Logan’s phone call:
“Should I go ahead and bring an ambrosia salad and a Jello mold?”
“Ambrosia?” He briefly drew a blank.
“You know, that pretty fruit salad with the pineapple and itty bitty mandarin oranges in it, with the Cool Whip and sour cream…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get ya, got it,” he acknowledged, before recanting himself. “And no, I don’t think you need ta bother with that. ‘Ro’s mom makes a pretty good one already, so she might already have it in mind to do it herself. The Jello’d be nice, though,” he suggested, attempting a compromise. Once upon a time, all Logan had to do for the holidays was show up at his parents’ house showered and on time, with a case of beer to share with his brother and his pop.
Now, all of the sudden, it became a game of musical houses. He and Ororo were gonna have to choose which family they would spend each holiday with, and actually attempt to keep track. Holeeeee shit! It made his head hurt just thinkin’ about it…
He had some small consolation in the fact that Christmas was at least gonna be a helluva lot less nerve-wracking than Thanksgiving, but his gut was still clenched up into a tight little ball in anticipation.
Amelia’s voice stirred him from his musings. “Oh, Jamie, this is so exciting! I can’t WAIT to see your lady friend again, she’s just darling! So elegant! She cracked me up when she mentioned that thing about her hair really being ‘hers, since she paid for it!’ She’s a kick in the pants!” Logan stifled a laugh behind a cough at hearing his usual description for his stepmother coming out of her mouth, being said regarding his girlfriend, no less. He guessed it was a good sign. “You need to hold on to that one!”
“Yeah,” he grinned, scratching his neck, “I won’t disagree with ya there, not in the least.”
“She’s just a sweetheart, you know?” Yes, he knew. “She just looks so content when she looks at you, Jamie, you’ve gotta love that!” Yup. He did, no doubt about it. “Jonathan was pretty fond of her, too.” Gee, really? What was yer first clue?
“She enjoyed meeting you an’ Pop, too, don’t worry.”
“Maybe we could work something out that everyone could come over here next year!”
“Eh, why not?” Logan mentally counted the number of chairs in his parents’ house and measured the interior of the dining room that had been his mother’s pride and joy and found it miles too small to cram in Ororo’s whole family, but he smiled at the image of everyone being elbow to elbow.
“I sure would have loved to have shown her mother the Hummel and my collection of other little goodies; d’ya suppose she collects anything like that?”
“Dunno ‘bout the Hummel,” he admitted, not recalling any of the “charming” little porcelain figurines, throw blankets or little embroidered pillows gracing so much as an inch of space in N’Dare’s home. When he remembered back to that night, he had an impression of warm, dark colors, the occasional batiked tapestry hanging in the halls, lots of framed photos of Ororo and her father…nothing really “kitschy.” Although…
“Now that I think about it, Amelia, she might not be into Hummel, but she had some nice African statues carved out of some kind of wood, and a nice painting in the den.” Ororo would explain to him later that it was actually an art print that she’d purchased for her mother on her last birthday and had framed, but close enough. Then the glimmer of a good idea hit him. “Amelia, remember that little figurine that ya showed me that last time I came fer pot roast? The one with the cute little girls?” He felt weird describing anything as cute, but it worked. He was nearly bowled over by Amelia’s crow of recognition.
“OHHHHHHHH! RIGHT! That little figurine with the little girls walking to school together! I LOVE that one! What were you thinking, Jamie?”
“Could ya maybe find another one? It might make a nice little tidbit to wrap up and put under the tree. Or a hostess gift.” He felt his mother mentally coaching him that time, figuring that was what she would have called it. A hostess gift. Sure, that’s the ticket.
“Oh, perfect! Yippee! Gives me an excuse to hunt the knick-knack shops in spite of your father warning me that I’m about to run him out of his house with my junk!” she said conspiratorially, and Logan could visualize her winking at him from the other end.
“Better get crackin’,” he muttered, but his smile was almost boyish. They hung up on a pleasant note.
After all, he had some shopping of his own to take care of.
Ororo’s phone call:
“So what do they like to eat? I never even asked your man what HE liked to eat, how am I supposed to know what to feed his family?”
“Search me. Actually,” Ororo remembered out loud, “pecan pie. His stepmom made some when we went over there. She also made giblet gravy for the turkey.”
“My kind of woman.” Then another thought came to N’Dare. “What do you suppose his mother would enjoy? Is she coming?”
“Logan says she’ll be there with bells on, and wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“The mother and the stepmother,” N’Dare murmured. “Goodness. Have they even been in the same room before?”
“I don’t know. My name’s Bennett, and I ain’t in it,” Ororo drawled.
“You’re as bad as I am; I always threw that one at your father whenever your grandmother and I couldn’t see eye to eye!”
“Gram-Gram didn’t say anything about Logan when he showed up for Thanksgiving dinner,” Ororo pondered.
“In all the commotion, she probably didn’t know him from Adam. And I don’t imagine she’ll say much of anything anyway, if Ruthie’s making her sorrel this year. She uses a whole bottle of red wine in it; I expect Gram-Gram to be in a fine mood to accept whomever you introduce as your beloved on Christmas Eve. Did you pick up those flannel pajamas I told you to get for her?”
“Yup. All wrapped up and ready. I got Aunt Ruthie a new hat for church, too.”
“She’s been hinting at wanting a new one, baby girl, so you did well. I can’t wait to see it.” Ororo thought she heard the crinkle of gift wrap on her mother’s end of the line in the background. “Has Logan heard you sing yet?”
“Only under my breath when we’re in the car, listening to his CDs.” That was pretty frequent. Once in a while, she’d see him peering over at her with a look of surprise that she could carry a tune.
