room for your new ring,” John suggests.

I slip my wedding band off and slide it on my right hand and then slip my new ring in its place. Perfect fit. “This thing is humongous,” I say, holding up my hand to admire it. “I love it,” I squeal with a huge grin on my face. We both lie back on our pillows, facing each other. “Thank you,” I whisper.