A Moment Of Clarity

Britt

Tonight the chill in the air isn't just from the winter wind—it's also fluttering around the hearts of our unexpectedly expectant couple. Holden, a man more used to slap shots than baby shots, finds himself navigating the slippery slope of impending parenthood with Britt, whose stomach isn't just turning from the roller coaster of emotions but from a very real pregnancy. Will every new adventure root them deeper into my soil, or will the cold winds of change prove too harsh for Britt's city-slicker sensibilities? Bundle up. Perhaps a family is growing.

Playlist: "All I Want for Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey

"I have a confession to make." I take both of Holden's hands in mine and gaze up into his beautiful face. God help me, he is going to be the hottest dad. I've never been the kind of woman who fawns over other people's babies, but there's something about seeing an attractive man pushing a stroller, or carrying an infant in one of those Babybj?rns, that really does it for me.

I try to picture Holden carrying our kid around in one of those things and am immediately left helplessly horny and deeply terrified. Terrified, because I feel like my life is about to change forever and I have zero control over it. Horny because…

I mean, come on. I'd blame the hormones, but I've always been a sucker for Holden.

Because you love him.

Okay, okay, I do. I really do.

He grips my hands tight and stares into my eyes with an intensity that makes my heart race. "What is it, Britt?"

I tilt my head to the side. "Do you promise that you won't hate me?"

He has such kind eyes. "I could never hate you."

"Even if I told you…" I bite my lip.

One of his huge hands goes up between us. "Nothing you could tell me would change how I feel."

I look up at him through my lashes. "I've never seen Elf."

Holden sucks in a breath. "Oh, Britt, I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed."

I laugh, and his earnest expression cracks. "I don't know why you'd think I've seen it! I've already told you how my family does holidays."

He snorts a non-laugh. "Barely, by the sounds of it."

"Exactly. Also, Will Ferrell is so annoying."

Holden gasps and yanks his hands away. "Now I am mad. You take that back!"

"You're best friends with Shep," I remind him. "You have a higher tolerance for nonsense and shenanigans than I do."

This time, Holden's frown is real. "You don't like Shep?"

I nod, then shake until my head lolls about in a circle. "Of course, I do."

"But you just said—"

"I have agreed to watch Elf with you," I remind him. "Clearly, I'm expanding my horizons. Believe it or not, I didn't grow up around a lot of guys like Shep. Most of my peers were either like Fitz—"

Holden snorts.

"—or like my brother, Montgomery. They were all or nothing with work, you know? Anyway, you know the sad story of my childhood Christmases." I play a tiny violin. "Now you get to teach me how the proletariat celebrate the holidays."

"The proletariat!" Holden slaps one hand to his chest and slips into a bad Cockney accent. "Oy, missus, might I perchance teach you the true meaning of Christmas?"

I chuckle and lean against him. "You can be like the Ghost of Christmas Past and teach me everything I missed in childhood."

Holden wiggles his eyebrows. "I'd rather be the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, if you know what I'm sayin'..."

"Gross." I wrinkle my nose. "Also, hot? But I think that's the hormones talking, because there's no way Dicken's puns should be a turn-on."

"Really?" Holden uses one finger to tilt my chin up toward his mouth. "I'd like to get my Dick-ins, if you know what I'm—"

The doorbell rings, thank goodness, because if his Scrooge-related wordplay ended in a quickie, I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. But when it comes to Will Ferrel and cast, all bets are off. I might even get horny by that crabby raccoon who needs a hug.

Because don't we all just need a hug?

Shep and Heath are the first two to arrive. As they shuck off their layers of winter garments, I realize that Holden and I made the extra-smart choice to host. I'm glad I won't be heavily pregnant until spring and summer. I can't imagine trying to maneuver in and out of puffy winter gear like some sort of top-heavy penguin. Or… middle-heavy?

This time next year, I'll have a kid. If I let myself dwell on that for too long I will, without a doubt, have an episode of some kind right here and now, so I do what I've been doing: I push that thought aside and save it for later.

"Smells good in here," Heath observes, sniffing at the air.

"I cooked," I tell him.

"I took my Lactaid!" Shep rubs his hands together enthusiastically. "Bring on the brie!"

"That's not what—" I begin.

The door opens again, and all three of the brothers Foster tumble through, along with a small flurry of snow. "Sorry!" Boone's voice is muffled by his scarf. "It's windy out there."

Sure enough, I can hear the winter wind tugging at the shingles and shutters of Holden's house. It's warm inside, but when I peek out the window, all I see is white. Is it actually snowing? Or is the leftover snow from the last big storm just being rearranged by the gale?

Brogan kicks off his boots. "It smells like pot roast."

