“He’ll be away for a few days. He left yesterday after we talked.”
“If anything changes, will you tell me?”
“I’ll tell you as much as I can.”
Christmas Eve dinner was a hodge-podge of ethnic dishes. Tee-Tee made tamales and Posole Rojo, and Boon grilled rib-eye steaks. I was responsible for an appetizer or salad as well as dessert. I made Ensalada de Noche Buena—a traditional Mexican salad with lettuce, beets, fruit, and peanuts tossed in a light orange vinaigrette.
The dessert I chose was a surprise for Edge. I’d made the traditional English Christmas pudding seven days ago and hoped that it was long enough in advance for the flavors to mature. To my delight, he said it was the best he’d ever had.
By request, I made a pan of cinnamon rolls for us to have Christmas morning. It was afternoon by the time we ate any, and evening before we opened our gifts. Instead, we lay in bed most of the day, telling each other stories about the Christmases of our childhood. Maybe it was because I was with Edge instead of alone, but so many happy memories popped up for me—things I hadn’t thought about in years.
While he didn’t say so specifically, I guessed Edge felt the same way just by the smile on his face and the glint in his eyes when he told me stories about his parents and his brother.
When it turned dark, Edge built a fire and we sat in front of our tree full of things we’d made together, and gave each other gifts. I only had one for him. I hoped he’d like it.
“You first,” he said, handing me a wrapped box.
“How many are there?” I asked, trying to look around him.
“You’ll see. Now, open it.”
There was a definite theme to the gifts he gave me. My favorite among the kitchen tools and utensils was a blank cookbook. “I want you to fill every page with all my favorites,” he told me.
“It will take me years to fill this.”
He leaned over and kissed me. “Precisely. I have one more for you.”
“Let me give you yours first.” I got up and went behind the tree to where I’d hid his gift.
“It’s so much more fun to watch you as you open yours,” he said when I set the box on his lap.
“It isn’t much,” I murmured. “But it’s sentimental.”
“This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” There was so much love in his eyes when he spoke, I almost cried.
“Me too.”
Gingerly, he opened the lid and pulled out the watch that rested inside. “That belonged to my grandfather,” I said while he examined it like the treasure it was.
“Are you sure about giving it to me?”
“Absolutely. I want you to have it, Edge.”
“Time for yours.” He reached behind him and pulled out a very small package the size of a ring box.
“Before you race from the room, terrified that I’ve gone too far, it isn’t what you might think.”
He handed it to me, and I opened the lid. Inside was a necklace that looked like it might be a family heirloom, like my grandfather’s watch was.
“It’s a locket,” he said, pointing to the clasp.
I opened it, and inside were two photos I recognized. One was of him, cut out from the photo I first saw of him with his family. The other was of me, cut from the photo taken with my mother when I was seven years old.
“Don’t worry, I made copies of the photos first. It belonged to my mum.” He took it out of the box and fastened it around my neck.
“I love it so much.”
“I promised you I wouldn’t go too far, but, Rebel, I have to tell you what’s in my heart.”