Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Harry sidled up to Lillian and said low, “I thought Sherise was bringing her boyfriend this weekend.”
Lillian returned in an undertone, “She’s decided to spring him on them at Christmas. She thinks Ronnie will be more distracted then.”
Harry looked for Ronnie and found she’d ensconced herself in an armchair with her wine, catty corner to where Caroline was on the couch with her wine, and they were relaxed and chatting.
“Probably a good plan,” Harry replied.
Lillian’s eyes twinkled at him, more cheerful than any Christmas tree.
Then she dug into the sausage roll wreath, shoved her piece into the sauce, then shoved it into her mouth.
Harry did the same.
Ten minutes later, he was ass on the floor beside Shane, unwrapping carefully packed, fragile ornaments.
“We got the case of wine you sent, brother, thanks for that,” he told Shane.
“Wanna say it’s my largesse, my man,” Shane returned. “But I’m gonna be up here a lot this month and I’m not drinking shitty, five-dollar wine when I am.”
“You are such a wine snob,” Lillian accused as she took an ornament from Shane.
“And?” Shane asked. “It is kinda my job,” he pointed out.
Lillian rolled her eyes.
Sherise laughed.
Harry handed her an ornament when she was done laughing.
“Oh my goodness!” Caroline cried. “I can already see this is going to be a beautiful tree.”
“Ronnie doesn’t do anything but create beauty,” Harry said.
For some reason, once he did, the entire room went silent.
“I’ll be…just a second,” Ronnie whispered, got up and rushed from the room.
People kept doing what they were doing, just soundlessly.
Harry caught Lillian’s eyes.
“Did I say something wrong?” he mouthed.
She came right to him, bent and framed his face with her hands, hers an inch away.
“No, baby, what you said was just right,” she whispered.
Then she kissed him, took an ornament from Shane and went back to the tree.
“Mom’s not good with compliments. She likes to pretend she’s incognito with how awesome she is,” Shane murmured an explanation.
Well, shit.
“But with this, Sonny used to say stuff like that,” Shane continued murmuring. “He loved Mom. Thought she could do no wrong.”
“Shit,” Harry muttered it out loud this time.
“No, Harry, like Lilly Bean said, it was just right,” Shane assured.
George had given it enough time, so he traced Ronnie’s steps.
Harry caught his father’s eye, and Greg winked at him.
It was then, it hit Harry that this was their tradition.
Tree trimming at theirs, tree trimming at Lillian’s.
And now there was an added tree trimming at his dad and Caroline’s.
They’d lost.
And now they’d found.
There was fullness again.
Happiness again.
And more love all around.
He didn’t fuck up.
He just pointed it out.
So Harry got back to unpacking.
After he grabbed a stuffing bite.
“Okay, Mom and Ronnie could do it up, but Caroline? What was that?” Lillian asked after they came in the side door to clamoring dogs and a bright Christmas tree shining in their front window.
“She never came up for Christmas, spent it with her family, so no clue, except I know I have to run another two miles tomorrow, at least,” Harry replied.
“Gingerbread trifle is soooooo on my Christmas go-to list every year from now on,” she decreed, shrugging off her coat.
Harry took it and hung it in the hall closet, then he did the same with his.
“But I am so stuffed. Aren’t I, sweet Lucy? So stuffed,” she said, and Harry looked her way to see she was rubbing Lucy’s head with both hands and Lucy was staring up at her like she understood every word, and each was a morsel of absolute wisdom.
Harry took that moment to sync his phone to their Bluetooth speaker.
He then queued up the song, pushed the ottoman so it was flush to the sofa, moved to the front of the tree, and hit go on his phone.
The first strains of Michael Bublé’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” came on.
Lillian’s eyes shot to him.
Harry held out his hand and asked, “Dance with me?”
It came over her, as it sometimes did, the memories, the love, the loss.
And then there was just the love.
Lillian walked to him, put her hand in his, and he pulled her into his arms.
She rested her other hand on his shoulder and her cheek on his chest.
Bublé crooned.
They swayed.
The Christmas lights twinkled.
The dogs settled with groans and watched.
Eventually, Harry was forced to do some fancier moves, some spins, some twirls, all totally worth it considering Lillian’s smiles and giggles, and it was then he understood why Sonny pushed back the furniture as often as he could and danced with his wife.
The song segued into Bublé’s “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.”
And he and his Lilly kept dancing by the lights of their tree in the living room of a house bought with love, left with love…
And still filled with it.
The End