Merry Ever After

That information renders me nearly speechless. “Really?” I ask in a higher-than-usual tone.

“Yep. I swear I subsisted for months on wafer crackers and ginger ale.”

“That’s what I’ve been eating, too.”

“And the smells!” She makes a revolted face.

“Oh my God! The worst. The pig is taking me over the edge.”

“Then let’s get you out of here for now.”

“I can’t leave.” Just that quickly, I’m battling tears, which is another thing that’s been ridiculous lately. Jason laughs at how I cry over everything. “I’ll miss all the fun.”

“No, you won’t. You can come back later when everything is cooked, and the scents won’t be so pungent.”

“We don’t want people to know yet, Mami. I’m not even three months. I want to wait awhile longer.”

“I won’t say anything.”

Now it’s my turn to give her the famous eyebrow.

“I won’t! I swear. I certainly understand about being superstitious. After the fourth time, we didn’t tell anyone.”

She’s so rarely referred to her difficult road to motherhood, preferring instead to focus on the joy she found in finally having me.

“I have no idea how you managed to get through that nine times.”

“It was brutal, but I wanted you so badly that I kept trying, and you, my precious girl, made all the struggle worth it from the second you took your first breath.” She sweeps my hair back off my shoulders. “And now you’re going to make me an abuela.” Fanning her face, she fails to stem a flood of tears.

I hug her. “I’ve been dying to tell you.”

“I’m so glad you did and that we have this sweet secret. There’s nothing you could give me for Christmas that I’d love more than this.”

“I had a feeling.”

“Go home, rest up and come back later to enjoy the party. If you’re anything like me, everything is better later in the day.”

“Yes, it is. What’ll I tell everyone?”

“I’ll tell them you have a terrible headache, and you wanted to go home and lie down so you can be here for tonight.”

“Thank you. The pig took me over the top.”

“I had the same issue the year I was expecting you. I couldn’t come to Nochebuena at all that year.”

“I can’t imagine it without you there.”

“I cried all night, and Daddy was right there with me the whole time, telling me I’d have a lifetime of holiday celebrations, and missing one wasn’t going to kill me.” She laughs in a low, husky tone as she rolls her eyes at her own foolishness. “I was so dramatic then.”

I bite my lip to keep from telling her she’s never outgrown her flair for the dramatic.

“Oh, stop it! I can hear what you’re trying not to say!”

We lose it laughing. It’s the best laugh I’ve had in weeks, and we end up clinging to each other as we wipe away the good kind of tears. We’ve had more than our share of the not-so-good kind, especially after I lost my first husband when we were twenty-four. “Will I be able to read my child’s mind the way you read mine?”

“God, I hope so. You never could keep anything from me, and it seems you still can’t.”

I give her a saucy, defiant look. “You didn’t know I was pregnant for a whole month.”