“Ooh, I can’t wait, we’ll knock his socks off! The women in the front row will just fall out! It does your mother’s old heart good to have you back in church, bringing the house down!”
“I don’t know if Logan’s ever set foot into a church like ours, let alone heard folks belting out hymns loud enough to be heard down the street,” Ororo considered, “but this’ll expand his horizons a little. Just hope it doesn’t scare him off!”
“Oh, hush! Listen to you, he’ll be fine!” Ororo heard more rustling of paper and wondered what she was wrapping up with a bow. Socks? Underwear, since she claimed Ororo always needed some every time she came to visit? Longjohns? Tupperware? Souvenirs from her and Aunt Ruthie’s trip to Wakulla Springs, where they saw live alligators through a glass-bottomed boat? Every now and again, N’Dare would get Ororo things that she would never think to get for herself. She almost hoped it was another ceramic seagull like the squat, stick-legged, beady-eyed one that she brought back from Cape Cod two years ago; it made a great conversation piece. “Now, if he enjoys himself enough, there’ll be nothing keeping you from visiting more often on the weekends and coming along with me.” N’Dare’s tone held that note of “just try to argue with me now, you little heathen!” that made Ororo grind her teeth and massage the bridge of her nose.
“Sure, nothing keeping us…” she trailed off. “Kenyatta’s going to Leon’s momma’s,” she interjected. Simple enough distraction tactic, score one for Ororo. She admired her mother’s initiative.
“Ruthie told me already. She’s hoping for a ring this year,” N’Dare remarked, “something I hope you’ll have on your own finger one day, Lord willing.” Okay, score one for N’Dare.
“So…what should I pack to wear for the Christmas Eve service and dinner?” Ororo spent the next half-hour fishing for hints on what her mother wanted for a present and ducking further questions about Logan. Between the two of them, they figured out a menu and guest list before Ororo begged off to reheat her leftovers. They remained untouched as she mulled the ring question over futilely in her mind. Damn it, Momma!
Why did she have to go there? Now she’d be up thinking about it all night, eyes round as saucers in the dark.
Alternatives Shelter Network, the following afternoon:
“Okay, Ororo, you realize the only way I’m letting you fly the coop is if you take all of my reports I have to run and spreadsheets to sort with you to your new job, right?” Scott poured her another Styrofoam cup full of fruit punch and handed it to her with a knowing grin.
“Dream on, Summers, dream on. Jealous much?”
“Hell, yeah! Don’t get too smug, kiddo, I can still report you for improper conduct?”
“For what this time?”
“Hmmm. Gotta think on that one a sec…outbursts that disturb your neighbors?”
“You were right there with me, singing ‘Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead’ as I recall, when I mentioned that Emma wasn’t the director of my new branch at the Worthington Center. Next,” she barked.
“Okaaaayyy…unwork-related use of time on-site?”
“You’re the one throwing me the party,” she pointed out, looking up at him through her lashes. “Try again.”
“Nope. I’m out. Ya got me.”
“I expect you to email me once in a while, Summers, to let me know you’re still alive.”
“Like you had to even ask! You’re my link to the land of the living. Gives me street cred to have friends in high places,” he added smugly, elbowing her. She almost choked on her carrot stick dipped in ranch.
“High places…sure. I’m just lucky I didn’t get the office next to the boiler room.”
“As opposed to them just putting you in the boiler room.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m headed over to Jeannie’s tidy little corner office in a little while for lunch.”
“Give her my regards. Where’s she dragging you for the holiday?”
“Her parents’ little place in the Hamptons.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“I’ll have to eat with utensils.”
“The fork’s the one with the little pointy things.” Yup. She was gonna miss Scotty.
At the end of the day, Anna Marie helped her load her Impala’s trunk with all of her desk junk and mementos; her Wonder Woman coffee mug was carefully wrapped in newspaper and lying on top of the box. Ororo’s badge was deposited at the front desk; Anna already put her desk plaque and mailbox tag in the “Employee Graveyard” pile in her desk drawer.
“Gonna miss you, shoog,” Anna moaned, pouting. “If ya think I’m not headed over ta yer fancy office ta bug ya and drag ya out for trips ta Starbucks for frappaccinos, yer just lyin’ ta us both.”
“I’m counting on that! I’d have to snatch you baldheaded if you forgot about me! I’m just moving across town, not off the planet. You behave, y’hear?” Ororo enveloped Anna in a boob-crunching hug and sniffed back the tears that were threatening to spill off her lashes. Anna saved face by wiping them off with her sleeve.
“Ain’t gonna forget aboutcha, sugah,” she promised. “Say hi to short, stubbly and gorgeous for me, a’ight?”
“Give Remy my best.” Ororo gave her one last peck on the cheek before she waved to her from her car. She was still sniffling by the time she reached her apartment, but she felt a half ton lighter as she made her way up the stairs to call Logan. She stopped over at Raven’s place to do a quick, jaunty little “I’m FREE! I’m FREE!” jig and to give them the skinny on her new digs. She left their apartment with well wishes and a homemade butter cookie with sugar sprinkles that was half gone by the time she made back to her own kitchen.
She was just wiping the last crumbs from the corner of her mouth when her phone jangled at her. “He-wohl’m?” she answered, trying to swallow the remaining hunk of cookie that decided to stick to the roof of her mouth in defiance.
“That’s pitiful. Stuffing your face already, cuz, and it ain’t even Christmas yet!”
“Nngh. Mmmph. Cookie. Raven gave me a cookie. It’s the holiday week, I’m entitled,” she carped back. “And hello to you too, Petunia. What’s goin’ on?”
“I set us an appointment with Monica and Misty. Kiss your eyebrows goodbye, because I told her you were having that done, too.”
