A Storm Is Brewing

The One Before the Last One

"Babe, you know you can read the instructions, yeah?"
"They're in French."

I picked up the instructions, flipping them to the opposite side and setting them down beside her. I could see her eyes glancing at it, desperately not wanting what she thought to be true.

"That obviously just appeared there. There was no English on it when I checked."
"Magic."

She rolled her eyes at me, finally getting somewhere with the scooter now that she was following the instructions.

"I love you, you know." She hummed.

Those were my favourite kind of declarations of love—the ones that seemed to come from nowhere.

"Did you just decide that?" I chuckled.

She set down the screwdriver for a second and leaned back against the sofa, pushing the boxes that were between us out of the way and patting the floor beside her. I shuffled across, not caring how pathetically quick I had responded to her floor patting.

"You just always know what I need."
"English instructions?"
"No." She rolled her eyes.

She took another sip from her glass of wine before wrapping her arm around my shoulders.

"You say magic when you know I don't need to hear that I didn't look properly."

I knew what she meant; it wasn't about the word magic or even the instructions; it was about being able to recognise what she was thinking or feeling without having to be told. It was Christmas Eve, and she was stressed about getting things built as quietly as possible, and on first glance, the instructions didn't seem to be any help. She didn't need to tell me that, but I knew.

"You do that for me all the time." I smiled up at her.
"Do I?"
"Yeah. Like when the boys are being noisy in the mornings, it's usually my favourite sound in the world, but on the one morning that it's a little too much or I'm feeling too stressed, you take them to a different room or distract them with some have-to-be-quiet game. I don't even think you realise you're doing it, but I see it."
"Who would've thought it, ay? All those years ago, when we were watching Nativity with Liv, we had no idea what lay ahead for us."
"Are you trying to say you didn't picture all of this when you heard me rap that night?" I gasped dramatically.
"Actually, at that point, I pictured the divorce."

I pretended to be offended, trying to shift away from her, but her arms just tightened around me as she planted tiny pecks across my face.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."
"Hm." I shrugged.
"I'm not letting go until you say it back."
"Love you."
"Sophie."
"Yes, dear?"
"Say it back properly, dear."
"I love you. Don't ever call me dear again. It reminds me of my granny." I chuckled.
"You started it!"
"You reminded me of my granny!"
"How?" She chuckled.
"She struggled to read things properly when she got old too."

That one earned me an offended nudge, but it was just another moment when I realised how far we'd come in the last year. If someone had told me that we would ever have this kind of atmosphere on Christmas Eve again, I would've been convinced they were lying.

By the time we were finished building toys, I could safely say that between the two of us, we had exhausted the swear word dictionary and made a mental list of toys that would be purchased already built next year. Jacob and David arrived just before midnight, doing their yearly macho routine of being the lads to sort the outside gifts, which consisted of a trampoline and little cars.

With almost everything completed, we had one last thing to check off the list. It was my favourite one, and the only thing that got me through last Christmas without losing my mind.