Including one that saysBaby's First Christmaswith a space for a photo. I put Harper's picture in it while Nora watches, and when I hang it front and center on the tree, she gets suspiciously misty-eyed.
"That's really sweet, Ty."
"She deserves it."
The tree's tall enough that Nora can't reach the upper branches, which means I keep having to lift her. And I'm notcomplaining, because every time I put my hands on her waist, I get to feel her breath catch, hold her close for a few seconds, and pretend this is normal.
Harper’s ‘helping’ from her bouncer on the floor, which mostly means grabbing ornaments off the low branches and trying to eat them. After we have to rescue a glass ball twice, Nora moves her bouncer to the other side of the room. From her new exile, she glares at the tree with deep personal grievance, and we both crack up.
By 3 p.m., the tree is done, and it's beautiful. Full, bright, and exactly what Harper's first Christmas should look like.
"We should get a photo," Nora says. "The three of us with the tree."
We set up my phone on the mantle with a timer and position ourselves in front of the tree. I'm holding Harper, Nora's next to me with her hand on my shoulder, and when the camera clicks, we look like what we keep pretending we're not.
"One more thing," I say, checking the time. "The mall. We need Santa photos."
"Tyler, she's seven months old. She's not going to remember this."
"But we will. Come on. It'll be fun."
The mall is packed with Christmas shoppers, everyone rushing around with bags, stress, and that frantic holiday energy. I'm pushing Harper's stroller through the crowds, Nora beside me, and we get stopped a dozen times by people commenting on how cute Harper is.
The Santa photo line is long, but we wait. By the time we get to the front, Harper's awake and alert, taking everything in with wide blue eyes.
"Just the baby?" the elf photographer asks.
"All three of us," I say before I can think better of it.
So we end up in a Santa photo together—I’m on one side of Santa, who’s holding Harper on his lap, and Nora’s on the other side, both of us leaning in close. The photographer takesseveral shots, and when she shows us the preview, I can't breathe.
We look like a family. A real family. Not just a dad, his nanny, and his baby, but an actual unit.Together. Complete.
"I'll take all of them," I say, handing over my credit card.
After the Santa photo, we split up for"secret shopping."Nora takes Harper in the stroller, and I head in the opposite direction. Thirty minutes later, I find them at the food court with several bags she's trying to hide.
"Productive shopping?"
"Maybe. You?"
"Maybe."
We grin at each other like we're in on the same secret.
The drive home is easy, with Harper babbling to herself and Christmas music playing softly on the radio. Nora’s looking out the window, and I keep glancing over at her, memorizing the way she looks in the dashboard lights.
At home, we hide our respective gifts before doing Harper's bedtime routine together: bath, pajamas, bottle, bed. She goes down easily at seven-thirty, exhausted from the busy day.
We’re standing in the nursery doorway, both of us watching her sleep in her crib. The hallway behind us is lit only by the soft glow rising up the stairs from the tree.
"Today was perfect," Nora says quietly.
"Yeah. It was."
She's looking at Harper, not at me.
"Goodnight, Ty," she says, without turning.