"That's because I made a pot roast," I announce. It turns out, crockpot cooking is way easier than I anticipated, and I've already found a ton of recipes. So far, nothing I've made could qualify as fine dining, but I'm hungry all the time lately, and Holden and I are both craving hot food to fend off the chill.

"A roast?" Bennett arches an eyebrow at me. "That's the kind of food moms make around here."

I glance at Holden, but he's already deep in conversation with Shep and hasn't heard. "Well, I figured you guys would be hungry, and I wanted to do something a step up from hot dogs."

"Uh, hello?" Boone throws one arm around Holden's shoulders. "Buddy, where's the chili? We always have chili at the viewing party."

"What? Holden told me not to make chili!" I cross my arms and glare at him.

He holds up both hands in self-defense. "Trust me, you don't want to hot box it in this little living room with all of us after we polish off a crock of chili. We've got the fire going, and with all that open flame, one too many of our post-chili farts could send the whole place up like a tinderbox."

I choke on a laugh and end up coughing so much that I have to go to the kitchen for water. Seriously, guys are disgusting. Too bad I like them so much.

From the living room, I hear Bennett's voice. "Just because you're afraid of farting in front of your girlfriend, the rest of us shouldn't have to miss out on chili with Elf."

Shep chimes in. "Wait. You don't fart around her? Dude. How have you not exploded?"

Then Brogan: "Why's she so special? Why can't you hold it in on the bus for us?"

Shep hums in understanding. "Oh, dude, that's why you stink up the locker room. It's the only safe zone, right?"

"Not safe for us!" Boone complains.

Holden groans. "Guys, can you please stop? You make me sound like a walking whoopee cushion."

"I wish!" Bennett says, much louder than necessary. "If that were the case, we'd only have to deal with noise pollution. Your noxious wind is a biohazard. Seriously, I was lightheaded during the last game."

"Oh, yeah? Is that why you missed that pass? Seriously, a toddler could have—ow, get off!"

A scuffle ensues. By the time I return to the living room with a glass of water, Bennett and Holden are grappling to get each other in a headlock. As soon as I appear, they straighten up and try to look innocent.

I'm surrounded by man-children. I plop down on one end of the sofa and kick my feet up onto the ottoman. "Who else are we waiting on? Please tell me it's someone with more estrogen."

The guys, now much more subdued than they were moments ago, list off the other teammates we're waiting on before we can get started.

And praise be to God, Joely. Who apparently is just like one of the guys.

The living room isn't big, and the sectional fills up quickly. While the guys banter about the recent games and retrieve plates of food and snacks from the kitchen, I ponder our future furniture options. I don't want to clutter up the living room with too much furniture, but hosting is clearly a big deal out here. In the summer, we can have an outdoor space set up—the yard is going to need some serious work first, but I can pester Holden into dealing with it in the off-season. As for the living room, maybe we could have some folding chairs on standby? Ooh, or bean-bags? I bet a kid would love those…

Bennett drops down onto the couch beside me. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself." I smile and shift a little to face him. "This is a first. You don't usually talk to me."

"We talk," Bennett argues.

I tap him on the knee. "Not one-on-one. And I'm not complaining. I'm just saying, I think I'm growing on you."

Bennett wags his head back and forth noncommittally. He's a real charmer. Just like his mom. "I'll be honest, I didn't think you'd stick around long enough to be worth the effort."

Tucking my legs up underneath me, I say, "Yet here I am."

"And we're talking." Bennett takes a sip of his drink. "So, you're here for the holidays. Is your family going to visit?"

"Oh, uh." I fiddle with my water glass. "No, we're not big on Christmas."

"Have they met Holden yet?"

"They… no. No, they have not." I take a big gulp of room-temperature water. The less said about that, the better.

Bennett has other ideas. "Are they going to?"

Dammit. I've been so busy avoiding the topic of my future that I forgot to avoid the topic of what I'll tell my parents. Good job, Britt. That's some next-level procrastination right there.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," I croak at last.

Bennett opens his mouth like he wants to ask something else. Fortunately, that's when Holden appears.

"Mind moving over a spot?" Holden asks.

Bennett does as he's asked, and I breathe a little sigh of relief.

"You want something to eat?" Holden asks as he squeezes between us. "I don't mind getting up again, I thought you had food already."

"I'm not hungry right now." I pat my stomach meaningfully.

Holden accepts this, and soon I'm snuggled against him, watching Will Ferrell do his thing. The guys laugh at all the jokes, even though they've seen the movie God-knows-how-many times by now. It's sweet how they still enjoy the same old lines. I can see the appeal, not of the movie so much, but of the rhythm of their old traditions. They were here last year, doing the same thing. They'll be here next year, too.

As for me, I feel no connection to my past, and my future is a confusing blur. This time next year, when they're all gathered together to recreate this cozy, contented feeling… where will I be?