Louise Bentley is a feisty, wild, 'let's-go-to-Capri-for-the-weekend-yeah?' kind of girl. She spends her days working at a party-planning company. Oh, and she never wants kids. Ever.
Ben Langford is a studious, quiet, 'I'm-busy-reading' sort of man...
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Ben had never really celebrated Christmas.
He'd grown up watching the American holiday films, marvelling at the mansion-sized houses draped in twinkling lights, snow, and — inexplicably — inflatable snowmen. The characters in those films were always baking cookies or opening stockings, skating with hot chocolate or decorating a pine tree.
It hadn't been like that, for them.
Ben's father had ruined Christmas. He'd left on December 24th, which meant that Ben's mother spent most years curled up in bed, staring blankly at the wall. James would make a big fuss about making hot chocolate — loaded with marshmallows, whipped cream, sprinkles, and a chocolate flake — and they'd put on "Home Alone," but that was about it.
No presents.
No tree.
Come to think of it, Ben didn't really know how to celebrate Christmas.
When he voiced this to Louise, she'd almost dropped her knife. "You've never celebrated Christmas?"
"Not really."
She looked thoughtful. "Was that because of religious reasons?"
It was a valid question, Ben reflected; his mother had been born into a Muslim family in Morocco, so it made sense that she wouldn't have made a big fuss over a Christian holiday. But he shook his head.
"We were raised atheist," he said.
"Hmm." Louise went back to chopping an avocado. "Have you ever celebrated Christmas?"
Ben nodded. "When I was really, really young."
He explained the situation: his father leaving; his mother crying; James and his hot chocolate. By the time he'd finished, Louise was sprinkling feta cheese on her avocado toast. She took a bite. Wiped crumbs from her mouth.
"Alright," Louise said. "Let's make a list."
"A list?"
"A bucketlist of activities." She grabbed a pen. "I'm about to show you the magic of the commercialized Christmas season, Langford. Buckle up."
Over the next three weeks, Louise made good on her word: they took the kids to visit Santa; they played ring toss at Winter Wonderland; they went skating at the Natural History Museum (Ben was terrible but improved significantly after a gingerbread martini). They decorated a tree, sang carols, and watched half-a-dozen Christmas films.
Which only left one thing. Hence today's activity.
Ben eyed the silver mixing bowl. "Are you sure that's okay?"
"What?" Louise asked.
"Vienna," Ben clarified. "Eating raw flour."
The toddler was sitting in the sink, happily licking cookie dough off a wooden spoon. Louise put a mitted hand on her hip. Assessed her.
