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“Daphne,” I feel warm breath on my neck and a hand on my shoulder.
“Hmf,” I manage to get out as the sound of my name wakes me up from sleep.
“Daphne, are you up?” the voice says again as the warm hand on my shoulder gently shakes me. It takes me a second to regain enough consciousness to recognize that the hand shaking me awake belongs to my boyfriend.
“Look, it’s snowing,” Miles points to the tiny window beside him. “We should be landing soon.”
It’s then that I recognize that I’m not laying in my warm bed but in fact sleeping upright in an economy size airplane seat. Because Miles and I are currently on a flight from Traverse City to Baltimore to visit my mother for the holidays.
I lay my head on Miles’s shoulder, sleepiness still wafting over me. “Hmm,” I manage to get out. “And beating a blizzard,” I joke while yawning.
Miles places a soft kiss on my forehead, and my entire body instantly warms. He places a hand on my knee and mindlessly drums his fingers on it while staring out the window again.
Miles doesn’t have many nervous ticks, due to the fact that he’s not a particularly nervous person. I took on that role in this relationship, given that I am the reason we arrived at our gate two hours early. But I know him well enough to recognize the few that he does have.
I put my hand over his, and he automatically turns his palm upwards at my touch, intertwining our fingers together. I press my lips to the spot of skin under his ear. “Hey,” I say, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, turning towards me, eyes softening as his gaze focuses on me.
“It’s going to be fine,” I reassure him. “She’s going to completely love you just like everyone does.”
When Mom first suggested that I bring Miles with me to Maryland for the holidays, I was ecstatic. It solved my grievance of having to choose to spend the holidays with either my beloved mother or the man I love. And it was the perfect opportunity for my two favorite people to finally meet each other.
Miles was also excited. Julia was going to spend Christmas with her new boyfriend’s family in Grand Rapids, so he had no qualms about leaving her behind. And he’s been wanting to meet my mom for a while now, given that he’s already exhausted all the charm he could possibly exude over phone and video calls.
That being said, the closer we’ve gotten to now, the more anxious I’ve seen him become—which for Miles isn’t much. But he’s been asking a lot more questions about my mom. What kinds of jokes does she find funny? What types of food does she like? Does she have any allergies? I’m serious, Daphne, please tell me if your mom has any kind of allergy because I do not want to make my first impression by accidentally poisoning her.
“Yeah, I think so,” he tells me now. “I guess I’m just weird around moms.” He huffs in a self-effacing way, “I wonder why.”
My heart seizes at that. Since he started going to therapy, he’s been slowly opening up about his childhood. Rather than locking it away in the dark corners of his mind, hoping that eventually it’ll disappear, he’s been cautiously integrating its reality into his present life. Mostly in the form of offhanded recollections of stories from his past—good and bad ones alike—as well as dark jokes that only Miles can make sound endearing.
“I know plenty of grandmothers in Waning Bay who would say otherwise,” I say as I rub his chest with my other hand, feeling his heartbeat through his hoodie.
I know that Miles has spent the last few Christmases at his ex’s snobby family’s house. All of whom never deserved the gift that is his presence. All I want this year is to show him better.
“My mom is not like other moms,” I promise. “I’ve told her literally everything about you. She knows all that’s happened since we met and she’s still so excited to meet you. There is literally no way this could go bad. And I’m the queen of expecting things to go bad, so you have to trust me.”
He laughs brightly, using his other hand to squeeze mine on his chest. “You’re right.” He then brings it up to his lips so he can kiss my palm.
The overhead announcements state that we will be descending shortly. And before I know it, we’re off the plane and waiting for our luggage at baggage claim.
“Mom’s just parked. I told her we’ll be at pickup as soon as we get our bags,” I tell Miles, looking up from my texts.
“Sounds good.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder while sending our group chat with Julia and Ashleigh a message that we landed safely.
We’re able to escape baggage claim the second we can and head to the pickup area. And soon enough I’m within the slight line of my beautiful mother, and then I’m in her arms.
“I missed you so much, baby,” she says into my hair, as if we didn’t FaceTime right before we got on the plane. Even though I visited her after the Read-a-thon, our time apart always feels way too long.
“I missed you too, Mom,” I say. And then we separate. Miles waits a respectful distance away with both of our bags. His tired but genuine grin accentuates his dimples and perfect teeth. The natural light highlights the faint shadow already appearing on his face despite shaving his beard off the night before—his choice, not mine!
