In Search of Tomorrow ✓

Happiness Is Family

I rolled the dice and moved my playing piece ahead five spaces. Beside me, Dad was holding Clare in his lap, who was watching with fascination as I drew a card and read what it said.

"I wanna play!" she exclaimed, thrashing her little legs and doing her best imitation of a five-year-old whine. "Let me play!"

Dad bent down and kissed the top of little Clare's head, close to her ear but loud enough that I could hear as he said, "You're too young to play Monopoly, Clare-bear. But you can watch. Look, don't you want to see where I land? You can even roll for me."

Clare took the dice in her chubby little hands and clumsily rolled them; Dad moved his playing piece the number of spaces they indicated.

Just then, Mom popped her head into the living room, smiling. "I thought we were all going to help with dinner tonight?" she asked, placing her hands on her belly—it was obvious by looking at her in her maternity dress that she was eight months pregnant.

I hopped up from the carpet and followed her into the kitchen. She placed her arm around my shoulders and squeezed me close to her, saying, "I always know I can count on you, Evelyn. You're my big girl."

Inside the kitchen, I chopped up vegetables with Mom while Dad let Clare place biscuits on a tray and helped her butter them. The lights were dimmed and it was a cozy winter night—I could hear the fireplace in the living room crackling, and an apple-scented candle sat far out of reach from Clare on the highest kitchen shelf.

Once I'd chopped the vegetables, I scooped them off the cutting board and into the pot, joining in with Dad as he started singing a Christmas carol. Soon the whole family was singing—Dad's deep voice and Mom's high one; me the melody and Clare's innocent, warbling voice louder and one beat behind the rest.

Christmas songs carried us all the way through the preparation of dinner, and when we carried everything over to the breakfast room and sat down, I could see that it was snowing outside—light flakes were falling onto the brown grass in our backyard, illuminated by our lights outside.

"It's going to be a white Christmas," said Mom, sitting down and spooning up a bite of pasta.

Clare clapped her hands excitedly, but I just smiled and took a bite of my over-buttered bread. Beside me, Dad was still humming Frosty the Snowman as he cut Clare's carrots, his crinkling smile enough to make me break out into a grin. I reached forward and hugged him and he hugged me back, and the familiar scent of faded cologne washed over me. Mom placed her hand on my hair and said softly, "You're a lucky girl, Evelyn. Don't ever forget that, okay?"

I squeezed my eyes shut tight and nodded, not willing to ever let the moment go.