“Pot calling the kettle, girl. When’s the last time you had your lip zapped?”
“Naaawwww, you didn’t, ya HAD ta mention my ‘stache!”
“I love you, Kenya!” Ororo demurred, falling back on her cousin’s favorite claim.
“Not when ya talk smack about a woman’s lip!”
“It’s my mission in life. Gotta make it silky smooth for Leon, that can be his Christmas gift. No sense giving him rug burn in uncomfortable places…”
“That’s IT, I’m telling Auntie N’Dare that I haven’t seen your car parked outside your building for the past week! I know whose bed your shoes have been under, girlfriend!”
“Stop it. That ain’t funny. You ain’t cute.”
“Yes I am,” Kenyatta insisted. “Speaking of which…ya gotta help me find something to wear to Leon’s momma’s house.”
“You’ve got tons of clothes,” Ororo reasoned.
“Sure, if I’m headed to work or a club. I need something that says ‘I’m not living in sin with your son.’”
“Too late,” Ororo quipped. “Wear your cute black wrap dress with a camisole under it so your girls aren’t poppin’ out all over the place, and you’ll be fine.”
“You’re supposed to tell me ‘I’ll be right there so we can go shopping for shit you don’t need, Kenyatta,’ like I taught ya.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“Say it anyway.”
“I’ll be right there so we can go shopping for shit you don’t need, Kenyatta.” Then as an afterthought, she sputtered out “but not til I call my man.”
“He can keep the sheets warm fo’ ya til I’m done with you. You’ve got priorities, such as telling me when something makes my booty look too big. Call him up, grab your purse, and let’s go!” Ororo “hmmphed” and made her goodbyes.
Logan howled when she described her priorities as Kenyatta’s wardrobe consultant and “judge of booty emphasis” and promised her that yes, he’d keep the sheets warm til she got back.
“Love you,” she cooed into the phone.
“Love you too. Shop fast.”
Three hours later:
Ororo rubbed the balls of her feet against Logan’s bare calves from under the covers, trying to relieve them of the throb. “Homegirl dragged me through three shoe stores and all but walked the heels off of MY shoes trying to find pumps to match that dress.” Logan’s CD player was on shuffle, currently playing “All Night Long” by the Mary Jane Girls. Ororo had been in the mood for more old school music and downloaded song after song onto her iPod, including a few cruising songs to keep in Logan’s Crown Vic.
“Poor baby,” he crooned, snuggling her against his chest and stroking the smooth skin of her upper arm. Idly his fingers twirled a lock of her hair as he caressed her forehead with his lips. “Show me where it hurts,” he suggested, and she thought his voice sounded a little too benign as he looked down solemnly at her. He playfully brushed the tip of her nose with his index finger before kissing her there. “That it?”
“Nope.” Wonder where this is going…?
“This it?” He repositioned her so that her chest squarely rested against his, and his dark sprinkle of hair rasped against her nipples, abrading them gently and making them pucker. He leaned up and nibbled her chin.
“Uh-uh,” she murmured. Mmmmm…
“Hmmm. Am I getting warm?” He nuzzled her earlobe, steaming the whorls above it with his breath before he lightly bit it. He applied a hint of suction, and her hips bucked against him instinctively.
“Maybe by a half a…degree. Try, try again,” she encouraged. Her hands roamed his flesh and combed through his thick, tousled hair. She began to move against him with wanton grace, making them both slick with her heat, and her lips fell open on a tiny cry.
“Ya could just tell me,” he said thoughtfully, devouring her neck.
“Tell you what?” She couldn’t even remember her own name.
“Where it hurts?” He paused in feasting on her to cup her face in his palms; the edge of his thumb barely stirred her lashes as he studied her.
“I felt better the minute I walked in the door. Sore feet and all,” she confessed. “But remind me not to wear those shoes to the mall ever again.”
“I’ll take a memo,” he promised. “Speakin’ of which…how are we gonna get everyone to yer mom’s place?”
“Separate cars, lots of overpriced gas, and through an act of God,” she admitted, reaching up to stroke his wrist and leaning her cheek into him.
“Yup. Sounds about right. Amelia’s making noises about bringin’ a Jello mold.”
“Momma’s planning on having Aunt Ruthie make her famous sorrel. Folks oughta be deep into the grape by the time we have dessert.”
“Deep into the grape?”
“Sauced.”
“Gotcha.”
“Cures what ails you.”
“So’ll this.” Another rush of heat swept over her flesh as his fingers found her under the covers. She was about to tell him that there was nothing wrong with her anymore, but Logan silenced her with a kiss that left no opportunity to disagree.
Through the hail of Ororo’s moans and gasps above him, several that she wrenched from him, and the music drifting upstairs to them from the stereo as she stretched herself over him and let her hips do the work, two things occurred to him. One: He was a very lucky man. Two: Ororo was very, very limber. All was right with the world.
Christmas Eve, in the middle of a crowded church parking lot:
“Will you be fine waiting out here, baby?”
“I’m gonna wait out here for my mom and pop, then we can go in and find yer mom.”
“Aunt Ruthie said they’d wait near the back by the guest book if you need any help finding Momma.”
“Think I can manage, ‘Ro.” He reached for her gloved hand and tugged her close for a chaste kiss. “Ya look like an angel.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere. I’ll see you inside.”