“Mom,” I say, leading both of us towards him. “This is Miles.”
Mom doesn’t even hesitate before wrapping her arms around Miles. He’s a bit taken aback at first, but eases into the hug quickly. They exchange a few words that I don’t totally hear. But then I pick up Mom saying something like, “Thank you for looking after my daughter last summer.”
I can’t help but blush a bit at that. Miles chuckles, “I didn’t do anything. It was all her, honestly.”
“Okay, Mom. Can you at least wait until we are in the car to start embarrassing me?” I joke.
Mom’s eyes sparkle. “Oh, don’t worry, Daph, I’ve already picked out your best childhood photos to share,” she bites back playfully.
I roll my eyes in amusement. Miles also seems tickled by our banter. “Please tell me you have some from when she wore braces,” he asks Mom as we start making our way to her car. She laughs as if saying, oh, I absolutely do.
I bump him with my elbow. “Okay, you’re officially uninvited.” He responds by throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close to him.
Our conversation continues like this throughout our long drive through the Maryland winter back to Mom’s apartment. We tell Mom about the man asleep in the plane seat beside ours who we were convinced at one point wasn’t breathing. She tells us about a lady she saw as she was parking who had no less than twelve bags packed for a domestic flight.
I’m delighted at how easily Miles fits into our dynamic. Not that I’m surprised. By the time we get to Mom’s place, she and Miles are laughing like they’re old friends.
She gives him a tour of her one-bedroom apartment—which takes three seconds—and ends with her showing us to our “room,” AKA the living room with her pullout coach made up for us.
“And here’s where you’ll be sleeping,” she says as she fluffs up one of the pillows.
“Together?” Miles asks.
My mom raises her eyebrow, amused. “What, you two don’t sleep in the same bed?”
Miles’s cheeks redden adorably. “No,” he starts, slightly sheepish. “We do. It’s just—”
“Thank you for being a gentleman, babe,” I save him, coming over to place my hand on his back. “But Mom is cool.”
“You didn’t think that when I did the condom-banana demonstration for you when you were fourteen.”
I crinkle my nose. “And I’m still traumatized by that.”
“But it worked!” She exclaims.
Mom then gives us time to settle in and make ourselves at home as she goes out for a quick jog before lunch. How that woman can wake up at the crack of dawn to drive two hours to the airport and two hours back and still have the energy to go on a jog in the middle of December is something I’ll never understand.
The adrenaline I got from being in the same room as my mom disappears from my body as soon as she leaves. I flop onto our makeshift bed. Miles snaps a picture of me to send to the group chat. I stick my tongue out at him.
He chuckles, sitting on the bed and leaning down so his face hangs just inches above mine. His hand travels to my hip, thumb catching the bare skin from where my sweatshirt has ridden up. That alone is enough to send lightning bolts through my body.
I tip my chin up to meet his lips. He kisses me back, parting his lips to let my tongue in. His grip tightens on my hip before his fingertips slowly trail up the skin beneath my sweatshirt.
I deepen this kiss. His hand is on my stomach with the ease of someone who knows my body intimately. My hands curl into his airplane-tangled hair. I feel his pulse quicken as my thumb traces his jaw. His entire weight is on top of me now. Despite my best efforts, I let out a whimper that is muffled by our kiss, but it encourages him nonetheless. His hand slides up from my stomach to cup me through my sports bra. And it would be so easy to completely lose myself here. To forget about all sense of time and space except for his touch.
“We can’t have sex on my mom’s pullout coach.” I manage to breathe out as I begrudgingly break our lips apart. “She’s cool, but she’s not that cool.”
Miles winces, rolling off of me and landing face up beside me. “I know,” he says, running his hand down his face, before sitting up on his elbows. “In my defense, I wasn’t trying to start anything.”
“I’m aware,” I say to the ceiling with my eyes shut. Because I don’t know what my body will do if I look at his gorgeous face right now.
I can hear him snickering beside me as the mattress loses some of its weight. I only open my eyes to look at him when I feel his grip on both of my wrists, lightly dragging me up into a sitting position.
“So,” Miles starts. He puts his hands on his hips as if trying to work out a logic puzzle. “I guess that's true for the next twelve days too,” he says slowly, like he’s made a terrifying realization.
Fuck. He’s right. We didn’t get a hotel room because Mom begged us not to, claiming it would be a waste of time and money. And even if we wanted to, there is no way any decent place hasn’t already been booked. We don’t even have a car here (for driving around, not for sex. Though evidently neither of us is above that). Twelve days will be the longest we’ve ever gone without sex since we got together.
