Penalty Kill

Harper

The three of us are sitting on a couch across from Jake's parents wearing sunglasses, like we're in fucking Ferris Buller's Day Off. Needless to say, his parents are far from amused by our much needed shenanigans to keep ourselves from laying down on the floor and groaning.

Jake had to forcibly extricate me from his body early this morning—he even went as far as moving the door to his room back and forth to waft the delicious smells of French breakfast and coffee into my nose. After a lot of grumbling, groaning and excessive complaining, I sat up right and allowed him to tug one of his Storm sweatshirts over my head.

As we started making our way to the stairs, Jake pulling me along by the hand like I'm a big, ornery toddler, Alice stepped out from her room and held out two pairs of sunglasses in either hand. They matched the ones on her face, and before Jake or I can question her silent demand, her gruff voice beats us to it.

"Nothing helps hangovers more than a good bit. We're already on the shit list for rolling in late, so let's make the best of this misery, comrades."

Jake and I were all too eager to comply, and we all strolled down into the kitchen looking like cheap 80s' movie cosplayers. We were thoroughly and properly chided throughout the entirety of breakfast, although unlike the two Bryers siblings, I pushed my sunglasses onto my head soon after entering the kitchen to save some scrap of my dignity. I was still trying to make a good impression, regardless of my late-night rendezvousing with their son that had us stumbling home after curfew like two idiot teenagers.

Now, with stuffed bellies full of crepes, french toast, a variety of fruit and many cups of delicious espresso, we sit around a beautifully decorated Christmas tree and start opening the small pile of gifts neatly stacked on the handmade skirt. Huey has made himself comfortable in front of the fire, sprawled out on his back with all four paws flopped into the air.

Alice and Jake abandon their sunglasses charade as Juliette starts to pass out presents from the pile, and as John starts to open a very haphazardly wrapped gift from Jake, I take the smallest beat to look around and take in the surroundings I somehow have managed to find myself in for the first Christmas without my mom.

Pine garland adorns nearly every possible surface—from the banister, to the mantel, to the huge bay window overlooking the snowy winter wonderland outside. Red accents punctuate the space perfectly, with shiny pops of gold to wring out every ounce of warmth from the already cozy living room. It's perfectly picturesque. It's straight out of a magazine depicting how to make your home feel like it's a European cottage for the holidays.

And then there were the three people, plus one snoring golden retriever, who were breathing life into every corner of the room, into every piece of decor, into the very air. Alice has positioned herself by Jake's feet as he sits in an armchair, leaving her within easy reach for his occasional mussing of her hair or squeeze of her shoulder.

Juliette and John sit in a loveseat next to their kids, a sight wholly foreign to me. A mother and father with their children on Christmas morning. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, where he's quick to pull her against his side for a little cuddle. They exchange sweet looks every now and then, with John placing an occasional kiss on Juliette's cheek or on the top of her head.

Then there's all the laughter. All the smiles, the easy banter, the playful jokes that keep the atmosphere so delightfully relaxed and comforting. My throat tightens with emotion as I look around at the pure joy radiating from every inch of the room. It's everything I never had. It's all I ever wanted. All I ever dreamed of. To be living it, to be existing in it and to be part of it.

Thoughts float through my brain, phantom and heavy. I wish mom was here. To know this happiness, to feel this joy with me. Blinking fast and swallowing hard against the painful lump that's formed in my throat, I reach for my festive mug and take a long sip of espresso. It's all I can do to keep myself from starting to bawl big, ugly tears in the middle of this beautiful scene.