21. Chapter 21

Chapter twenty-one

25th December 2018

C hristmas presents are piled under the tree, each one smothered in shiny nutcracker wrapping paper, so taped up that getting them open will require either a pair of scissors or the strength of a lumberjack. Laelia's got a special talent for over-taping—she could probably keep a mummy together for eternity. I can’t even complain, though, because I can't wrap a gift to save my life. Seriously, if wrapping were an Olympic sport, I'd be the guy tripping over the finish line. Laelia wrapped everything from both of us, while my contribution was shoving her gift in a bag and drowning it in tissue paper. Honestly, it looks like a kid's first arts-and-crafts project, but hey, at least it’s festive.

Our tree, drenched in fifty shades of pink and twinkling like a Christmas disco ball, stands guard over the presents. Laelia, in her quest for holiday perfection, added the lights yesterday to make sure everything dazzles just right for my mum, Lloyd, and Ethan when they come over. She’s been in full-on Santa’s elf mode, worrying about every detail, from how the furniture's arranged to making sure the turkey’s big enough to feed a small army.

I’ve offered to help approximately a million times, but every time I do, she shoos me away like I’m a dog chasing a stick. She’s currently tearing around the kitchen like a headless chicken, double-checking everything as if Gordon Ramsay himself might drop by. I’m parked on a stool across the kitchen island, watching her zoom around, occasionally getting a side-eye that says, ‘Don't even think about it.’

About an hour ago, mid-cooking chaos, she decided it was time to get dressed. She left me in charge, issuing strict instructions to stir, check, and most importantly, not to burn anything. The way she looked at me, you’d think my life depended on it. Spoiler alert: it does.

When she finally reappeared, dressed to kill in a light blue floral dress and heels, makeup on point with red lips and winged eyeliner, I tried to approach her like a moth to a flame. Naturally, I got swatted away with a warning that I'd ruin her masterpiece if I so much as breathed on her. So, I held up my hands in surrender and sat back down, but not before she ordered me to get changed into something more respectable than my usual lounging gear. I went with black skinny jeans and a band t-shirt, which earned me a look that said, 'Really?' But it passed the test. Women and their standards for perfection, I tell you.

A knock on the door interrupts my musings, and I shuffle over to answer it. Ethan’s standing there with a bottle of whiskey and some flowers.

“As much as you’re a good-looking man, flowers aren’t going to win my heart,” I joke.

He laughs and flips me off. “Good thing I brought the whiskey then, huh?”

We exchange a quick bro-hug before he heads straight for the kitchen. Laelia glances at him, then turns back to her pots, clearly deep in focus.

Ethan leans over to me, not taking his eyes off her. “What was that look?”

“She just approved your outfit,” I whisper back.

“Ah, good to know,” he says, stepping closer to offer her the flowers.

Laelia’s eyes flick from the flowers to Ethan, then to me. “Killian,” she says flatly.

“Yep,” I say, popping the “p” and already knowing what’s coming.

She gives Ethan a tight smile. “Thanks, Ethan. They’re lovely.” And then she’s back to stirring whatever’s in the pot.

Ethan side-eyes me. “What’s crawled up her arse?”

Without missing a beat, Laelia calls over her shoulder, “Ethan, I can still hear you. So, unless you want to enjoy a stick up your arse and burnt food, I’d recommend behaving.”

Ethan flashes his most charming smile, the one that usually gets him out of trouble, but Laelia’s not even looking. “Don’t bother kissing my arse now,” she adds.

She knows Ethan too well. He’s a walking snark machine—give a sarcastic comment, smile like a saint, and carry on with life. That’s Ethan. Predictable as ever.

Navigating the kitchen with practised ease, I grab a vase and set it aside, keen to avoid Laelia’s impending critique. I also grab two glasses and fill them with ice, then make my way back to Ethan, who’s settled comfortably on a stool, positioned strategically away from Laelia.

With a swift and efficient motion, I arrange the flowers, place them on the table, and slide a glass over to Ethan. His face lights up with a grin as he takes the glass, and with a playful glint in his eye, he pops open the whiskey bottle.

“Cheers,” he says, pouring the amber liquid into both glasses. He raises his glass in a toast.

I lift my glass to meet his, and we clink them together before I take a generous gulp.

As I savour the warmth of the whiskey, I catch Laelia’s disapproving glare from the corner of my eye. “What?” I ask, playing innocent.

“Please don’t get drunk before we eat,” she says, clearly stressed.

I get it. She’s been obsessing over this day all month. She even sat down with my mum at the start of December to plan everything, including practice runs of today’s recipes. Let’s just say the house has smelled like a series of near-disasters ever since.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Ethan singsongs, earning himself a flip of the bird from me.

Laelia catches my eye, looking like she’s about to lose it. “I promise, beautiful, I won’t get drunk before dinner,” I say, trying to soothe her nerves. “But no promises for after.”

She finally cracks a smile. “Thank you.”

Soon, my mum and Lloyd arrive, and as expected, my mum heads straight to the kitchen to help Laelia, leaving me out in the cold. She even tells Lloyd to sit down with us because, apparently, burning things runs in the family.

Thanks, mum.

With the ladies shooing us away, the three of us huddle around the dining table, swapping stories about our teenage shenanigans. There are tales my mum doesn’t even know about, so I try to keep my voice down, but she overhears and gives me that knowing look. Mums really do have a sixth sense, don’t they?

Suddenly, the unmistakable smell of something burning wafts through the room. We turn to see Laelia rushing to the oven, flinging the door open as smoke billows out.

“No!” she wails, staring at the charcoal lump that used to be a turkey.

