Page 18 of All in for Christmas

Dean blinks at my phone. “What? Now?” He checks the clock on the bookshelf. “It’s nearly nine o’clock.”

“Not tonight,” I answer, scanning Mom’s text. I look up at Dean. “She’s asking about them stopping by in the morning for coffee around ten o’clock?”

“I don’t see why not,” he says.

“I agree. I’d like to meet this Roger guy. The sooner the better.” Assuming I’m still here. If I land back in my condo world, I’ll just have to find Mom there and learn what she’s up to. I can’t believe I’m getting used to the idea of me having existed in two different realms.

My heart sinks again at the idea of leaving this place and this family, which is ridiculous, I know.

I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, but I can’t help the unexpected tug on my heartstrings.

I’d have to be made of stone not to feel my heart gently prying open and overwhelming emotions flooding in.

I glance at Eleanor and Henry sleeping angelically and sigh deeply.

No matter where I wake up tomorrow, all will look clearer after a good night’s sleep. I hope.

“Getting tired?” Dean asks.

Once he’s put the idea in my head, I yawn. “A little.”

He studies me carefully. “I know we didn’t sleep much last night, waiting up for that comet.” His disappointed look surprises me. “Too bad we missed it.”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “I’m just sad that it kept on snowing. The weather report promised the storm would lift before midnight.”

Wait. We didn’t see the comet? Yet another difference between my former reality and this one. I distinctly recall being awakened by a very bright glow in my condo.

“But the Christmas Comet was still up there,” Dean continues wistfully. “Today I read it was visible in many locations. Somewhere high above the earth, it was lighting the way for all those serious astronomers out there.”

“You’re a serious astronomer.”

“Yeah, not really.” He winces. “Sure, I thought about it once, but, as you know, my life took a different course.” He shrugs. “I’m happy with how things worked out.”

I know what that means. Without Puerto Rico and Wendy, a job out west, his life experiences have been different.

He did circle back around to Walton in both realities, to be fair.

And he appears content in both places. When I saw him at the holiday party, he seemed good and happy.

I wonder if he surmised the same thing about me.

Dean blows out a breath, his mind still on his missed opportunity with the comet.

“I know we could have seen it with the naked eye, but it was really great of Chad to loan me his extra telescope. Seeing it through a lens would have been fantastic.” I’m surprised Dean doesn’t own a telescope of his own.

Maybe in this world he sees that as a splurge and thinks we can’t afford it.

“I’ve already packed it up,” he says, “and will take it back to him on Monday.”

“Chad—Quesenberry?”

“Yep, he’s the one.”

“But isn’t he a counselor?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, sorry. I thought I’d told you about him being a big stargazer buff.

He’s got all sorts of equipment. Some that I envy, honestly.

He doesn’t even teach science, but he probably could if he wanted to.

The man knows a ton about galaxies and black holes.

He’s fun to talk to.” I’m glad Dean has friends at school and wonder if I do.

It’s heartening to know I’ve reconnected with my old friend group from college.

Or rather, that we never disconnected here.

When I return to the other world, I think I’ll reach out to them.

It may be hard at first, but worth it. I’ve missed those girls so much.

It shouldn’t matter that our lives have evolved, and that we’ve chosen different paths.

What matters is the love we share in our hearts and our longtime history as friends.

The logs in the hearth crackle softly and the fire burns down low.

Christmas stockings hang on either end of the mantel, out of harm’s way from the heat and flames.

Dean’s stocking and mine are on the left, with the two for Eleanor and Henry on the right.

Scout’s stocking is next to Henry’s. All the names are done in swirly lettering and in sparkly silver glitter.

The DIY project looks kind of rough, like we might have made them as a family ourselves, but the results are still charming.

Dean smiles over at me. “What do you say we tuck these munchkins into bed and get ready for bed ourselves? Maybe watch some TV in our bedroom, or read?”

I find myself yawning again and cover my mouth. “Sounds good.”