“Can’t wait, darlin’; knock ‘em dead.” Her fingers slipped free from his and she trotted up the steps, mindful of the slick dusting of snow that settled on the stone. Logan watched her retreating back in her long blue wool coat and the scarf that she draped over her hair. She turned back and blew him a kiss before she cut to the right side of the lobby to head toward the choir rehearsal room. The light over the doors shone down on her eyes and hair peaking out from her scarf for a brief moment, and that vision kept him company while he scanned the street, watching for his parents’ respective cars. The familiar silver Lincoln pulled up to the curb, and Logan’s father turned on the roof light inside, illuminating his grinning face as he waved at Logan, then indicated where he intended to park. A few minutes later, Logan was just hugging his father hello and kissing Amelia’s cheek as Jack and Elizabeth came up the street. His mother leaned out the window and bellowed at him for the best place to park before she made a shy hello to her ex-husband and his fiancée. So far, no one’s killin’ each other, Logan mused. Good.
They made their way into the lobby, with Jack, Logan and Jonathan stomping the layer of snow from the grooves in their boot soles. Elizabeth and Amelia took turns signing the guest book, taking a moment to chat about the weather, and for Elizabeth to exclaim how adorable and thoughtful Amelia’s present was the month before.
Ruthie leaned her head in through the swinging doors and nodded to Logan, crooking her finger at him to follow him in. They tiptoed through the chapel around other members of the congregation trying to enter their pews. Logan was relieved to see N’Dare’s red felt hat and her face in profile as she laughed at something Ororo’s aunt Martina said three rows from the front. They were almost directly in front of the choir pedestal. Excitement stirred in his stomach as he let his eyes wander over it, realizing Ororo’s singing up there soon.
The church was packed to the rafters, and more folding chairs were being brought to the back rows. The altar was adorned with a huge bouquet of red and white poinsettias and flanked by large white pillar candles. The opening strains of the organ preceded the acolyte as he strode up with the lit taper outstretched before him, and he neatly lit the pillars, and they cast their warming glow. Logan never expected coming to church to affect him like this. The experience was special because it was shared. He heard his father and Amelia murmuring in low tones on one side of him while his mother and Jack flanked his other side. He felt a funny little childlike tickle resonating in him to have both of his parents together in the same place for the first time in several years, made more remarkable by the fact that it was peaceful. It’s a Christmas miracle, Charlie Brown. His mother sensed the shift in his mood and reached over to hold his hand, right before she fussed at him to remove his coat and get comfortable.
The service was one of the most boisterous that Logan could remember, and it included a brief Christmas pageant put on by the children in the Sunday school. Logan pointed out Ororo’s little niece that he recognized from dinner at N’Dare’s house, dressed up in little shepherd’s robes and still holding her dollie in one hand, and the shepherd’s staff in the other, making Elizabeth grin at the sight.
“Precious. That’s absolutely precious. This takes me back.”
The reverend’s sermon plunged Logan into contemplation, even though his voice rang out through the chapel like a claxon. This was where Ororo grew to womanhood and learned right from wrong. This was yet another part of her that amazed him to witness, much like everything else about her had from the moment she’d introduced herself and promised that she hadn’t flooded the engine on her car. The minister’s lesson to the congregation reminded them of the “reason for the season” and made Logan silently thank God for the chance to have his family, and Ororo’s family all together for the holiday, hoping it would be the first of many where things just clicked. He wanted his future to hold the occasional Sunday service and pot roast dinner, with kids running in and out of the den and various aunts bellowing at him to come and eat. His hand drifted to his pants pocket, patting the small lump inside to reassure himself that it hadn’t fallen out before his mother lifted their hymnal between them for the doxology.
Watching the choir file inside the chapel was what he looked forward to most. He spied Ororo’s snowy crown of hair falling in soft sheaves down her back, and he’d never seen anything more beautiful than the way she looked in her red robe and white sash of embroidered satin. As the choir sat and listened to the sermon, he saw her eyes slowly searching for her family, brightening as she found her mother, who waved briefly at her in front of him, and lighting up with true joy as she found him looking back.
He stood with each hymn, adding his voice hesitantly to those around him, amused to hear his tones sounding so much like his father’s, now that he had the chance to really listen. Amelia’s singing voice was higher than he expected and not altogether unpleasant. Logan could swear he heard Ororo’s voice rising above the rest as they launched into a song that he wasn’t familiar with, but the cadence and rhythm cheered him; the song felt more like a carol:
Mary had a baby, Oh Lord,
Mary had a baby, Oh my Lord,
Mary had a baby, Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
What did she name Him? Oh Lord,
What did she name Him? Oh my Lord,
What did she name Him? Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
She named Him, Jesus, Oh Lord,
She named Him, Jesus, Oh my Lord,
She named Him, Jesus, Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
Now where was He born? Oh Lord,
Where was He born? Oh my Lord,
Where was He born? Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
Born in a stable, Oh Lord,
Born in a stable, Oh my Lord,
Born in a stable, Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
Ororo swayed shoulder to shoulder with the choir surrounding her as they clapped their hands, and as Kenyatta had promised the day before, everyone in the front couple of rows got riled up and “fell out.” He stood transfixed by the commotion and emotions going on as people were overwhelmed left and right by the Spirit, clutching the edge of each pew and thanking God, weeping openly when it moved them.
Just when he thought it couldn’t shake him any further, the offering was quickly collected, giving him a moment to catch his breath.
Then the organist launched into the opening bars of “O Come All Ye Faithful,” and it was his turn to go weak in the knees. Ororo had her solo beginning on the second stanza of the hymn. She opened her mouth and he found himself taking a breath when she did in anticipation, and her voice rose sweet, strong and true. His dad caught the thunderstruck look on his face and clapped him on the shoulder.
“All that AND she can sing, eh, Jamie?” He turned to him, mouth still hanging open, and simply nodded.
His eyes returned to Ororo as she continued to sing, eliciting more cries from the front row to “Praise Jesus!” and “Yes, Lord!” What really struck him was how much joy she got out of it; she was radiant and in her element. Her voice thrummed through him and touched something in him that he’d only just discovered, and wanted to know better.