Miles must clearly see the panic in my eyes because he chortles, then leans down to peck me on the lips. “It’s okay,” he says. He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on my face. “We’re adults. We can control ourselves for two weeks. Especially for a season as pure as Christmas.”
It’s hard to completely believe that when he’s looking down at me with his playful eyes, disheveled hair, and that sexy smirk on his sexy face.
It’s the sound of Mom’s keys opening the door that breaks the tension. Miles takes a few huge steps away from me, trying to pretend the conversation we just had was completely innocent. Mom steps in with a plastic bag of styrofoam containers in one hand and a carrier of orange sodas in another.
Burgers and fries turn out to be a great distraction.
“You’ve absolutely been ice staking before!” Mom insists over lunch the next day.
“I have absolutely no memory of this,” I say without a doubt.
Mom is trying to convince us to go ice skating with her in the city square. To which I said I’ve never been ice skating before and don’t know how to. To which she said that she absolutely did take me staking when I was thirteen back when we lived in St. Louis. And now here we are, unpacking this alleged skating trip.
“Seriously? You don’t remember wearing those bright pink skates? You and I did spins all over that outdoor rink and you loved it up until you tripped and bruised your ankle. You were so upset until we got that candy cane hot chocolate.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I really don’t. I am willing to go with you today, though, just because I feel bad for forgetting that one,” I acquiesce. I know I made the right decision because Mom beams.
I turn to Miles, “Do you know how to ice stake?”
“I play hockey. So yeah,” he shrugs innocuously.
“Right. Hockey. Michigan. I knew that. I should have put that together.”
It’s only in the middle of this ice skating activity that I realize the huge mistake I made bringing two highly athletic people like Miles and my mom together.
Mom skates circles around me. “There’s no way CrossFit taught you this!” I yell as she passes me for a fourth time.
“I’ve told you we’ve done this before,” she responds.
I, on the other hand, am being held up by my boyfriend’s strong arms, which I would normally never complain about, except for the fact that I’m wobbling like crazy and genuinely convinced I will fall straight on my ass and never get back up if he lets me go.
“It’s okay, Daphne. You’re not gonna fall,” he reassures me. “I’m gonna let go—”
“No, don’t!” I exclaim, pulling myself even closer into his hold. I can feel his cold breath on my cheek as he chuckles into my ear.
“You can go without me. Just lead me back off the rink. I don’t want to hold you back,” I tell him.
“Daphne, why would I want to do anything without you?” He says against my ear. My freezing blood immediately turns warm, and it’s probably this that makes me more agreeable to his next suggestion.
“I’m gonna lead us around the rink once. Just follow my foot movements. I’m gonna hold your hand as tight as possible, and I promise you that if you even think about slipping, I’ll catch you.” His tone is so sure, so resolute that almost all my hesitation vanishes. I immediately trust him.
To Miles’s credit, his suggestion does go well. We make it around the rink once without any issue as I copy Miles’s footwork. I also squeeze his hand so tight that I start feeling his heartbeat through his worn glove.
“You’re getting the hang of this!” he exclaims encouragingly.
I look straight at him. He’s looking back. His smile wide and brighter than the snow around us. His cheeks tinged slightly pink from the cold. Snowflakes are catching in his eyebrows. I can see his icy breath, but he’s never felt warmer to me.
Which, of course, is the moment I fail to see the woman right in front of us. Before I have a chance to slow down, I bump directly into her. She is able to catch herself in time.
I do not have the same luck. I completely lose my balance and find myself crashing. I can feel Miles’s weight as he tries to pull me back against gravity, but my gracelessness is contiguous, and before I realize it, we’re both going down. Miles’s gloved hand finds the back of my head to lessen the impact as he lands quite literally on top of me.
Everything hurts. But when he looks down at me, and I up at him, we both burst into laughter. Eventually, Miles is the one to untangle our limbs and pull me up with him. He brushes snow out of my hair. I readjust his hat. Before I can say anything, he pulls me against him and kisses me, right there in the middle of the busy rink. “See. You did great,” he proclaims as we break apart. And the puppy dog grin on his face is how I know he genuinely means it.
I don’t realize until Miles is leading me back to the sidelines that Mom saw that entire thing. I would be embarrassed, if not for the fact that she has a huge smile on her face. And because at least now we can all go out for hot chocolate.
