“Daddy’s here, too,” Austin says as he kisses her whole face.
“Daddy! Swim! Now!”
“Give us one minute to catch our breath and get changed, and then we’ll swim,” Austin tells her.
She’s already squirming to get loose so she can return to her favorite thing.
Austin puts her down, and she rushes to her grandfather, who holds out his arms to catch her when she jumps fearlessly into the pool.
“Business as usual around here,” I tell him.
“Did she grow like six inches while we were gone, or does it just seem like that to me?”
“Not quite six inches, but she does seem taller.”
We accept hugs from the entire family. I’m thrilled to see my cousin Domenic and other cousins and friends who’ve gathered for our favorite night of the year. Abuela has gone all out as usual, and the musical group that comes every year is already playing all our favorite Cuban songs. My cousin Carmen looks a little odd, which immediately has me wondering what’s up with her.
“Nothing,” she says when I ask her that. “I’m just feeling a little off.”
I gasp. “Are you preggo?”
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“You’re a terrible liar. You always have been.”
“Don’t say anything, please?” she asks, her eyes filling. “I’m not ready.”
I hug her as tightly as I have in ages, so happy for her, even if she looks like she’s about to puke. “My lips are sealed.”
I’m so relieved to be here, among my people with the new people I fell in love with this year, ready to celebrate and enjoy this sacred night of family and gratitude. We eat like the good Cubans we all are on this special occasion, devouring the ton of food Abuela and the others made—but leaving more than enough for the lazy day of leftovers we’ll enjoy tomorrow.
For hours, we dance, sing and laugh with cousins and friends. We drink beer from the keg and gorge on desserts, such as arroz con leche, flan, buñuelos, natilla (a custard dessert) and turon (a semisweet and nutty delicacy). If you asked me to pick my favorite, I wouldn’t be able to, so I have a taste of everything. At eleven fifteen, we walk the short distance to Midnight Mass at the parish Abuela has belonged to since the sixties.
Austin’s parents took Everly home to bed, and we promised to tuck her in again when we get home after Mass.
I love the music most of all—“O Come, All Ye Faithful,” “Silent Night,” “The First Noel,” “Joy to the World,” “O Holy Night” and “Ave Maria.” Tears fill my eyes as my heart overflows with joy and gratitude.
A year ago on Nochebuena, I couldn’t have imagined how my life was about to change or that a year later, I’d be engaged to the most wonderful man and preparing to adopt his beautiful daughter. Everly and I will always share a special bond, one that is literally bone-deep.
I give thanks to God for bringing them and Austin’s family into my life and pray that we have many happy years together. I pray for Wyatt’s continued good health, for my mother’s recovery, for Carmen and Jason and the baby they’re expecting, for Carmen’s late husband, Tony, and his family, for my dad, brothers, sister, grandmothers, aunts, uncles and precious cousins. I’m blessed beyond measure, and I know it.
“Are you okay?” Austin whispers.
“I’m so happy. So, so happy, to be here with you and my entire family and to get to go home to Everly. Everything is perfect.”
Smiling, he says, “Feliz Navidad, mi amor.”
“Feliz Navidad.”