Her Four Cowboys

I snorted a little, shutting out any thoughts of Adam as I returned my mom’s hug, wrapping my own arms around her in turn and setting my head on her shoulder. “Did you make the plum cake?”

“And the Irish coffee,” she said, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of my head. The plum cake had always been my favorite Christmas food that my mother made, and Christmas day had always been one of the only days in my childhood when I’d be allowed to have dessert for breakfast.

There had been one year during college when I hadn’t been able to leave campus for Christmas, and I’d done my best not to cry on the phone when I’d called my mom to tell her. I hadn’t expected what had happened the next morning, when a knock at my apartment door had pulled me out of bed, and I’d opened it to find her standing there, a perfect plum cake on the plate in her hands.

After I’d hugged her and cried into her shoulder a little, the two of us had gone to a nearby pub that happened to be one of the only places open, and we each ordered an Irish coffee. It was one of the first times that my mom and I had been able to go out drinking together, and since then, Irish coffee and plum cake had become our personal Christmas morning tradition.

I groaned a little as I pushed the hair out of my eyes and opened one eye to look at my mom. “Okay, fine. You’ve found the magic combination to get me out of bed. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Good,” she said, kissing my head again. “Because if you don’t get your little butt down there, I’m gonna have to donate your presents.”

“That threat hasn’t worked on me in years,” I said, groaning as I stretched my arms over my head. “I’ll be down there in a few.”

She got up and, after blowing me a last kiss, scurried down the stairs. I sighed, getting up and grabbing the bra from where I’d left it on the desk chair. I quickly put it on before putting my pajama shirt back on and hurried out to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t stop taking in the hot, hectic flush of my cheeks, and I didn’t know how I would be able to hide the raging and conflicting feelings that I felt running through me at the memories of last night.

Heading downstairs, the soft bitterness of the coffee and the sweet tartness of the cake floated up to me, hitting my nostrils hard as I walked down the stairs to the living room where I heard my parents talking already.

“Morning,” I said through a yawn as I stretched my arms above my head, looking around at the festive living room that my mom had spent the last few days decorating, the way she did every year. I felt a little pang in my stomach at the sight of the few ornaments that I’d helped to hang.

I’d been so busy with house calls this week that I’d barely taken half an hour to decorate with her, not that she’d asked me, and yet the living room looked more beautiful than it ever had. My dad was sitting in the armchair that he always occupied, wearing the thick knotted sweater with a snowflake pattern and a reindeer on the front that my mother had gotten him for Christmas when they first got together. He raised his glass mug to me, the dollop of cream floating on top of his coffee bobbing as if in greeting.

“Merry Christmas, honey!”

I leaned down to kiss my dad on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Dad. Don’t you think it’s time for a new sweater yet?”

“It’s still hanging on by a thread. Why would I need new one?”

“Here’s your coffee and cake, sweetie,” my mom said, bringing in my sweet breakfast. “I’ve got It’s a Wonderful Life queued up on TV, along with the rest of the usuals.”

“Do you need help with the cooking, Mom?” I said, looking up at her from where I’d perched on the couch.

“Nope!” she chirped, heading back into the kitchen. “Just start the movies.”

“But It’s a Wonderful Life is your favorite.”

“Then start with whichever one you want, and then I’ll come in and join once I finish the veggies,” she called.

I turned on the TV and started flicking through the different movies that my mom had chosen, sucking in a breath at all of the different options. Dang, Mom really had thought of everything.

“What do you think, Dad? Should we start with Elf or Nightmare Before Christmas? Or what about Rent?”

“That’s quite a departure.”

“It still counts as a Christmas movie.”