I wouldn’t mind more chill time to process the day.

Mentally plan out my goals for tomorrow: a Plan A for this world, and a Plan B for the other.

Though I feel certain if I typed up any kind of schedule, Dean would find that weird.

A light bulb goes on in my brain. A computer!

Brilliant! I can go through its history and bookmarks to piece together more of my past.

“Dean?” I ask. He’s peeled back the sofa blanket from Eleanor and holds the sleeping girl in his arms. “I seem to have misplaced my laptop. Any idea where I might find it?”

He chuckles softly so as not to disturb Eleanor. “Are you hinting to Santa again?”

“Santa? What?”

“I know you’ve wanted your own laptop forever, and I’m sorry we’re still sharing the one Walton issued me.”

“Sharing?” My head spins.

His shoulders slouch. “Yeah, it stinks we couldn’t count on that old one you had from college to last forever. But soon!” he says. “Keep the faith! If I get my teacher bonus this year, we might find a way.”

I’m speechless. I don’t have a laptop? That’s not something frivolous. It’s a necessity. How strapped for cash are we? “But don’t I get a laptop with my job?”

He cocks his head. “Hon, you’ve got a desktop at school.”

“Er. Right!” I force a laugh. “I knew that.”

“Paige,” he asks worriedly, “are you feeling all right? Because lately.” He purses his lips in a pause. “You seem to be forgetting things.”

I heave a breath. “That’s because—”

“You want a different life?” he asks, sounding beleaguered. “Is that why you’re mentally scrubbing this one?”

The way he puts it sounds horrible.

“ Nooo . No, no, no. I would never do that on purpose.”

“Your mom texted me earlier. She sounded worried about you.” He wrinkles his brow, hugging Eleanor against his chest. “Are you sure you’re not sick? Experiencing other symptoms?”

“No, no.”

“Or.” He glances at my stomach.

“Definitely not.” I swallow hard.

“All right.” He smiles warmly. “It’s good we’ve got winter break coming up. Sounds like you’re due for a little downtime.” He arches an eyebrow. “Or at least a slightly less hectic time than we typically have around here.”

Things haven’t been that bad. A bit busy with the kids, but they seem to go to bed early.

They get up early, too. I yawn again and cover my mouth, drained by the events of the day.

Waking up next to Dean, toilet training Henry, lunch with Mom at Beaumont’s, then playing in the snow with the kids.

No wonder I’m exhausted. And it’s the weekend.

So, no computer. Sigh. Well, at least I’ve got a cell phone. Some kind of lifeline to technology, meaning the modern world. I pick it up and examine it, realizing it’s a model from several years ago. Doesn’t matter! Still works! The screen goes black and I panic.

“You probably just need to charge it,” Dean says before he leaves the room.

“Of course!”

He carries Eleanor to bed, and I carefully scoot out from under Henry’s heavy head. No way. I birthed that? His head’s the size of a bowling ball! No. It was smaller then. My palms go damp. Surely.

I remove his blanket and gather him up in my arms. He sags against me when I stand upright, so cushiony soft and babylike.

And yet, he’s growing up. Potty training.

Tears burn in my eyes, and I blink them back.

I can’t take credit for his progress. I only helped him to the toilet once.

Clearly there were other times that everyone else recalls. Everyone but me.

I don’t know which is worse. Being unexpectedly thrust into this alternate reality or being painfully unaware of the memories I’ve made here.

I sniff back my emotion and straighten my spine, carting Henry to his bedroom.

I lay him in bed, tuck him under the covers.

Yawn again, because goodness gracious, I’m zombie-like with exhaustion myself.

I switch off lights in the living room. Note that the fire in the fireplace has mostly burned down to purplish embers.

Take my cell phone into the kitchen, find my charger, and plug in my phone.

No signal. No battery icon. Maybe it’s so far gone, I need to charge it overnight for it to restore itself?

As I leave the kitchen, my gaze snags on the advent calendar. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that my landing in this alternate world has an awful lot to do with the shimmering star I pressed to the top of that green felt Christmas tree. I’m just not sure how.

