The Misunderstanding of Fate

Chapter 23 - Christmas Day [Part 1]

The feeling in your stomach when you wake on Christmas morning is almost indescribable. It's more than excitement, a little nervousness, anticipation, and a slight feeling of sadness. I often wondered, growing up, why I was so excited or happy and then I remember that it's not excitement for the gifts (not really, only slightly) but the day itself. The food, the plans, the family, the friendships, and the magic that comes with Christmas.

This morning, I'm a little more anxious than usual. The drop in my stomach lingers as I contemplate how different this Christmas will be to my usual one. I realise that my usual extravagant, delicious dinner will be experimental and, likely, awful and my family consists of a strange boy I met months ago. For the first few minutes of my day, I keep my eyes closed basking in the calm warmth I'm wrapped up in. I can't hold back the little smile as I take in George's position: he's encircled me, our legs tangled together and our bodies as close as humanly possible, while running his fingers slowly up and down my back. His vanilla scent is now one that calms me and it makes me want to face the day ahead.

"I know you're awake, sweetheart."

Opening one eye, I see he's already staring at me. Like every other morning, he is glorious and warm and has a soft look in his eyes that makes me pity him for not waking to a similar photogenic appearance.

"Merry Christmas," I whisper. If someone told me in September that I'd be with this person, in this bed, wanting to spend a day like today without my father, I would have laughed in their face. "This feels weird."

"Intimate. You mean intimate."

That's the word. That's the exact word that describes how this feels. Sharing today with someone who is not family. Intimate.

Usually, I am woken by my father while my mother makes coffee downstairs. I'd quickly rush down to hug my mother, I would have already hugged my father in my bedroom, before we swapped presents. My mother would be filled with stress, my father would be helping my mother and her stress, and I would bask in the feeling of being with family. The three of us made our Christmas special. We would phone who needed to be phoned, send messages to those who didn't need a phone call, and then go off into our own little world. We'd watch movies, eat our dinner, play cheesy board games or cards, and just enjoy being with each other.

Being engulfed in the most complex characters I have ever met with the morning light peaking through the curtains is definitely a huge contrast. It's not wholly unwelcome. Slowly - we both take our time, neither of us wanting to verbally admit we were perfectly happy in our little haven - we get out of bed and start the day. George goes to the general bathroom while I take the en suite.

For the first time in a long time, I rush through my shower. My kaki coloured skirt is slipped on with a black vest and tights before I run down the stairs. George stands in front of a pile of food on the table giving it a look you might give to an unknown animal you find in your garden. The overwhelmed expression he throws my way is enough to make me burst into laughter. How wrong could cooking go?

In four hours, George and I have answered that question. Our new potatoes are closer to mash, our mash is closer to soup, our roast potatoes are closer to rocks, and the turkey is closer to paper. On the bright side, the pigs in blankets are perfect and the vegetables are delicious. In times like this, you have to find the silver linings!

George and I sit on the table, laughing at the mess we've made and the food we've eaten. The thin gravy lingers on the left over food before we scrape it into the bin. Luckily enough, we bought the cake rather than making it. It was, hopefully, going to be the most delicious thing we eat today.

"Let's put a film on and eat the cake."

George eyes the kitchen, "What about the mess?"

I smile, "That's what Boxing Day is for," I pause. "You cut the cake and I'll choose the movie."