Jeremy cleared his throat and read aloud, “Hello, son. Honolulu was too crowded for our tastes. We have really enjoyed Maui. Sean sends his love. We all do. Max looks like a nice young man. We look forward to meeting him some time. Merry Christmas.”
Exhaling the breath he’d been holding, Max asked, “How do you feel?”
Jeremy blinked back tears. “Good, I think? Better, at least.”
“C’mere.” Max hugged him tightly, and Jeremy pressed his face into Max’s chest, his sob muffled.
The stairs creaked, and Valerie called, “Are you two still up? Santa will—” Wearing matching pajamas decorated with reindeer, she skidded to a halt in the living room, her slippers making a whooshing sound. Her ponytail swayed. “My goodness. Is everything all right?”
Jeremy swiped at his face and nodded, slipping out of Max’s arms. “Uh-huh! It is. Sorry.”
Valerie gave him a kind smile. “Don’t be, hon.”
“I’m just going to—” Jeremy motioned to the stairs. “I’ll be back.”
“Take your time,” Max said, giving him smile.
Valerie watched him go, then whispered, “I hope his parents are still being ‘civil.’ Oh, I’d really like a word with them sometime.”
“Get in line. But I think they’re coming around. I hope so.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, I’m not staying up all night, so you’ll just have to pretend you don’t see me putting the presents from Santa under the tree.” She ducked into the dining room and took a half-filled black garbage bag from the bottom of a rustic sideboard.
Max clutched his chest. “Childhood. Illusions. Shattered.”
“Yes, I’m afraid to tell you that your father and I are Santa Claus.” She clucked her tongue. “We’ve tried to shield you from life’s harsh realities as best we could.”
Laughing, Max joined her by the tree. As a teenager, he’d rolled his eyes at Valerie’s insistence at still putting presents from Santa under the tree on Christmas Eve, but now he liked the tradition. He grabbed presents from the bag, reattaching a bow to one of them. He checked the tag.
“Wait, this says ‘Jeremy.’”
Valerie glanced over from where she was squeezing presents into his dad’s stocking. “I got him some stocking stuffers, nice thick socks, a turtleneck, and some of those great hand-warmers from Canadian Tire. He won’t be used to real winter if he grew up in Victoria. Oh, and I hope you kids are still using Spotify. The little box for him is a year’s subscription.”
Max stared at her as she hummed along to “Up on the Rooftop” playing on the TV and filled the stockings—including the non-personalized guest stocking, which was clearly for Jeremy. When she turned back to the garbage bag, she jolted.
“Max? What is it?”
“Does it bug you that I don’t call you ‘mom’?” Oh God. He’d finally asked it out loud.
Valerie blinked, her eyebrows shooting up. “What? No, sweetheart.”
He fidgeted, trying to say it the right way now that he’d brought it up after so long. “It’s just, sometimes I feel like I should. But it doesn’t feel right because she was my mom and that’s what I called her.”
“Of course.” Valerie was using her best soothing voice, and it helped Max breathe.
“But Meg calls Dad that.” Max grimaced. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes. And that’s her choice.” She smiled wryly. “As you know, her birth father didn’t hang around long enough for her to call him anything, so it’s easier for Meg. But you can call me whatever you want.”
In unison, they said, “As long as you don’t call me late for dinner.”
It felt damn good to laugh. Valerie smiled fondly. “You used to roll your eyes whenever my mamy said that, but you always secretly loved her corny sayings.”
“I did,” Max admitted. He smiled tremulously, on the edge of crying and he wasn’t even sure why.
“Max, your mom was a wonderful woman. I wish I could have known her, which probably sounds a little funny since I’m married to your dad. I could never take her place. But we can love people in different ways. There’s a whole world of love to give.”
Throat tight, he nodded, tears burning his eyes. “You’ve been—” He motioned to the stockings and the presents under the tree. “You’ve always been an amazing mother to me. And thank you for thinking about Jeremy.”
She smiled, blinking away her own tears. “You’ve been the most wonderful son I could ask for. And we can’t have poor Jeremy sitting there watching us all open presents. That’s just being a good host.”
“It’s more than that. Thank you.”
She swatted the air. “Oh, don’t be silly.” She sniffed and put on a bright smile. “Here’s Jeremy. How are you doing, hon?”
Jeremy entered the living room hesitantly. “I’m okay. Are…you guys okay?”
“Yep!” Valerie answered. “How about a midnight snack? It’s Christmas, after all. Jeremy, there’s a jug of Papy’s cider in the bottom of the fridge. Can you get it heating on the stove? Do you know how to work a gas range?”
Jeremy nodded eagerly and hurried out. Valerie said, “Let’s finish this up quick smart.” She took Max’s chin and kissed his cheek with a loud smack the way she used to when he was still a kid.
Soon, all the presents were in place, the cider was steaming, and the leftover pets-de-soeur from a batch Papy had made that morning were warming. The door to his room opened with a creak, his shuffling steps nearing the kitchen.
“Dad, you’re supposed to be fast asleep!” Valerie chided.
“I had to piss, and I smelled what you’re up to out here.”
“We all smelled it!” Max’s father said as he entered the kitchen. “Is this for Santa?”
Meg followed him. “I was watching YouTube, but I’m not missing out.”
Valerie huffed in exasperation. “It’s after midnight!”
“And since we skipped out on mass this year, we can worship at the altar of Papy’s treats.” Meg grinned and crossed herself. “Amen.” She gave Jeremy a wink and led him out of the kitchen.
Max stayed to help Valerie and Dad ladle out the cider into mugs while the others relaxed in the living room, their off-key singing of “Jingle Bells” ringing out.
It had nagged at him that Jeremy had told his parents they were dating, and since it was apparently the night for confessions, he blurted, “Jeremy and I… Well, I think we really like each other.”
After a beat of silence, Valerie and Dad shared a look. “You don’t say!” Valerie struggled to keep a straight face.
Max had to laugh. “Okay, you figured it out. Or Meg blabbed.”
“Your sister did not blab,” Dad said. “No need. No need whatsoever.”
Valerie grinned. “Jeremy looks at you like you hung the moon, the stars, and Pluto to boot. And you beam it right back to him.”
“Poor Pluto.” Dad shook his head solemnly. “I still say it got a raw deal.”