“What do you know about all of this?” I ask the calendar.

But of course it doesn’t answer.

I find Dean in the bedroom, in his sweatpants and T-shirt. “Do I need to lock up?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “I did it.” I hunt around for Scout because he wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. He’s tucked himself into his doggie bed. “Does Scout need to go out?”

“He takes care of himself,” Dean explains. “That’s how we trained him.”

He’s trained exceptionally well to go in and out the door to the side yard, where there’s no fencing. “He’s very good to never run away.”

Dean chuckles as if that’s impossible to imagine.

“Old Scout’s not going anywhere,” he assures me.

“He knows how good he’s got it.” I find myself relating to Scout.

But no. He’s a dog, and I am human. Not trained to this reality in the least. Although, it does seem I’m catching on a lot more quickly than I might have guessed.

I get ready for bed in the bathroom, where I find the large T-shirt of Dean’s I slept in last night hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

Brush my teeth. I can’t find my electric toothbrush, so I use a regular kind, the sort the dentist gives you at check-ups.

The green one is obviously mine since the blue one looks wet, like it was recently used by Dean.

Floss my teeth, wash my face, change into the T-shirt.

When I reenter the bedroom, Dean’s sorting through streaming choices on the TV that sits on the chest of drawers. “What do you think, hon?” he asks me as I approach the bed. “A movie or one of our shows?”

The instant I’m under the covers, my eyelids grow heavy, and I have trouble keeping them open.

I can’t imagine making it through an entire film.

“Maybe a show?” I suggest. “Your pick.” But even that demand is too great.

I yawn again without meaning to, and then another time.

Soon darkness closes in, and Dean turns off the TV.

Grogginess settles over me like a warm blanket.

I hear a snort and I startle. Is that me? Gosh. No. I don’t snore now, do I?

Hmm, maybe.

Or maybe it’s sheer exhaustion kicking in.

My body grows heavy and heavier. Limp. Then there’s nothing but the sound of the snow pattering against the windows.

A click and Dean switches off his light.

The mattress sags and he burrows under the covers, gently tugs me into his embrace.

I melt into our spooning position with him behind me, like we’ve done this our whole lives.

And maybe we have. Sleepiness creeps over me and Dean holds me tighter.

Despite the winds that rage outdoors, I’m safe and warm. In a good place.

My eyes pop open and shadows cloak the room.

I forgot all about my dream journal!

Do I even keep one here?

Doubtful.

Dean’s already breathing more deeply, falling asleep behind me. Him giving way to slumber makes me drowsy, too. I let me eyelids fall closed, hug his arm draping over me. Wrap the blankets over my shoulders and drift like the snow.

I do not wake up in my shiny condo with views of the snowy valley and neighboring Boone. I’m snuggled next to Dean, which is nice and cozy. Until the kids burst into the room.

Jump up on the bed.

Eleanor. Henry. Scout. Woof, woof, woof!

“Mommy! Mommy! Wake up!” Eleanor. Her bony knees digging into my back. Ouch. She’s bouncing and bouncing on the bed while vigorously shaking my shoulder. So hard, she’s going to dislocate it, if she doesn’t watch it.

Henry peels back the comforter from my face and collapses on top of me. Oof. Just like a bag of sand. “It’s Kissmas!” he says very close to my ear, his stubby arms circling my neck.

Dean sits up partway on his elbows from lying on his back. “Not yet, buddy.” He’s so handsome with his hair mussed up and in his dark morning stubble.

Scout crouches between Dean’s legs on top of the blankets, lowers his head between his stretched out front paws, and says, “ Woof, woof!, ” his tailing wagging high behind him.

The bed isn’t even that big! It’s just a double. How’s it holding all of us?

Dean and I stare at each other and he grins.

“Guess everyone’s hungry,” he says.

Okay, I’m still here.

My mind buzzes as I mentally prepare for another day.