The Plight Before Christmas(11)

Cleaning out the garage is code for adult-only activity.

“Go for it.”

“You said you didn’t want to be stuck babysitting while you’re here.” Her voice is mournful, and I immediately regret saying it. She’s worried enough Gracie is intolerable for everyone else.

“I was in a mood. I can handle it for a bit.”

“Sure you can handle her, them?”

“Girl, please, bye.”

“Good luck,” Mom mutters from the kitchen through the peek-through window into the den.

“She’s not that bad, Mom,” Serena scolds.

Silence.

“She’s not,” my sister defends, turning back to me. “She’s just a little high-strung.”

“She’s a wrecking ball. But I’ve got this. Now, can I wake him?”

Serena grins, knowing that my nephew is the only acceptable payment for distracting her kids to give her some ‘me’ time. “Sure, he’s been down long enough.” My niece greets me at the foot of the stairs just as I’m about to go up.

“Ready?”

“I’m going to get your brother up. I’ll be right back.”

She nods. “Okay, I’ll get set up.” I pull Gracie into my arms. The little girl I know vanishing day by day. “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”

“Merry Christmas, Auntie Whit.” She’s got a mix of the blonde and some strawberry from her father. But she’s every bit a Collins girl already. Independent, forthright, and mouthy. Her mother’s brown eyes widen as she looks over at me.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh?” I feign surprise. Secrets don’t last minutes in this family, no matter who the confidant.

Her cheeks redden a little. “It’s a woman thing.”

“I’m intrigued. Can’t wait.” I pop her on the butt. “Give me ten.”

“K.”

She races to the dining table with my makeup arsenal as I take the stairs, following the grown man snore to the end of the hall. It amazes me just how fast men fall asleep as if they don’t have a worry in the world. Grammy used to say, give a man a slab of cement and he’ll find a way to make a bed out of it. I peek in on Thatch to see he’s completely out, mouth wide, his strawberry blond hair in desperate need of a cut. Aside from my sister, he’s one of my closest friends. They’ve been together so long that in a way, it feels like we grew up together. More than once—on especially bad days—he’s talked me off the ledge, not out of obligation but because he genuinely cares about me. Patient, kind, caring, devoted—Thatch set the standard for me on the husband front. Over the years, I’ve watched him morph from a passive boyfriend into a super husband. As much as my sister bitches about his antics, he’s one of the best humans I know. Tolerant to the point of sainthood. Not only that, he gifted me two of the people I love most in the world.

A room over, I see the pack and play and the baby who soundly sleeps inside it, and it’s all I can do to keep from snatching him into my arms. The mere sight of him stirs a love within me that borders obsession. From the minute he was born, he became the love of my life. Not only that, biased or not, he’s the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen. Bright-red strawberry hair, cheeks so big and so full, they impede his speech. I’m a sucker for his large green eyes, the only child in the Collin’s family to escape the brown. His perfect, pink-tinged mouth is shaped in a tiny ‘o’. He’s dressed only in his diaper and wool socks due to the heat from the roaring fire below, which warms the upstairs of the cabin.

His pudgy little body is nothing but dents and rolls as he lays comatose. My heart swells unbearably as I stare down at him.

My sister had my dream baby.

Aunts aren’t supposed to pick favorites, but of all my nieces and nephews, the force with this one is too strong to ignore. He stirs a little as if he senses me, and his eyes flutter before he nestles further into the playpen. It’s then that the greed overtakes me. I gently lift him from where he sleeps, and he jerks before he settles into my chest as his scent—baby lotion—surrounds me. Unable to resist, I steal a kiss, and he sighs as if he knew it was coming. I can’t help the bounce of my chest as he smashes his eyes closed to try and get back to where he was in his dream, his light strawberry lashes fanning over his ridiculously full cheeks. “Now you, little lady killer, well, you are the greatest Christmas present a girl could ever ask for.”

I settle into the old rocker that my grandmother put in the room specifically to rock her great-grandchildren and gently press off the old carpet with my foot. Snow drifting heavily past the window, I soak in the moment. I get so few of these. Every time Peyton’s in my arms, it’s a bittersweet reminder that this is as close to parenthood as I’ll ever get.

My uterus was considered geriatric years ago, and last year I voluntarily retired my number. On my last birthday, I decided that if I managed to find a husband, the desire to parent has—for the most part—left me.

I always assumed forty was the cutoff date, but my gynecologist informed me that’s when things can get dicey and dangerous. Knowing my window was, is closing, I did nothing about it and am purposely letting the clock tick out.

Stupidly, and when I was most anxious to have a family, I never considered having a baby without a partner. In truth, I’ve never really had a partner I’d considered having a baby with, save one. Ironically, he was the opposite of the definition of a family man.