Christmas

Christmas was always a massive occasion for you and your family; they’d always rented a cabin in the Appalachian Mountains for the holiday, loaded up in vans and cars and drove the seven hours in the snow to get there. Every year. Since you were twelve.

Tom was extremely excited, having a week away from Coriolanus rehearsals and shows to take a rest and breathe something other than Shakespeare. So sitting next to you in the car was a drowsy Thomas, who kept asking you to pull over for coffee.

“Just go to sleep,” you half laugh, “I’ll wake you up when we get into Pigeon Forge.”

“But I want to see Knoxville, Jo,” his tone of voice is very close to being whiney.

Currently, the two of you were driving through a small town in Tennessee, snow blanketing every surface. The road, thankfully, was clear.

Everyone else had already gone to the cabin a few days before, and seeing as how the two of you had just gotten off the plane you’d be a bit late. The town he so desperately wished to see would be under the cover of nightfall- its lights twinkling in the darkness.

“Promise me,” Tom says, a deep urgency playing through his voice- you turn your head and see his eyes burning through you with humor- “You’ll wake me up when we hit Knoxville.”

 ~~

The cabin is always lovely in the winter at Christmas. The yellow lights glow on the delicate, flaky snow, there’s always the chance that you might fall while walking up the sidewalk (and if you did, there’d be two arms to catch you...). It’s quiet in the mountains like it isn’t anywhere else. You have the sense of being closed off from the rest of the world and it gives you plenty of time to take a deep breath and be free from everything for once.

Cora attacks you both with hugs as soon as you hit the door, immediately insisting that you come and eat some of the cookies she’d just baked. They still needed to be iced, but you knew that wouldn’t be stopping Tom in the least bit.

“Hello sweetheart,” you hear your mother, Amy, say as she leans across the kitchen counter, “Have a good flight?”

“We had some turbulence over the Atlantic- other than that it was fine,” you reply, pulling off your scarf and unzipping your coat.

You give your eyes time to wander over the cabin- the largest room staring you in the face. The living area and kitchen were both connected together, a row of tall windows acting as the entire back wall of the living room. A countertop separated the two areas, the kitchen full of wonderful smells that could only mean Cora’s cookies.

The living room was occupied by your brothers and father, watching the television over the gigantic fireplace that seemed as if the embers were beginning to die.

“Where’s loverboy?” Greg calls out, smiling brightly before hopping up from his seat and entering the kitchen. You’re still pulling off your snow-soaked boots, trying not to get your socks wet in the puddle of water at the door.

Tom had already discarded all of his wet clothing, and had disappeared into the kitchen after Cora.

“Hey Darren!” Greg leans over the countertop toward your other brother, “Come help me tease loverboy!”

“Guys,” you say with a smirk, “He’s pretty tired, I doubt he’ll care.”

Darren, the youngest brother and dreaded middle child, hops up from the couch and joins Greg. The pair of them are almost negative opposites, but they both had the same sense of humor. Greg had the build of a wimpy football player, dark hair short and styled in a way that his wife, Rachel, had instructed. He was half an inch taller than Tom, and always seemed to exert that fact over your husband.

Darren, on the other hand, was built more like a surfer- even though he couldn’t stand on a board to save his life. That trip to the beach had been particularly memorable. He had sandy blonde hair, that was also short, but he nor his wife, Elissa, cared how he fixed it. He was the shortest of the three young men, only a two inch difference between Tom and himself.

You pass by the couch where your father is dozing off, kiss his cheek quickly and continue on the way to the kitchen. Amy and Cora are icing cookies, their backs to the three men who are all gathered around the bar in the center. You lean against the countertop, pulling a stool out to sit on.

“Where’d you get this sweater, loverboy?” Greg asks, poking Tom in the stomach.

The sweater was dark tan and thick- a gift from his mother a week before. Tom had an un-iced cookie halfway to his mouth, looking over at his brother-in-law with tired but teasing eyes.

“My mum got it for me,” he smiles, biting off the head of Santa depicted on the sugar cookie.

“His mum,” Darren smirks, “A flower got you a sweater?”

They always did enjoy making fun of the way he spoke. You found it adorably hilarious.

“Dad, quit picking on Tom,” Cora elbows Greg, her father, in the side, reaching over to get more cookies to cover in icing, “You too, Darren.”

“Ah, my lovely Cora comes to the rescue,” Tom smiles, winking at Greg before coming up behind your niece and kissing her on the cheek quickly while swiping one of her cookies.

“Alright, save some for tomorrow,” Amy swats away Tom’s other hand as it tries to steal another sweet, “These need to last the next few days.”

“Mom just doesn’t want to clean up another Cora mess,” Darren whispers loudly, winking at you.

“Hey!” Cora complains while throwing a wadded up paper towel at her uncle, “I resent that!”

“What’s going on in there?” you hear Rachel nearing closer, her blonde hair coming into view from the other end of the living room. She brightens when she sees you, calling for your other sister-in-law who pops her head through the doorway to the right of the fireplace.