THEY ARE A MARATHON FAMILY!!!!!
This is the text I wake up to on the morning of Christmas Eve, sent by Julia to our group chat at 5 AM.
WE’RE TRAINING FOR A GODDAMN 5K ON CHRISTMAS, is sent at 7 AM.
I’m going to break up with him, is the most recent message that pings on my phone now at 9:37.
Honestly, the fact that it took Julia this long before she found something wrong with this guy and inevitably dumped him is huge growth for her. I text her so in our group chat. Ashleigh likes my message.
It’s the smell of frying onions wafting from the kitchen that makes me realize that Miles isn’t in bed with me. I miss his body heat. So far, our decision to keep our hands to ourselves over this trip hasn’t been as torturous as we thought. Mainly because our evenings thus far have consisted of the three of us watching old-school Christmas movies together until late, which is a surprisingly great anaphrodisiac.
I pad into the kitchen, wrapping a thin quilt over my shoulders as I adjust to the temperature change. I grab onto Miles’s shoulder so I can reach up to kiss him on the cheek. He turns to kiss my forehead before focusing back on the onions. Mom is facing the counter across from the stove, slicing red peppers.
I hug her good morning as well. “We’re making frittata,” Mom exclaims with the excitement of a woman who rarely participates in the cooking process.
I frown. “You didn’t wake me to help.”
“Thought you deserved to sleep in,” Miles says.
Mom adds, “Especially given how hard you wiped out yesterday,” to which Miles cackles.
“You know, I was gonna offer to do dishes, but now I’m not,” I say as I begin to make my exit.
Miles grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze, amused by my petulance. “Go take a shower. Breakfast will be ready when you’re done,” he says sweetly.
But when I return to the kitchen after my morning shower, the energy of the room has noticeably shifted. Miles and my mom are standing beside each other now, heads tilted like they were just in deep conversation. Neither of them are as cheery as they were twenty minutes ago. And Mom’s eyes are glassy, like she was close to crying.
When I ask if everything’s okay, I watch them both snap back into their earlier selves. Like nothing happened, Mom says, “Of course, baby!” and then, “I’m sure this will be delicious, Miles. Thank you so much for making it.”
“You’re welcome, Holly. And thanks for your help,” Miles says as he takes the frittata out of the oven. He then shoots me one of his classic cool guy grins.
Mom darts out of the room to set the table, and I place a hand on Miles’s shoulder, forcing him to look at me. “Seriously, what did you talk about?” I ask.
Miles gives me a small smile. “Nothing bad,” he assures, “Just…” he starts, trying to find the right word, then shrugs. “Life.”
He then wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him. “I think your mom and I are bonding,” he whispers in my ear.
Mom promised her friend, Pam, that she’d arrive early to help her set up her home for her holiday party. Which means that Miles and I got roped into moving Pam’s hor d’oeuvres table from the dining room to the kitchen and then back to the dining room. While Mom and I are setting out the trays of hor d’oeuvres, Miles gets tasked with a plethora of chores, including changing all the lightbulbs in Pam’s house, for some reason.
By the time guests start arriving and the party is in full swing, I find Miles by the bar cart, making a whiskey sour for an older woman I recognize as Pam’s sister. I snap a picture from a distance and send it to the group chat. You can take the bartender out of Michigan, I caption it. When he’s done, I walk over and wrap my arms around his torso from behind.
“You really don’t need to be a bartender here,” I tease. “You’re on vacation.”
I feel his chuckle reverberate through both of our bodies, and the sensation warms me even better than the thick wool sweater I’m wearing. “I really didn’t mean to.” He turns around in my arms to face me. “I was just standing here and next thing I know I’m making Claire a drink.”
“Claire? Of course you’re already on a first-name basis with half the people in this room,” I say.
“A little under half, if we’re being honest.”
“Well, I’d be careful serving Claire. I heard two years ago she got so drunk she knocked over the tree,” I tell him.
His eyes widen. “Please tell me someone got that on video,” he says.
“Unfortunately, no. Mom said everyone else was also plastered. These parties get pretty boozy, if you haven’t already guessed.”
“Oh, I’ve seen that. Pam’s uncle was about to pour scotch into his glass of white wine,” Miles says, emphasizing the horror in that statement like the wine guy he is. “I talked him into using gin instead so at least he’d have something drinkable.”
