The Girl I Loved Once

Chapter 36

Christmas morning is quiet this year. Usually, we go to Gens's house for brunch and we all celebrate the holiday season drinking mimosas with expensive champagne and fresh-pressed orange juice, while her family's personal chef makes crispy waffles and bacon. We'd spend the day there,  then change for the big Christmas party her dad had for the firm. Her whole house would be decked out in lights and garland and all sorts of colorful festivities, and it all came together with the twelve-foot tree that stood tall in the center of her house. Gen would be wearing some fancy dress by a prestigious designer, and I'd have heard about the dress so many times before she wore it that it was all I could do to feign a surprised look when she glided down the stairs in some overpriced gown with fancy shoes and tacky jewelry. 

This year it was different. There was store-bought orange juice instead of fresh-pressed mimosas,  Bisquick Mickey-shaped waffles instead of homemade, and powdered hot chocolate instead of fancy french hot chocolate that always made you feel a little nauseous after. This, for me, was the ideal Christmas. No suit, no Gen, no pressure to be interesting, or use the right fork. Just Bisquick waffles with out of a can whipped cream, the matching flannels my mom put my brother and me in which was all illuminated by the lights of the 5 foot Christmas tree in my living room that held various ornaments from family road trips and vacations. Owen and I sat at the breakfast bar with our waffles and Christmas music playing from the tiny TV in the corner of the kitchen. 

"More cocoa, Peter?" My mom asked. I shook my head. "No, thanks. I'm full-on mickey heads." She gestured towards Owen, who also shook his head. 

"I still think we should have gone to Gen's house," Own stated. "They can't force us to leave because they're trapped under social obligation to be hospitable. They're too polite."

"Owen we're having a family Christmas this year. Is my hot cocoa not good enough for you? Do you really want that fancy french crap when you could have my powdered Swiss Miss?"

"Yes! Very much so!"

Mom gave a feigned offended look. 

"Well, I'm happy to not be at Gens this year. I, for one, enjoy, even prefer moms powder to the, how did you put it? Fancy french crap?" I say gallantly. She laughed, walking me with a dishtowel as I put mine and Owens dishes in the sink. 

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas comes on the radio. "Oh!" My mom says, clasping her hands and closing her eyes. "I remember when you boys were little and you used to stand on my feet and slow dance with me to this song in the living room. Owen get up and dance with me!" My mom said, trying to pull Owen off his chair. He resisted. 

"Forget him, mom, I'll dance with you," I said, putting myself into the ballroom hold sketched into my mind from the dance classes my mom made me take as a little kid. (she always called me her little Fred Astaire)

We swayed to Judy Garlands' voice, and I grandly danced and dipped my mom, which made her laugh. "Mamas boy!" Owen yelled. "And proud of it!" I say back. The song ends, and my mom is laughing and clapping and wiping tears from her eyes. 

It was a nice Christmas. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Presents were unwrapped, dinner was eaten, and Miracle on 34th street was playing. I check my phone for the first time all day. No text message or phone call from Lara Jean. I shut off my phone and chuck it across the floor. I'll deal with that later. Tomorrow I could be Peter Kavinsky and deal with life's dramas and worries and Lara Jean and Gen and the whole school thinking we did it in a bacteria-infested hot tub. But today, on Christmas, I was just Peter, a mamas boy who baked cookies with his mom in matching plaid pajama pants. 

Sorry for the wait! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Leave a vote and a comment!