“Jo! You’re here!” Rachel exclaims, rushes over and envelopes you in a hug. Just like Cora.

Like mother, like daughter, they always said.

 ~~

“Are you cold?”

You hear his throaty chuckle before you see his red nose. In the gentle glow of the lights that surround the ice rink, snow falls softly- getting caught in his hair. The breeze is enough to chill you, and you berate yourself for not grabbing a thicker coat before leaving. Or gloves.

Nonetheless, you’re here now- frozen and hoping that someone would be kind enough to offer a ride back to the cabin your family was staying for Christmas. You’d been pestering your Mother all evening for the keys so you could drive back. The promise of a warm fire, hot chocolate… peace and quiet.

Cora had been driving you up the wall asking for details on everything. Are you going to have kids? If so, when? Can I be called Aunt Cora?? Is that okay????

You hadn’t said a word to Tom about it, afraid of what he’d say. Rushing things just seemed like trouble.

And really, your freezing could’ve been avoided entirely had you just listened to him before you left. He told you more than once that you’d need more clothes.

“I’m freezing,” your teeth chatter through the sentence and you try to hug your thin coat around yourself even tighter. It doesn’t help much. Even putting your hands in your armpits didn’t warm your frozen fingers.

Tom, on the other hand, had worn a massive coat that probably felt like the Sahara desert inside. What you’d give to borrow the thing for five minutes…

“Come here,” he laughs and starts unzipping his coat.

You don’t need to be told twice.

 ~Tom's POV~

I told her. More than once.

Jo, you’re going to need more layers than that.

She’s always cold, you’d think she’d understand this by now. I’ve been watching her for the past half an hour. Cora’s been pestering her, and I just thought it best if I stay away from that… I’d caught a bit of what Cora said earlier… and well. Rushing things. I think.

Jo thinks she’s so sneaky. So, so, stealthy that I didn’t notice that she’s been begging Amy for the keys to the truck for the past hour. Just so I can’t say that I told her so.

But I can’t just let her stand there and catch pneumonia, shivering in the starlight. Snow starts falling, getting caught in her hair, and I give in.

“Come here,” I unzip my coat, ushering her inside its warm boundaries before zipping it back up with her arms wrapped tightly around my waist. She presses her red nose into my chest, then her almost blue lips while sniffing loudly.

“You’re so warm,” she groans quietly, snuggling closer. I tighten my grip on her, quickly kissing a snowflake out of her hair.

“I told you to bring another coat,” I hum- happily proven right, yet again.

It’s then that I realize that I shouldn’t have said that.

Suddenly, two hands climb underneath my sweater, bypass my t-shirt and press into my skin with an iciness that could cut through a Frost Giant.

I jump at the chill in my bones, hiss through clenched teeth.

She laughs, a ringing in my ears- one that plays with me; it lilts and sings, becoming muffled in the plane of my sweater.

“Why would I?” She looks up, eyes dancing, “I’ve got you.”

~~

Christmas morning is probably one of your most favorite times in the short year.

You wake up, not really enveloped in Tom’s arms the way you imagined you might be had this been a romantic comedy Christmas film airing on the Hallmark channel. But then again, you weren’t a widowed woman with a young child, secretly mooning over the Dean-Cain-esque male lead- who you had to pretend not to like. Then you magically end up beneath mistletoe and... the rest is cheesy history.

What were you thinking about again?

Oh, yes. It’s Christmas morning.

You’re more pressed into your husband more than anything. One of his arms drapes over you lamely, his low, soft breathing heating your ear and neck. He still seemed to be suffering the time change, despite being here for a week.

“Tom,” you whisper, hoping not to wake Greg and Rachel in the other bed. You’d had to share rooms this year- but the cabin thankfully was furnished to supply room to four couples and a group of children.

Tom shifts, nuzzling deeper into your warmth.

“Love?” You try again, beginning to roll over to face the man whose hair is completely going everywhere this morning.

His eyes slowly drift open and focus in the still dark room.

“Hmm?”

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper, a place a chaste kiss to his lips, intending to snuggle back under the covers into his chest.

But he doesn’t let you.

“Happy Christmas, my love,” he whispers back, catching your lips and kissing you much more deeply than you thought he ever would while in a room with two other people.

You suppress a groan, wanting to push him away before something happened that would disturb someone.

“Would you like your present now?” Tom asks, grinning into your lips.

You giggle while breaking away, and instead of dignifying him with an answer, you kiss the hollow of his neck and hug your arms around him, falling into complete and utter love with him all over again.

You sigh in content as he traces circles over your back, “I love you.”

“Love you too, Jo.”

You can hear his smile. The best Christmas present you could get.

~~

I very much like Christmas in July. I celebrate it by watching QVC and wishing for items they show on the telly.

Thoughts, as always, my lovelies, are extremely appreciated.