“How do you feel looking at it now knowing that might never be you?”
Max stared at his mom’s cocky grin. “Pretty good, actually. I think she’d tell me to get over myself already.” He laughed, and it really did feel good. But when he looked back to Jeremy beside him, his smile vanished.
Rigid, Jeremy stared at his phone. “My dad texted,” he croaked. Hands trembling, he unlocked the phone and read the message.
Please be decent humans, Max begged the Rourkes in his head. Please see how incredible your son is. Please don’t have waited until Christmas Eve to crush him even more.
Jeremy cleared his throat and read aloud, “Hello, son. Honolulu was too crowded for our tastes. We have really enjoyed Maui. Sean sends his love. We all do. Max looks like a nice young man. We look forward to meeting him some time. Merry Christmas.”
Exhaling the breath he’d been holding, Max asked, “How do you feel?”
Jeremy blinked back tears. “Good, I think? Better, at least.”
“C’mere.” Max hugged him tightly, and Jeremy pressed his face into Max’s chest, his sob muffled.
The stairs creaked, and Valerie called, “Are you two still up? Santa will—” Wearing matching pajamas decorated with reindeer, she skidded to a halt in the living room, her slippers making a whooshing sound. Her ponytail swayed. “My goodness. Is everything all right?”
Jeremy swiped at his face and nodded, slipping out of Max’s arms. “Uh-huh! It is. Sorry.”
Valerie gave him a kind smile. “Don’t be, hon.”
“I’m just going to—” Jeremy motioned to the stairs. “I’ll be back.”
“Take your time,” Max said, giving him smile.
Valerie watched him go, then whispered, “I hope his parents are still being ‘civil.’ Oh, I’d really like a word with them sometime.”
“Get in line. But I think they’re coming around. I hope so.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, I’m not staying up all night, so you’ll just have to pretend you don’t see me putting the presents from Santa under the tree.” She ducked into the dining room and took a half-filled black garbage bag from the bottom of a rustic sideboard.
Max clutched his chest. “Childhood. Illusions. Shattered.”
“Yes, I’m afraid to tell you that your father and I are Santa Claus.” She clucked her tongue. “We’ve tried to shield you from life’s harsh realities as best we could.”
Laughing, Max joined her by the tree. As a teenager, he’d rolled his eyes at Valerie’s insistence at still putting presents from Santa under the tree on Christmas Eve, but now he liked the tradition. He grabbed presents from the bag, reattaching a bow to one of them. He checked the tag.
“Wait, this says ‘Jeremy.’”
Valerie glanced over from where she was squeezing presents into his dad’s stocking. “I got him some stocking stuffers, nice thick socks, a turtleneck, and some of those great hand-warmers from Canadian Tire. He won’t be used to real winter if he grew up in Victoria. Oh, and I hope you kids are still using Spotify. The little box for him is a year’s subscription.”
Max stared at her as she hummed along to “Up on the Rooftop” playing on the TV and filled the stockings—including the non-personalized guest stocking, which was clearly for Jeremy. When she turned back to the garbage bag, she jolted.
“Max? What is it?”
“Does it bug you that I don’t call you ‘mom’?” Oh God. He’d finally asked it out loud.
Valerie blinked, her eyebrows shooting up. “What? No, sweetheart.”
He fidgeted, trying to say it the right way now that he’d brought it up after so long. “It’s just, sometimes I feel like I should. But it doesn’t feel right because she was my mom and that’s what I called her.”
“Of course.” Valerie was using her best soothing voice, and it helped Max breathe.
“But Meg calls Dad that.” Max grimaced. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes. And that’s her choice.” She smiled wryly. “As you know, her birth father didn’t hang around long enough for her to call him anything, so it’s easier for Meg. But you can call me whatever you want.”
In unison, they said, “As long as you don’t call me late for dinner.”
It felt damn good to laugh. Valerie smiled fondly. “You used to roll your eyes whenever my mamy said that, but you always secretly loved her corny sayings.”
“I did,” Max admitted. He smiled tremulously, on the edge of crying and he wasn’t even sure why.
“Max, your mom was a wonderful woman. I wish I could have known her, which probably sounds a little funny since I’m married to your dad. I could never take her place. But we can love people in different ways. There’s a whole world of love to give.”
Throat tight, he nodded, tears burning his eyes. “You’ve been—” He motioned to the stockings and the presents under the tree. “You’ve always been an amazing mother to me. And thank you for thinking about Jeremy.”