Heck, he couldn’t let this woman get away now. It was just unthinkable.
An hour later:
“I’m sorry, how do you pronounce your name again? I’m horrible with names.”
“N’Dare,” she said carefully, giving Amelia a tolerant smile that broadened when she saw the pretty Jello mold. “Let’s put that in the refrigerator, I’ve got some whipped cream that’ll go nicely with that, I bought extra for the pecan pie!”
“Now we’re talkin’!” Logan had already hung up his and Ororo’s coats and unloaded the gifts, tucking them under the tree that was surrounded by mounds of loot. Ororo had looked quizzically at the flat rectangular box wrapped up in silver and white foil with a department store bow that had her name scribbled in pen across the left corner, but she just smiled at him and said nothing. Lingerie, perhaps? A Wonder Woman T-shirt? Or the Betty and Veronica underpants she’d jokingly pointed out in Penney’s? Who knew?
The rich scents of the baked ham and yams, and the roast beef with potatoes wafted through the house, rousing comments from Jonathan as he and Jack made their way to the den to watch basketball with Ororo’s uncles and offer them some of the beer that they picked up on the way over. Logan and Elizabeth heartily assured little Monique that yes, she was the best shepherd they had ever seen in the pageant and that Felicia had done a great job, too. Logan wandered into the play room where the kids had assembled to wreak general havoc and fight over which DVD to watch next, and shortly had them all shrieking at the top of their lungs as the “Wolfman” made his growling return, gnarly claws, wiggling eyebrows and all.
“What’s that boy up to now?” Ororo chuckled as Martina handed her a cup of sorrel punch.
“What he does best,” Elizabeth replied. “His older brother John’s kids adore him, kiddo, this is typical of wherever we go, when there’s kids in the house. He loves ‘em. Just a thought,” she winked, dropping the grandchildren card. Ororo beamed as she sipped her punch.
A gorgeous array of food that put even the Thanksgiving spread to shame was laid out on the buffet, and after Ororo’s uncle said the blessing and gave his usual speech, Ororo got up to help pass the dishes and serving bowls. Logan enjoyed watching her move between the adult and kiddie tables, looking good enough to eat, herself, in her white cashmere sweater, black leather vest and matching calf-length skirt. The glow of the candles and softer overhead lights from the chandelier cast a warm glow over her skin and hair. Her blue eyes looked amused as she caught him staring at her, and she grinned at him before pulling a face. He laughed into his napkin at her expression before she moved off to offer her uncle the stuffing and gravy.
The chatter rose into a cacophony as dinner progressed, and Logan found himself holding down his end of three or four conversations at once as Ororo’s relatives, not to mention his own, got “deep into the grape” on Ruthie’s sorrel punch and her cousin Howard’s “famous apple martinis.” Every now and again, just for kicks, he would play peek-a-boo with the nieces and nephews from their huddle at the kiddie table, making faces from behind his cloth napkin to make them all giggle and bounce in their seats.
“You’re a bad influence,” Ororo scolded him.
“Yup,” he shot back proudly. Logan got up to help clear away the dishes with Ororo to let the food shift and settle itself. Whoo, that was good stuff.
Logan’s thoughts wandered back to the sight of Ororo perched and wobbling on top of the step ladder in her building’s lobby, adjusting the star atop the tree as he stared at the towering, painstakingly decorated fir in N’Dare’s family room. String after string of tiny white lights, not the annoying flashing ones, were draped from its branches in neat rows, picking out the details of the long sashes of burgundy and gold ribbon, icicles, tufts of ornamental grapes and Afrocentric ornaments recreating a charming Nativity.
Logan rubbed his nape and drew in a shuddery breath. It was almost time. Gads, he was nervous.
He wandered back into the kitchen, watching Ororo cracking jokes with his mother and stepmom, feigning indignance as her aunts teased her and fussed over hair, accusing her of letting it get too dry. Nope, not quite time yet. He prowled back into the den and watched the game with little interest as his father handed him a beer.
Martina’s voice cut across the house like a bullhorn. “Everybody grab the kids and herd ‘em up! Everyone into the den to open up presents! Hustle, people!” That settled that. Logan patted his pocket for the second time that night and steeled himself as Ororo came out of the kitchen, untying her apron and tossing it over the back of a chair.
“Miss me?”
“You know it, darlin’.” She tugged him over to the recliner and nudged him into it while she balanced herself on the arm, massaging the kinks out of his neck and smiling at him as though he reached up, plucked the moon out of the sky and handed it to her. She couldn’t put her finger on the exciting, restless feeling she had right now, but she was content to trade mischievous looks with Logan, watching his chocolate brown eyes twinkle up at her. Gifts were slowly handed out from beneath the tree and arranged into smaller piles in front of each person. Ororo got up and handed N’Dare the tiny green box with a crisp bow on top, beaming as she said “Logan and Amelia picked this one out for you.” N’Dare was puzzled at first, then thrilled when she pulled out the little figurine of the two little girls holding hands and clutching their school books, their hair styled in little pigtails and painted with strong attention to detail.
“Ruthie, will you just look at what Logan and Ororo gave me! Bet you wish you had one, too!” she gloated playfully, turning it this way and that before she rose and gave Logan an unexpected peck on the cheek. “Okay, it’s settled, we’ll keep you,” she announced.
Let’s see if she felt the same once Ororo opened up her box.
Various squeals from the kids drowned out everything else as wrapping paper flew off every which direction, littering the floor until Martina came out with a garbage bag to begin collecting the discarded foil and tags, saving the bows in a grocery bag for the next year. Logan opened up a surprisingly nice sweater that N’Dare had given him, and he stroked his fingertip over the gleaming silver watch adorning his wrist, admiring it in the light after Ororo presented it to him. He kissed her soundly, not caring who saw, even when Ruthie admonished “All right now, that’s enough of that, y’all behave y’selves!”