I’m by her side in a flash, wrapping her in a hug as she collapses against me, tears threatening to spill. “I wanted everything to be perfect,” she sobs, her voice muffled against my chest. “And now, I’ve ruined Christmas.”

I rub her back, trying to calm her down. “You haven’t ruined anything,” I assure her, although the turkey’s definitely a goner.

My mum jumps in, bless her heart. “If I’m being honest, I’m not a fan of turkey. Let’s just order takeout—there are plenty of Chinese and Indian places open today. We’ll still take the vegetables home for tomorrow. Besides, Ethan could use some greens in his diet.”

“My nutrition is right here!” Ethan declares, raising the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

My mum fixes him with a stern look. “You’ll do as you’re told, young man.”

Ethan gulps. “Yes, Mrs. Tate,” he mumbles, suddenly very interested in the floor.

I lift Laelia’s chin so she’s looking at me. “See? Everything’s going to be fine.”

She sniffs. “Really?”

“Really,” I say. “Besides, we’ve got plenty of time to perfect Christmas dinner next year. And I don’t need to practice being bossed around—I’m already an expert at that.”

She laughs, swatting my chest. “Smart arse.”

“Come on, let’s order some food,” she says, pulling away from me and heading to the dining room. “And I need a strong drink.”

After stuffing ourselves with a mix of Chinese and Indian food—because nobody could agree on just one—we’re lounging in the living room, sipping drinks and laughing about everything under the sun.

My mum leans over to Lloyd, whispers something, and next thing we know, he’s back with a pile of presents. Ethan, being Ethan, rips into his bag first and whoops with joy at the sight of an expensive bottle of vodka, a fancy glass, and fifty pounds. His grin is ear-to-ear as he thanks my mum.

Laelia’s next, and she gasps as she opens her box. “Poppy, you shouldn’t have! It’s beautiful!”

Inside is a Pandora bracelet, loaded with Disney charms, including her favourite—the Cheshire Cat.

“You’re part of the family, Laelia,” my mum says warmly.

Laelia rushes over, and they share a hug before she comes back to me, beaming as she shows off her new bracelet. She hands it to me and holds out her wrist. “Can you fasten it, please?”

I secure the bracelet, earning a kiss on the cheek. She’s glowing with happiness, and I’m pretty sure this might be her favourite present of the day. But I’m hoping mine takes the top spot.

My mum’s eyes land on me, silently urging me to open my gift. I unwrap my bag to find socks, my favourite cologne, an expensive bottle of vodka, a fancy glass, and fifty pounds as well. I stand and hug her tight, feeling a bit like her ‘darling boy’ again.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she says, kissing my cheek before I head over to the tree.

I grab a card and two bags, handing one to Ethan and the other to my mum and Lloyd. Ethan wastes no time tearing into his, grinning as he pulls out a bottle of whiskey.

“Cheers!” he shouts, hugging Laelia, who plants a kiss on his cheek. Ethan winks at me, and I flip him off in return, rolling my eyes. He gives me a cheeky salute, and I can't help but laugh. Lloyd and my mum open their bags, revealing the same high-end whiskey for Lloyd and a bottle of Baileys for my mum. My mum's eyes widen as she pulls out the card, her jaw dropping in surprise.

“You shouldn’t have!” she squeals, holding up the tickets. “First-class tickets for Paris! And a five-star hotel!”

My mum is practically vibrating with excitement. She bolts towards me, enveloping me in a tearful hug. Lloyd joins in, hugging Laelia before switching to me and then back to her. The gratitude in their eyes is almost too much to handle.

“Thank you so much, Killian,” Lloyd says, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re part of the family,” I reply, giving him a hug back. I catch a hint of moisture in his eyes, but he quickly blinks it away.

Laelia’s turn comes last. She looks at the final bag with a mix of curiosity and scepticism. “Killian, we said no gifts this year,” she begins, but I cut her off.

“I lied,” I say, grinning. “Plus, it’s nothing major.”

She pulls the bag open and gasps louder than ever before. She pulls out a large Disney Cheshire Cat plush and her favourite perfume. She clutches the plush to her chest, practically vibrating with joy.

“I love it!” she exclaims, and before I can react, she’s running towards me, wrapping me in a tight embrace and planting a flurry of kisses on my face.

I’m more than happy to hold her close, feeling her joy radiate. She finally lets go, and I gesture to the mistletoe I’d sneakily hung earlier.

“Did you predict this?” she asks, her smile widening.

“Maybe,” I say with a playful shrug.

As she leans in for a kiss, I’m reminded of just how perfect this moment is. This Christmas may not have gone according to plan, but it’s turned out to be one of the best. With Laelia by my side, the magic of the season shines brighter than any turkey disaster could dim.

We all gather around the fireplace, mugs of festive drinks in hand, chatting and laughing about everything and nothing. Ethan regales us with more tales of his drunken escapades, adding extra embellishments to each story for good measure. My mum and Lloyd share stories from their own pasts, and Laelia and I exchange glances that say more than words ever could.

As the night wears on, the laughter and warmth make up for any culinary misadventures. With every story told and every glass raised, it becomes clear that the real magic of Christmas isn’t in perfect meals or pristine decorations—it’s in the people we share it with.

When everyone finally heads home, Laelia and I sit together, the house now quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I kiss the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” I whisper.

“Merry Christmas, Killian,” she replies softly, snuggling closer.

With the Christmas lights casting a warm glow over the room and the memory of a perfect, imperfect day, I can’t help but think that this is what Christmas is all about. As long as we have each other, every Christmas will be magical, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.