I laugh, reaching up to kiss the crease that formed between his eyebrows. “You’re a Christmas hero.” I then grab his hand and lead him away from the bar cart. “Come on. Let me introduce you to Mom’s friends so you can tell them how you saved the day.”
As predicted, Miles makes a fantastic impression on my mom’s friends. Pam, Jan, and Pam’s sisters all immediately fall in love with him. Even Mom’s male gym friend who she’s been talking to all evening seems taken with Miles.
What really surprises me is how interested Mom’s friends seem in me. They ask me about my job, my apartment, and even suggest we play poker together before the night ends. When I mention this to Miles afterwards, he just smirks. “Of course your mom brags about you to her friends, Daphne. Anyone lucky enough to love you should be,” to which all I can do in response is blush.
A group of us do end up playing poker around Pam’s circular breakfast table. We all make bets that we’re probably too drunk to think through. Miles has good cards, but I call his bluffs easily. He calls mine right back, and I’m reminded of why we don’t play poker together. We know each other too well.
The pot slowly grows. All of Mom’s friends fold one by one. Then I do, but I’m happy to at least get to the final three. It’s down to Mom and Miles now.
Mom—who has likely drunk more tonight than she has all year—goes all in. I see Miles hesitate. Then he glances at me, like he’s asking if what he’s about to do is okay. I want to laugh at how adorable he is, but I’m too into the game, so I just nod. He matches and they both reveal their cards. It’s close, but Miles wins.
The table erupts into hollers and cheers to mark the end of a tense game. Mom just laughs and rounds the table to hug Miles. “Nice one, honey,” she says with a huge grin. Then she reaches for her purse. Miles tells her that’s not necessary, that he was just playing for fun. Then Jan jumps in, “Let her pay you, kid. She’s probably got more money in the bank than you do,” to which everyone roars in laughter.
Christmas Day is a lot slower, much quieter than the night before. I wake up in Miles’s arms as he kisses me good morning and wishes me a Merry Christmas. I say it back, and we lie together, cuddling, watching the snow land on the balcony through the window beside us. Neither of us in a rush to leave our tiny couch-bed on a chilly morning.
We start our morning eating cinnamon pancakes topped with strawberries and whipped cream. We take our time exchanging presents by the tree, still pyjama-clad, eating sugar cookies and drinking stovetop hot cocoa while Mom’s Bing Crosby record plays in the background.
Miles and I have a group FaceTime call with Ashleigh and Julia. We all wish each other a Merry Christmas and share updates about our holiday trips so far. Mom joins in on the tail-end of our call, and I officially introduce her to Ashleigh and Julia. After we all say our goodbyes, Mom hands us pamphlets to her favorite takeout places that she knows will be open today and tells us to pick dinner for tonight.
We set up the living room for our final Christmas movie night while Mom transfers the Korean barbecue from its takeout containers to her more festive plates.
Mom chooses the first movie of the night, It Happened on Fifth Avenue, and afterwards, Miles and I share our pick, an action movie we’ve been saving for this very day, Die Hard. All three of us agree that both films are of equal quality and relevance for the holiday.
It’s the type of quiet Christmas that Mom and I often had throughout my childhood. A type of Christmas that I used to take for granted, but now value as some of the most important memories of my life. And as I snuggle closer against Miles’s shoulder and exchange a look with my mom, I know for sure that this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.
It’s nightfall by the time I exit the shower with wet hair and fresh pyjamas. There’s about an hour left of Christmas Day, and we’re all unwinding, preparing for bed. I find Miles sitting atop our unmade bed, listening intently to someone on the phone.
He spots me, his demeanor becoming brighter as he mouths Julia and fondly shakes his head. I giggle, imagining Miles talking Julia out of spending hundreds on a cab back to Waning Bay. I give him space to talk with his sister, and head to Mom’s bedroom door.
“You still up?” I knock gently on the door.
Mom is sitting up in bed, reading a book. Her eyes brighten when she sees me. “Hey, baby. Of course I am.” She gestures to the space beside her. Like a little kid, I climb into bed with her. She wraps her arms around me and slowly strokes my hair. I snuggle into her. “You have a good Christmas?” she asks into my hair.
“The best,” I say.
We haven’t had a lot of time this trip to sit down and talk just the two of us. So that’s what we do now. We talk about everything and anything. We debrief about the past few days. We laugh about all the drunk shenanigans we witnessed at Pam’s party. And for a moment, it’s like we’re in our own little bubble. Like we don’t live states away from each other, and nothing and nobody else matters except for the two of us in this moment.