Ororo saved his box for last, wanting to enjoy it after everything died down. She shook it slightly, wondering what could make a big box like that feel so light. She peeled away the tape and lifted up the gift-wrapped lid.
A tiny slip of folded paper lay on top of a layer of tissue. What on earth…?
“Read it,” he grated out, his pulse pounding in his neck as he leaned forward to watch her face.
“What? Wait… ‘Ask me what’s in my pocket?’” She was incredulous, looking at him like he’d gone off his rocker before she took the bait. “What’s in your pocket, Logan?”
“I know where your mind went, get it outta the gutter,” he barked before he rose from the recliner and reached into the pocket, withdrawing a small red velvet box. Ororo’s hands flew up to her mouth as her breath lurched out of her lungs, nearly knocking her off the arm of the chair. Her eyes met his, glittering with an odd sheen and a dozen questions. It was almost surreal as he dropped down on one knee.
“Say something, Ororo.” He took her hand in his and gently squeezed it. She shook her head, mouth still covered. She was completely overwhelmed, and almost immediately, Logan’s mother, his stepmother, N’Dare and Ruthie swiveled around to see what was drawing everyone’s attention in the back of the den.
She swallowed around an enormous lump in her throat, and she couldn’t stop trembling, but she tried to play it off with a smile. “It…it’s smaller than a bread box. How many guesses do I get?” She squeezed his hand back.
“None. Ya don’t have to.” He pried open the box with his thumb, revealing a narrow, yellow gold band with a two-carat, marquise-cut solitaire that glittered up from a nest of white satin. Logan wasn’t a poetic man, and there were moments when words surely failed him, but this was crucial, and he couldn’t afford to mess this up.
“Oh, my God!” N’Dare felt Ruthie lay a hand on her shoulder as she watched the scene unfolding before her, and she fanned her cheeks for air, unable to believe it.
“That’s my boy, Jamie,” his mother whispered. Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close.
“Ororo, I love ya more than I can even begin ta describe, for more reasons than I can even list. From the moment I met ya, I knew you were special and one of a kind, and nothing was gonna stop me from having ya in my life. Yer the light of my life, darlin’, and ya’d make me the happiest man alive if ya’d do me the honor of becoming my wife. Will you marry me, ‘Ro?” Her fingers trembled over her lips as tears welled up and spilled over her lashes, dripping onto her skirt. Before he’d even finished his sentence, she was already nodding emphatically. She made a choked, mewling sound of accord before he tugged her wrist away, stroking it with his thumb.
“Yes,” she sniffled. “Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes! I’ll marry you. Momma, come and look! It’s BEAUTIFUL!” Logan plucked the ring out of the box and set it aside before he took Ororo’s hand and slid the ring onto her left hand, caressing her slender fingers in a tender grip.
“I couldn’t miss it, baby girl, it’s huge,” N’Dare chuckled, but even her eyes were wet. Ororo bent down and kissed Logan to an uproar of shouts and claps from their assembled family as Monique and her other nieces jumped up and down and giggled behind their hands in the corner amidst the piles of toys.
“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth beneath the clamor. She caught his muffled response as he kissed her again, just to make sure she stayed kissed, before he came back up for air.
“Ruthie, go ahead and bring that sorrel back out here, this calls for a toast!”
Midnight, in a hotel room not far away:
“I can’t stop staring at it,” Ororo murmured, studying her hand with just as much intensity and interest as she had the first umpteen times, unable to take her eyes off that gorgeous ring.
“Gotta sleep sometime, darlin’.”
“No need. I’m already dreaming. I love you,” she informed him again.
“Love you, too.” The hotel TV was on low volume, and they were snickering at the marathon of the movie “A Christmas Story” that had been playing on heavy rotation since they checked into their room. Logan’s breath stirred the hairs at her temple as he held her in a possessive embrace. He’d been fretting about it all month, but now it was almost over too soon. “This was the best Christmas I ever had, hands down. Unless we get married, you tell me we’re having a baby, actually have a baby, or win the lottery when the jackpot hits ten million next Christmas or any of the ones after it, no other Christmas will compete with this one.”
“I wish Daddy could have been here for it, but I felt him watching when you took that box out of your pocket, and that made it perfect. You made this perfect for me.” Logan’s lids were heavy and his hands stroked her with sleepy languor. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, darlin’.” They eventually turned off the TV when Ororo nodded off during the scene when Ralphie unwrapped his Red Ryder air rifle with the compass in the stock. Logan huffed deep in his chest at the look of joy on Ralphie’s face, knowing exactly how it felt to be given everything you’ve ever wanted in life, wrapped up with a shiny bow.
He woke up the next morning with Ororo’s hair tickling his lips and her breasts mashed into his ribcage where her pajama top rode up. He toyed with the idea of peeling it the rest of the way off and waking her up with grand ceremony until he heard her purse start ringing.
“It’s too early f’r this,” she grumbled sleepily, patting Logan with a fumbling hand, enjoying his warm skin. “Morning, baby,” she rasped, kissing his jaw.
“Ya better get that. Might be yer mom calling us to see if we’re still comin’ over.”
“Doubt it,” she replied, yawning as she rose and scratched, then rummaged in her purse. “Whassup?” she muttered. Her face twisted into a grin before she cackled out loud, then bounced back on her heels. “Girl, you’re too much! No, he didn’t!”
“Kenya?” he mouthed, pointing to her phone. She nodded before she went back to her conversation, then held the phone away from her ear due to what he could only guess was more shrieking on the other end of the line. Ororo’s face was smug.
