All of Me

thirty-nine • happy new year

• • •

The second the clock strikes six, silently ticking from one hour to the next, I hear the creak of a floorboard and the sigh of a door sweeping over carpet. Then a quiet tap on my door, before it slowly opens. Gray slips into my room in his pyjamas and in the hazy morning glow, the sun still sleeping, I can make out the snowman emblazoned on his stomach and printed on his fleecy pants.

"Happy Christmas," he whispers with the grin of ... well, of a child on Christmas morning. He bounds across my room with far too much energy for pre-dawn, clearly oblivious to the fact that I'm hardly awake. There was a time that I'd wake up at five on Christmas Day but the older I get, the more I value my sleep, especially when I've missed so much of it recently.

With a yawn so wide it aches my jaw, I drop my head back on my pillow and give Gray a tired smile. "Merry Christmas, Gray," I say, another yawn sneaking out when I speak. "How long have you been up?"

"Like, an hour," he says. "I may have outgrown running into my parents' room at the crack of dawn but I'll never be too old to wake up way too early and force my sister to suffer with me." He launches himself onto my bed, bouncing on the mattress, and rolls onto his stomach.

"What if I want to sleep?"

"How can you sleep when it's Christmas?" He gasps and props himself up on his elbows, and I make a point of closing my eyes and letting myself sink into my pillow. I am excited for today, but I know Mom won't be up for at least a couple more hours.

Ever since she found a doctor who'd listen and got on the right meds, her sleeping has been a million times better. I never find her awake and worrying at one in the morning anymore, nor do I hear her padding around at six. She hasn't fainted once in months, and she looks the best she ever has: a new haircut and an extra twenty pounds have done wonders.

She's happy, and she looks it. Especially when she's with Tad. He brings out the brightness in her eyes and the glow in her cheeks. Sometimes, when I'm in my room, I hear her laugh when they're talking, and it's music to my ears.

"Ugh," Gray harrumphs, poking me. "Fine. Be boring and well-rested." He tuts. I smile, and I drift off with him lying next to me.

• • •

The sun is out when Gray shakes me. Pale winter light seeps into my bedroom, sending a strip of light streaking across Gray's cheek. He grins down at me, his hair a wild mess and his glasses askew on his nose.

"She wakes!" he cries, his face coming into focus when I blink a few times. He's still in those pajamas, and now he's added a wonky Santa hat. "Are you gonna join us, lazybutt? Your mom has made the most incredible cinnamon buns and you need to come eat one before I finish them all."

"Mom's up?" I sit, arranging my nightie to avoid flashing Gray, and adjust my pants when I stand. It started snowing two days ago, and layers have become necessary in bed.

"Yup. She and Dad made breakfast and I figured it'd be nice of us not to eat without you. But you can't come down looking like that." He grimaces at my old, worn nightie. "Christmas PJs only. No exceptions."

He passes me a bag and leaves. I tip it out on my bed and a smile sneaks onto my lips when I pull on the reindeer pajamas. They fit perfectly, soft and warm, the thick material much appreciated when it's barely twenty degrees outside.

Downstairs is like a scene out of a dream. Our Christmas tree is dripping with lights and tinsel, glowing from the flicker of the log fire in the hearth. Perfectly-wrapped presents – Tad's enviable precision – are stacked beneath it. Warmth fills me, my heart swelling with the kind of love reserved for Christmas morning.