And then Mom says, “I really like Miles.”
My smile is so large I’m afraid it might burst off my face. “Me too,” is all I can say.
Her hand pauses atop my head. “I mean it, Daph. I’ve never seen you like this before. I’ve seen you in love before. That’s not what I mean. I mean that I’ve never seen you so… so light. So happy.”
There are tears forming in my eyes that I try to blink away. “I am happy, Mom. I’m happy in a way I didn’t think was possible,” I whisper. Then I look at her. “After everything that happened last summer, I’ve changed. You know that. But it’s like… I stopped being so afraid.”
She smiles down at me. “Afraid of hope.”
“Exactly. I’m not afraid to hope that things will work out with Miles. I’m not afraid that it’ll end,” I say, then correct myself. “I mean, I am. If it ended, I think I’d be completely devastated. Way worse than I ever felt with Peter. I love Miles so much it scares me. But…”
“It’s worth it,” she finishes for me, soft smile on her face.
“So worth it.”
We sit in silence for a moment. Then I take a breath. “What did you two talk about yesterday morning? While I was in the shower?”
Mom sighs deeply. “I don’t know exactly how we got there. But he was asking me questions about my life, and the next thing I know, I was completely opening up to him.”
“Yeah, he’s weirdly good at that.”
“And then he told me a bit about his own childhood. About his mother.” She shakes her head as if in sadness for him, then turns to me, “Nothing you don’t already know.”
I nod. “I think that’s why this trip is so important to him. He wants you to like him.”
She nods. “He basically told me the same thing.”
“That’s how you know his therapy is working,” I joke. We both giggle like kids at a sleepover.
We sit together for a bit, in silence except for the wind outside. Then I ask, “Did you guys talk about Dad?”
“A little bit,” she admits. “He told me a bit about him visiting the two of you last summer. Everything that happened there from his perspective. I told him a little about what it was like being married to him. Again, nothing you don’t already know.”
Dad and I aren’t exactly on fantastic terms at the moment. I still need space, given all that happened last summer. But we’ve been texting a bit. He called me this morning to wish us all a Merry Christmas, and I wished him and Starfire a good one as well. It seems like progress. I tell Mom this, and she kisses my forehead, telling me that she’ll always want me to have a good relationship with my dad, despite everything.
“Okay, one more question. It’s the hardest one yet,” I say. Mom rolls her eyes amusedly and nods.
“Is the reason you don’t date because of Dad? Because you’re scared of being hurt like that again? Because I was. I was for a long fucking time.”
I expect her to look surprised or uncomfortable. But she just shrugs, like she’s thought about this before. “I’m sure that’s part of the reason. Of course it is. But far from the only one. I love my life, Daph.”
“I know you do. And if you don’t date because you genuinely don’t want to. Then great. But if there’s even a little part of you that hesitates because you’re scared. Well, I know how that feels. And I don’t want that for you.”
She smiles, leaning against my temple. “I know, baby.” She kisses my forehead. “You don’t have to worry about me. I just haven’t met anyone who I’ve wanted to date. That’s all.”
“What about that guy from Pam’s party? The guy you were talking to all night?”
“Don? He’s just a friend. We go to the same gym.”
I lean back to stare at her. She meets my gaze, completely deadpan. Before I know it, we’re both doubled over, gasping for air, belly-laughing. I wonder if Miles can hear us through the wall.
After we calm down, I lean against her again, wrapping my arms around her middle. She goes back to stroking my hair. “If you think you might like him,” I whisper, “go for it. Worst-case scenario, you’ll get a nice dinner out of it.”
She pulls me closer against her. “When did you get so wise?” she teases.
I shrug. “I have you as a mom. It’s hard not to be.”
A few days after Christmas, Mom informs us that she and Jan are going out for the day. Since Jan’s picking Mom up, she gives me her car keys with a wink, saying that we deserve some alone time. For my own sanity, I assume she isn’t implying something specific with that.
Miles and I do take her up on her offer, though, and take a drive around town. I’ve always loved the week after Christmas. There’s a sense of calm in the air. No longer are people rushing around trying to complete their holiday errands. Instead, it’s a time to just exist and sit tight until the new year.
We finally get a chance to do something I’ve wanted to do this entire trip. Take a drive up to Ocean City.