“Guess what I got?” Ororo sang, drawing out the last two syllables. Yup, his fiancée looked like the cat that got the cream as he sat up and leaned against the headboard, patting her side of the bed. She smiled as she continued to bait her cousin. “C’mon, just guess, you know you want to!” She rolled her eyes before she dropped back down to Logan. “It’s small and round…I take that back, BIG and round and fits nice and neat on your ring finger. Ya wear it on the left one.” This time Logan was close enough to hear Kenyatta shrieking in Ororo’s mobile, and he drilled his finger into his ear with exaggeration.
“Whoa. Shit,” he hissed. Ororo socked him.
“Hold up…” Ororo held her hand over the mouthpiece. “Kenyatta said to tell you Leon beat you to the punch.”
“Like hell he did,” he grumbled. “Only if he asked her before dinner was over,” he added.
“Yup, only if he asked you before dinner,” she repeated, peeling the blankets off of Logan and clambering onto his lap, straddling him. He grunted under his breath as she eyed him with mischievous intent. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yup, I want details when y’all get here. Yup. Love you, too. Can’t wait to see that rock. Gotta go, bye!” She clacked the phone shut and chucked it onto the nightstand. “We’ve gotta go meet the folks for breakfast.”
“I know. So what’re ya doin’?”
“Waking you up properly,” she told him as she wrestled off his boxers. He didn’t have it in him to object. They proceeded to get their money’s worth out of the hotel room and the shower and made it to her mother’s before the first cup of coffee was poured.
One sunny June morning:
“Folks always gotta be runnin’ late on their weddin’ day,” Kenyatta grumbled at Ororo as she hurried into the small room in back of the chapel to put the finishing touches on herself. N’Dare and Ruthie already stood sentry at the door to make sure no one caught sight of her before it was time. “Can’t make the poor man wait all day, cuz.”
“You mean can’t make you wait all day, you’re the one fussin’ at me, girl! Give a woman some peace…where’s my lipstick?”
“Pass your face over here.” She flicked her eyes over Ororo’s elaborate hair as she ran the wand of lipstick over her bottom lip. “Damn, how many pins did Monica use to get this mess up there and get it to stay?”
“Don’t ask. My head feels like it weighs a ton. How you feeling this morning?”
“Don’t ask. Got my saltines in my purse.” She patted the tiny handbag dangling from her wrist that matched the raspberry pink chiffon bridesmaid dress before she help Ororo settle the veil into place with more pins. She fluffed out the long stream of ivory tulle and handed Ororo her shoes, which she’d carried over to avoid having anything stain them on the way. They were silk shantung like her dress and crusted with tiny pearls that winked up at her as she lifted gown up for a better look.
Pretty soon she wouldn’t even be able to see her feet. Kenyatta was in pretty much the same boat, and they’d just had her wedding in May in an effort to pacify Ruthie that her daughter would be married before her grandchild came into this world. When she had emailed Scott to let him know the happy news and had an invitation delivered to his new office, he’d slyly written back that something must have been in the water for all of the females to be in the family way like that.
“Jeannie’s got you all beat; she’s due on Halloween!”
Ororo smoothed the folds of her gown before Ruthie handed her the bouquet of snowy white roses and baby’s breath. “What’s the verdict?”
“Perfect,” her mother admitted, and her face began to crumple as Ruthie handed her some tissues.
“We’re not even down the aisle yet, and y’all are carrying on,” Kenyatta tsked.
Leon poked his head inside the door, and his eyes bulged a moment before he said “Dang, girl, he’s gonna fall out when he sees you looking like that!”
“We had to scrape you up off the floor when it was Kenyatta’s turn,” Ruthie reminded him.
“You ready?” He proffered his arm, looking spiffy in his gray tux as she scooped up her train and accompanied him to the back of the chapel, waiting in the wings.
Down by the altar, Logan rubbed the back of his neck restlessly until his mother swatted him from her perch in the pew. “Stop that, Jamie! Settle down!”
“Ma…” he grumbled.
“Stop fretting. You look handsome, the church is beautiful, this is your big day, and you know we’re right here pulling for you. So stop fidgeting.” Yup. Same old Mom.
“Don’t make her haul you up by the ear like she used to,” his brother John warned, reaching out to straighten Logan’s bow tie, smoothing it slightly before Logan reached up to loosen it again. He poked his finger under his collar impatiently, ready to pounce when his brother sighed “Yeah, that really helps when you do that.”
“Kiss my ass,” Logan muttered under his breath.
“JAMIE!” his mother hissed at him in a loud whisper before swatting him with her fan.
“Sorry,” he muttered. The organ thundered through the chapel of Ororo’s church, ceasing Logan’s mother and stepmother from fiddling with the pew bows as they looked to the back of the church.
The wedding party made their way down the pristine white runner, starting with N’Dare leading Monique by the hand, clutching her basket of silk flowers, with her dollie Felicia conspicuously missing. Logan grinned at her dignified little expression that she gave everyone until he winked at her, causing her to clap her hand over her giggling mouth as she and N’Dare sat down. Kenyatta made her way next, walking elegantly enough in the pink sheath layered in iridescent chiffon and silver heels, enjoying her maid of honor privileges to the hilt. Ororo’s other bridesmaids continued along on the arms of the groomsmen and took up their place. The music segued into the bridal march, and Logan’s breath caught in this throat.
“Easy, buddy,” John whispered, “I’ve been there. This is it.”
“Uh-huh.” That was all he could manage.
