Me and Blake Weatherly

Chapter 33

Well I'm not sure what this is gonna be, but with my eyes closed all I see is the skyline, through the window, with the moon above you and the streets below. Hold my breath as you're moving in, taste your lips and feel your skin. When the time comes, baby don't run. Just kiss me slowly...

(:

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Original POV: Denny

I woke up to a slight headache piercing throughout my head (duh). As soon as I sat up to meet nothing but a chill in the air, coming from the outskirts of my window, I tightened the left side of my jaw.

It's Christmas.

I knew it. The smell of french toast, my mom's fruitcake that she buys from the store and then heats up to make it seem like she made it, the smell of eggnog and hot chocolate. I felt on my head in a deep thought, wondering why I felt so tired. I knew for sure that I was busy last night...that's for sure. After receiving text messages from both Ryan, Blake, and Ein about wishing me a merry Christmas, I started to get out of bed, knowing I had to prepare for many more Christmas related activities, like opening presents and such. 

"Dear," The sound of my mom's voice boomed through my ears from the entering of my room, "It's Christmas. I made breakfast. Grab your robe and come on downstairs. I don't have all day with you this year." She gave me a wink and turned away. I stared into space while trying to figure out what she meant. What does she mean when she says I won't be with her for the whole day? That's basically what my parents and I do! We spend time together, have dinner, and then sing Christmas carols until our throats bleed (exaggerating), but you get the point.

Nonetheless, I grabbed my morning robe and went downstairs lazily. Presents were underneath the colorful Christmas tree cheerfully, sprouting as if the tree was having perfectly wrapped babies. Mom squealed and gasped, "Santa bought you all this stuff!"

I snorted and rolled my eyes, turning the other way. Seriously? How old does she think I am? I stopped believing in Santa when I was eight years old. Give me a break, mom. Although her failing remark bothered me, I decided to go along with it. I was too tired to do otherwise. I offered a smugly smile, "Yep. He...checked his list twice, I guess."

I was bad at playing along with anything, really.

"Well...open one!" She permitted, grabbing her digital camera (which was so like mom). "Your father will be out of bed in ten minutes."

I wanted to ask her how it's fair that he got to get in some extra sleep and I couldn't, but then I realized that my dad is very busy and rarely ever has time to sleep. I shook the question from my head and bent down to start unwrapping a present. Halfway in between it all, I turned to my mom to avoid nothing but me unwrapping neatly decorated wrapping paper in the silence. "So, please tell me you have some driver's license and a car for me somewhere underneath this tree."

Mom laughed, but I was serious.

After unwrapping about eight presents, I discovered that I got some uggs, other shoes and warm clothes. I also got makeup and an iPod. I wasn't expecting fun things, I wasn't a kid anymore. I was happy with what I got, and I knew my parents could tell I greatly appreciated it.

At breakfast, my mom placed bacon and french toast on my plate, passing me the syrup. Usually we'd buy boxed french toast, but on special occasions, mom somehow finds the energy to make the homemade kind. My dad ate in silence while reading last week's newspaper (he can never seem to find the time to read his newspapers at the right date). Halfway during the breakfast, my mom sipped her warm tea and turned to me with her eyebrows raised.