On the surface, it looks like any other American beach town in the winter. Cute little houses, fast food chains, motels, and piers that all look semi-abandoned because of the time of year. But I wanted to come here to see what the other version of my life would be if I took that librarian job here. In fact, that’s kind of what this entire trip has been. And being here with Miles is a different level of surreal.
Miles instructs me on directions using his phone, and I pull into the parking lot of a lighthouse-looking building.
“So this is where you would have worked if you took that job?” Miles asks, looking straight at the Ocean City Public Library sign from the passenger’s seat.
“Yeah,” I say. “Wanna check it out?”
The building is adorable. Definitely smaller than Waning Bay Public Library. But I can tell from the worn books on the shelves that it’s just as loved. It’s crazy that after all these years working as a librarian, the feeling of stepping into a library never gets old.
Miles and I walk around, exploring the space until we end up in a little corner, hidden by bookcases lined up in the YA section.
“So do you regret it? Not taking the job here?” Miles smirks. I know he’s teasing, but there is something in his tone that tells me he’s actually asking. Genuinely curious about the answer.
“No,” I say firmly. “This place is great. But better than our library? No way in hell. It doesn’t even have Ashleigh.”
Miles laughs. “She is one of a kind.”
It’s at this point that I realize that I’ve backed myself into the bookcase behind me, and Miles has begun to close in around me. One of his arms resting on a shelf just right of my head. He’s close enough that I can feel his cool breath on my face as he looks down at me, his smile soft.
“You know what I love most about visiting my mom here?” I ask him.
“What?” he responds.
“That I get to experience this life she built for herself. Go to her favourite places. Meet up with her friends. She deserves all of this after all she’s done to raise me.” I exhale. “But this is her life. Not mine. The life I built is in Waning Bay. With my job and my friends and my favorite cafes and bookstores. And you. For the long haul, I hope.”
His grin is so wide it almost blinds me. “Absolutely for the long haul,” he says as he presses me against the shelves of books and kisses me.
We’re both still in our bulky winter coats. But I find my hands sliding up his chest and into his hair as our kiss deepens. His left arm moves to wrap all the way around my waist, the other still braced against the shelf. My body arches into him as he pulls me close, slipping his knee between my thighs to part them, and then he pushes both of us back against the shelves. Despite the layers between us, I feel a growing sensation between my legs. I tilt my head back, and before I can help it, I let out a moan. A loud one. I feel Miles freeze. And somehow this is the thing that breaks us out of our trance, making us remember exactly where we are.
We break apart, faces red hot, still holding each other and breathing heavily. I am the one who ends up breaking our wild-eyed staring contest as I move to slip away from between Miles and the shelf. He lets me go without protest and follows me away from the corner of bad decisions, out of the building entirely.
We’re back in the car and neither of us says a word. We just look at each other and start giggling, like we’re teenagers who just got away with something. Technically, we did.
“So, uh,” Miles coughs. “Nice building. Strong shelves.”
I snort. “Yeah. Sturdy,” I respond as I start the car.
We spend the rest of the afternoon exploring Ocean City. We take a stroll on the boardwalk, even though nobody is here and nothing is open. We also end up going down to the snowy beach. We lie down and make snow angels like we’re kids.
Our clothes are drenched in melted snow by the time we return to Mom’s apartment. Luckily, she’s still out and texted that she won’t be back for another few hours. So we have time to change into sweats and hang our wet clothes on the radiator before she’s back for dinner.
I turn on the shower, letting the water heat up for one of us to use it. I call out to Miles to let him know as I exit the bathroom. But I don’t hear anything back.
“Miles?”
I don’t find him on our bed like I’m expecting. Instead, he’s staring at the photo framed on the mantle. It’s of Mom and me from when I was so little I can’t even remember when it was taken. My gapped-tooth kid smile shines bright while a younger version of my mom holds me in her arms.
“I loved this picture since I first saw it,” Miles says sincerely. “I haven’t told you that yet.”
“I love it too,” I say.
“It must have been nice. Growing up here,” he says, still staring at the picture.
“I didn’t grow up here. I was like thirty when my mom got this apartment,” I tease.
Miles rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.” Then he moves to sit down on our bed. He’s staring at the floor, fingers absently playing with the loose threads of a quilt. “I think this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
I follow, standing in front of him. “Even better than Bali? Julia said you spent Christmas in Bali one year.”
He looks up at me, eyes sparkling. “Yeah,” he says sincerely. “Better than that. Everything about this trip has just been so… nice. Your mom’s been so nice,” he pauses. “I mean, I took all her money in poker and she just hugged me.” He looks away, eyes glassy. He makes a quick motion to wipe at them. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m getting emotional.”
