The Minutes We Have

chapter one

I hadn't always loved Christmas.

As a kid, it's easy to love the holiday in which gifts are the highlight. It was easy to become selfish and let gifts alone control the holiday season. As I grew up, I didn't love Christmas as much. I always had trouble shopping for other people and the pressure of getting gifts--or it would be a horrid holiday--just didn't seem right. 

After Mom and Dad passed, we didn't have Christmas for a few years. 

Something about it seemed wrong and every time I thought about Christmas, I imagined my Mom in her fuzzy socks by the fireplace with a mug of hot cocoa that we had just made. I imagined the sweet smell of cookies and pastries wafting through the house. I imagined an inexplicable warm feeling and never-ending laughter that hurt my chest. 

I suppose, as we grow up, we grow more attached to things that are real. Our childhood had always been about dreaming, until the day that those dreams either become real or they cease to exist. It's bittersweet, really. We're constantly reminded that nothing will last forever and that's why the now is everything.

On this particular Christmas morning, I was awakened by Roman. 

Well, he jumped on me. 

"What the--" I sputtered, peeling my eyes open, "Roman!" 

He stood over top of me and started jumping, jarring my entire bed and body as he shouted, "Wake up! It's Christmas!" 

I raised my leg and kicked him, "Stop it!" He stumbled, tripped over my excessive amounts of blankets, and then he went tumbling off my bed with a grunt. I almost laughed when I heard the thump.

"Jordyn," He hissed. 

"Roman," I mocked. "Don't ever do that again, I'll kill you." 

His head popped up over the edge of my bed, "You can't sleep all morning, we have presents to open!" 

I should have mentioned that since we had moved, and started our new lives, we had agreed to celebrate this Christmas. It would be our first without our parents, and we had each agreed to get one gift. But, we didn't want gifts to be the sole purpose of it. We wanted to celebrate it as a family. 

"What time is it?" I rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes, yawning as I did so. 

"Seven," Roman replied. 

My eyes snapped to his, narrowing, "What? Are you serious?" I started pulling my blankets off my legs, "You're never up at this time." 

Roman started backing away from my bed, his hands slightly raised, "I was excited." 

I paused for only a moment. My bare feet touched the carpet and I leveled him with a glare, "Run." 

He didn't need to be told twice. He spun in the blink of an eye and sprinted out of my room. I was in hot pursuit, my bare feet echoing across the hardwood floor of the upstairs hallway. He ran down the stairs, taking two at a time, and then he circled through the living room. 

He stopped with the coffee table between us, "Wait, let's talk." 

"Too late," I grinned breathlessly, "I'm gonna get you!" 

He failed at keeping the coffee table between us because I leaped over it and he scrambled into the kitchen. Mikeal was standing by the coffee pot, pouring water into the top of it. He looked as though he had just gotten up. His dirty blonde hair was slightly longer and messy. He had on a plain white t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants.