The Christmas village exceeds even my memories. Fake snow blankets everything, the carousel spins to "Jingle Bells," and Beckett's face—God, his face.
"MOM! WARREN! LOOK!" He scoops up a fistful of the fluffy white stuff and hurls it skyward, laughing as it rains down on his upturned face.
I pull out my phone, capturing the moment.Click.
Then I get another as he drags Janie toward the carousel.Click.
His face is sticky with hot chocolate, whipped cream across his nose.
"You're a natural with him," Janie says as we watch him pet a reindeer.
"He makes it easy." My voice comes out a little jagged, tight at the back of my throat.
Later, I snap a quiet picture of Janie alone, her face tilted up to the colored lights strung between the trees. There's the sweetest curve in her smile that guts me as I watch her beam at our son.
All the moments I missed because I blocked. All the nights she faced alone.
At the tree lot, Beckett runs between the pines, inspecting each one with serious concentration.
"This one's for the Mommy's house," he declares, pointing to a bushy blue spruce. Then he races to a tall Douglas fir. "And this one’s for the Daddy’s house!” Beckett declares, then adds with all the authority of a preschooler, “Every family has a daddy.”
The air stills. For a heartbeat, it’s only Janie’s wide eyes on mine, both of us unraveling under the words of a child who has no idea how close he’s cut.
I nearly stumble. Janie's eyes find mine, wide with panic.
"Warren's house," she corrects gently.
"It's perfect," I cut in, kneeling beside him. "The perfect tree for my house."
I'm still reeling from his innocent comment. It is for the daddy's house. His daddy's.
Once the man cuts our trees and secures them in the back of my truck, I pay, and we're on our way to the cabin. I wanted to make sure we arrive when there is still some daylight.
It's a quick, five-minute drive, and our rental appears around the bend. It's nothing fancy, just a small A-frame with a porch swing, ready for smoke curling from the chimney. Lights twinkle along the roofline, reflecting off the fake snow still clinging to our boots.
Janie's eyes widen. "How cute is this? You just found it this morning?"
"Yeah." My hands tighten on the wheel. "Two bedrooms, set up for the season. I had the owner stock the fridge and turn the heat on."
"A Christmas sleepover?" Beckett perks up, suddenly wide awake. "With the trees and everything?"
I nod, pulse hammering as I look at Janie. "Yep. We'll head back first thing tomorrow. We can do hot cocoa and watch a Christmas movie to get us ready to decorate our trees tomorrow."
"Yay!" Beckett bounces in his car seat. "I want to pick out my room!"
Inside, the cabin exceeds even my expectations. String lights hang from exposed beams, casting warm pools of light across pine floors. A small tabletop tree sits decorated on the coffee table. The fireplace is stocked with wood and kindling, ready to be started.
"This is amazing!" Beckett races from room to room, discovering a basket of paper, scissors, and string on the dining table. "Look! We can make more decorations!"
Janie brushes her fingers against mine when Beckett isn't looking. "You thought of everything."
"I ordered pizza. Should be here in twenty minutes."
We fall into an easy rhythm of pizza on the floor in front of the fire, mugs of cocoa topped with whipped cream, and Charlie Brown's Christmas playing on the small TV.
Beckett works furiously on paper garlands, his tongue stuck out in concentration.
Janie laughs at something on screen, her shoulders relaxed, guard down. When her knee rests against mine, neither of us pulls away.