How My Brother's Best Friend Stole Christmas

“Why is it on me?” she asked through a tiny pinched mouth.

“Because it is. And you know it. You’ve been mean my whole life and I’m done trying to make it right. You try, mom. Just stay and have a drink. And try.”

Mom glanced up into the corner of the hallway with such attention I actually turned to see if there was a spider or something up there. There wasn’t. Mom was just being …Mom.

I sighed and started to turn, not ready to give my mother any more of my holiday. Or my happiness.

“I was so scared of you being hurt that I ended up hurting you first,” Mom blurted and I turned back around, slowly. “I know that doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, no one is going to be asking you to write a parenting book,” I joked, but Mom’s face crumpled.

“I was just so unhappy and I should have been better to you kids, I know that. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Mom. Mom.” I took one step forward, and then another, and then I was hugging my mom. And she was hugging me back and I had only waited twenty-five years for this to happen with no idea how badly I needed it. My mom. Hugging me.

“Sam is a good man,” Mom said.

“I’m glad you noticed.”

“He won’t hurt you like your father hurt me. Hurt us.”

“No. He won’t. But you should get to know him better.”

Mom leaned back. “I should get to know you better, too, I think.”

“And Wes and Penny,” I said, because I was a loyal sister.

Mom nodded and stepped away from me towards the kitchen, where without my mother’s wet blanketness, Joy was finishing her story and everyone was laughing.

I didn’t follow her in and because Sam was with me whereever I might go, he lingered with me in the hallway.

“You coming in?” Mom asked us.

“Just a second,” I said.

“Look at you,” Sam said when it was just the two of us and the coat closet. “Getting along with your mom.”

“A real Christmas Miracle.”

He wrapped me in his arms. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m a little proud of me too,” I said and kissed his chin and then his lips. And his lips one more time.

“You know,” he said. “I had this thought-“

“Is it about having sex in the coat closet because I had that thought too.”

“No,” he laughed. “But, maybe? The thought was that I had stolen Christmas from you.”

I leaned back. “How?”

“Because you weren’t meant to be mine. None of this…was meant to be mine. And I took it from you, one kiss at a time.”

“See,” I said, walking backwards towards the coat closet and pulling him with me. “That’s where you’re wrong. You were always meant to be mine. Always.”

“We can’t have sex in that coat closet,” he said when I opened the door.

He was right, but still. “Then you owe me.”

“What exactly do I owe you?” He narrowed his eyes and I leaned up on tip toe to whisper the dirtiest things I could think of. “Well,” he coughed, his neck and cheeks all flushed. “We could leave. Now. I could do half of that in the car.”

There was a pop of another bottle of champagne and more laughter. Betty. My mom. All our family and friends.

“Later,” I said. And we went into the kitchen where the awkward little party was getting slightly less awkward. His hand slipped from my shoulder to my waist and then he was holding my hand. And I was holding his so tight I was never going to let go.

He gave me love and joy and happiness. He gave me sweaty orgasms and filthy sex. He gave me a new way to look at my past and a future so bright I could hardly stand it.

I was the luckiest girl on the planet because every day with Fucking Sam Porter was Christmas.