I feel like I’ve been stabbed through the heart. I know that Miles getting my mom’s approval means more to him than I can know. I move to sit in his lap. He adjusts to my weight, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. His other hand coming up to push strands of hair out of my face.
“You’re getting emotional because getting emotional is normal,” I say, cupping his face with both of my hands. “You deserve to spend the holidays with people who can see how amazing you are.” I kiss his nose, then the area between his eyebrows, then each of his eyelids. “And we do, my mom and I. We see it so clearly.”
“I love you, Daphne Vincent,” he breathes out like air, eyes still closed.
“I love you, Miles Nowak,” because there’s nothing more I need to say.
His eyes flutter open, only slightly, as he reaches to cup my face, thumb slowly stroking my cheek. He looks at me like he’s in awe that I exist, and everything in me goes ablaze, then settles like a campfire. He presses his lips against mine. And I kiss him back. In my kiss, I try to say everything I want to say with words.
I love you. I need you. I can’t believe you exist. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to experience your existence.
Hand still clasping the back of my neck, Miles breaks our kiss to look into my eyes, his own dark and inky. He’s asking what we’re doing. How far we are going to go right now. And a big part of my brain is screaming that I want him to take me right here, right now.
We’ve been good at controlling ourselves on this trip. But now he’s looking at me like that. After being so vulnerable with me. And if this trip has confirmed anything, it’s that this man perfectly fits. Fits into my body, my home, my family, my life. He is completely mine and I am completely his.
So I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close. Coming back to earth just a little bit to remember that the water is still running. I whisper in his ear, “Let’s get in the shower.”
New Year’s Eve has always looked the same for my mom and me when we lived together. We would stay up late in the living room of whatever home in whatever city we were living in at the time. We’d watch the broadcast of The Ball Drop. Pop open sparkling orange juice and make as much noise as we can when it turned midnight. Mom always knew how to make even a mundane evening at home seem significant.
Tonight is a night just like that. Except instead of it just being Mom and me in our living room, we’re in Jan’s living room, surrounded by a small group of people here for her New Year’s Eve party. Everyone is sitting around, tired, waiting for midnight so that we can get back into bed and fall asleep.
Mom is on the sofa, hand in hand with both Jan and Pam, eyes on the TV. I am on the recliner, sitting in Miles’s lap, pretending that I’m not as tired as the sixty-somethings around me.
It was a nice evening. We FaceTimed Ashleigh and Julia earlier tonight, who have gone out together to celebrate. Then we sat around Jan’s living room, eating snacks and drinking champagne, reminiscing about the year. Of course, I recounted the story of how Miles and I got together to a completely engrossed room. Including details that probably don’t matter, but made Miles grin ear to ear as I told it.
It’s crazy to think that all that happened this past year. Daphne from a year ago would probably be horrified to learn of the events that took place over the past twelve months. But that’s the magic in New Year’s Eve, isn’t it? Even though nothing is technically changing, it’s a chance to act like things are. To put the past into the past and start anew.
The countdown has started. We’re forty-three seconds to midnight when I look down at Miles. His stubble is already growing out, feeling rough under my fingers as I trace his jaw. He looks up at me, his eyes bright and steady. His dimples slowly appearing with his soft smile. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being in awe of the fact that this beautiful man is mine.
As we lock eyes, we share sentiments that don’t have to be spoken aloud. Sentiments about how absolutely batshit crazy this year has been. And disbelief at how we even ended up here, in each other’s arms in a house in Maryland. But more important than sentiments about the past are sentiments about the future. And those are much louder.
The number on the screen gets smaller and smaller. As it hits midnight, and the room fills with cheers and sounds of bottles popping, my eyes meet my mom’s from across the room. She mouths I love you at me. And I mouth it back. Then I turn to Miles and kiss him, because that’s what you do when it’s New Year’s, but also because I just like kissing him.
When we break apart, he has me wrapped up in his arms. Holding me like he never wants to let go. I lean down to rest my head on his shoulder, and we stay like that. “Happy New Year, Daphne,” Miles whispers in my ear.
I say it back, knowing that what we’re really saying is thank you. Thank you for coming into my life this year. Thank you for continuing to be in my life next year, too. Thank you for giving me something to look forward to. And thank you for being here right now, in this moment in time, and many more after.