Leon appeared at the end of the aisle, escorting Ororo down the aisle with carefree grace. The assembly stood and craned their necks around, and Logan could have sworn he could hear a pin drop at the sight that she made. The ivory tulle blusher of her veil was lowered over her face, which was radiant as she beamed at him, offering him their future together with a smile that nearly made him choke up. The spaghetti-strapped ivory silk shantung dress had a simple yet elegant princess-seamed bodice and waist and full skirt that rustled when she walked. The short train was delicately appliquéd and completed the vision that she made, ethereal and beautiful, and every inch the blushing bride. Ororo hugged Leon once she reached the altar and released him, then turned to Logan.
“Hi,” she mouthed at him.
“Hi, yourself,” he grinned back. He lifted up the blusher and drew it from her face, letting the gauzy veil drift down over her shoulders. She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm before they nodded to the minister.
“You may all be seated,” he intoned, and there was a shuffling in the chapel as everyone situated themselves. Before he could go any further, a baby could be heard squalling at the top of his lungs in the back row.
“You know what that means,” Amelia whispered to Elizabeth. “If a baby cries at your wedding, it means a full cradle nine months later!”
“I think they jumped the gun a little on that one,” Elizabeth murmured, “but as long as I have some more grandchildren to spoil, I’ll be just fine! Maybe this’ll insure that they’ll have a whole houseful,” she considered. Amelia shrugged and nodded as they sat back to enjoy the ceremony, with visions of baby blankets and booties dancing in their heads.
Logan’s hand was trembling as he slid the wedding band onto Ororo’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he grated out. His chocolaty eyes glimmered with emotion, and Ororo reached out to gently wipe the moisture away before she did the same.
“You may now kiss the bride!” A wave of applause broke out as they enthusiastically obeyed. “It’s my pleasure to introduce to you, Mr. and Mrs. James Howlett!”
That following Christmas Eve:
“Next time just tell me ya don’t want any ham, ‘Ro, instead of breaking your water to drive the point home!” Logan mopped her forehead with a cool towel as she writhed on the hospital bed, well past the point of Lamaze breathing doing the least bit of good, which if she had to be honest, was after the “hee-hee-HOO” stage. Over the past five hours, Ororo had gone from making pleasant yet nervous chatter with the nurses to threatening never to sleep with Logan again if he didn’t “get someone in here with some painkiller horse pills NOW, damn it!”
“Can’t ya give her ANYTHING?” he bellowed, wincing as Ororo’s fingers dug into his shoulder. Shit, she was strong! N’Dare, Amelia and Elizabeth stood by, broadcasting a combination of anticipation and empathy, occasionally offering her sips of 7-Up and back rubs when Logan began to look aggrieved and overwhelmed.
“Now we’re in business, she’s nine and a half centimeters!” the nurse announced cheerfully, “just hang in there, Mrs. Munroe, I’ll grab the doctor! Let’s have this baby!”
“She…sounds like…a damned…cheerleader,” Ororo panted. Logan suppressed a chuckle as he kissed her cheek, wincing as another contraction made her abdomen stiffen into a tight ball of pain.
“Almost there,” he promised.
“I want it OUT!” she screeched.
“I want it here,” he soothed. “I wanna see our baby, darlin’,” he crooned, stroking her braids over her shoulder and mopping more sweat from her neck with the cloth. “There’s nothin’ I want more.” Her sapphire blue eyes softened for a minute as she peered up at him.
“I know. Me too.” It was the last peaceful moment they had over the next hour as Ororo clenched his hand strong enough to do him damage and began to push.
“I asked for PAINKILLER, damn it!”
“It’s too late for that, sweetie,” her OB/GYN assured her, “but give me another good, big push and we’ll set you up with some pain pills and a nice comfy bed! Here comes baby…Dad, d’you wanna see the head?” Logan turned slightly green. “That’s fine!” she chirped.
Ororo released another guttural shout, curling her body around the push, feeling a twisting within her, almost as though she were being pried apart…then something slipped free in a warm rush. Logan gripped her now, begging her to tell him that she was okay.
“It’s a beautiful baby GIRL! Say hello to your daughter, Daddy!” The squalling infant squinched her eyes shut and howled to rival her mother’s earlier cries, flailing tiny fists against the chill. N’Dare collapsed against Amelia and held onto Elizabeth’s hand.
“Our grandbaby. Oh, David, I hope you can see this, wherever you are!” she exclaimed. She marshaled the strength to come to her daughter’s bedside and kiss her cheek. “You did wonderfully. So help me, this is my proudest moment since you came into my life!” Elizabeth was hugging Logan, who was still looking shell-shocked while Amelia hovered over the nurse’s shoulder as the baby was weighed and cleaned up, squalling in protest the entire time.
“EIGHT POUNDS! Someone likes to EAT! My kind of girl!” Amelia crowed. “Oh, we’re gonna have some fun with this grandbaby!”
“I’ve got dibs on her first,” Ororo murmured weakly. Logan took her from the nurse and carried her over, bundled into a pink bunting and matching knit cap. He placed her on her mother’s chest, where she snuffled and cooed, becoming acquainted with her mother’s scent and warmth. “Hi,” she croaked. “Welcome to the world!”
“We did it,” Logan huffed, stroking his daughter’s tiny head. “I never thought we could top last Christmas, but ya proved me wrong, darlin’.”
“The only way to keep up our track record now is to win the lottery,” she pointed out, “but our odds are fantastic.” From then on, Elizabeth N’Dare Howlett’s grandmothers took turns passing the baby among them while the nurse saw to Ororo’s needs, and Logan made his bleary-eyed but blissful way to the packed waiting room to give Kenyatta, Leon (bouncing their baby boy on his knee) and the aunts, uncles and grandpas the news.
Little Elizabeth grew up with her mother’s kindness, her father’s aptitude for how things worked, their combined good looks, and a genuine love of family and her rich heritage. And all was right with the world.
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