Page 20 of All in for Christmas

I take sneaky bite of a sandwich cookie to taste it.

Ooh. The crunchy round and salty crackers hold a big dose of peanut butter inside.

Yum. I made these? I’m immensely impressed.

I’m also going to gain ten pounds during this fantasy visit if I’m not careful.

But if it’s a fantasy, and not real, what’s the worry?

I seem to carry a few extra pounds no matter how much I exercise, so why not own it?

I down the remainder of the sandwich cookie, then scarf down another.

So tasty. I’ve got no treadmill here, but maybe I don’t need one, since we’re always chasing after the kids.

I set an assortment of treats on a plate, ignoring the messy kitchen, which is a bit hard.

It looks like the aftermath of a cooking show disaster in here.

My fingers twitch, itching to clean up the mess, or—at the very least—load our plates in the dishwasher.

Thank goodness, yes. We do have one of those.

But no. Not now. I force myself to turn away from the disarray on the countertops and kitchen table and carry the treats into the living room.

Roger’s engaged in conversation with Henry. “What’s your name, young fellow?”

Scout noses his way in and Roger pats him on the head. Scout sits, keeping an eye on the situation and Roger. Good boy.

“’Enry,” the little boy tells Roger.

“That’s Henry ,” my mom informs him, enunciating clearly.

Roger speaks to the boy. “And how old are you, Henry?”

Henry holds up two fingers then asks, “Do you have a wee-wee?”

Scout cocks his doggie head, waiting on the answer.

Roger’s neck colors and then his face. “I—I’m quite sure I do.”

“Oh!” Mom covers her mouth and giggles.

“ Henry ,” I cry, mortified. I pass Mom the cookie plate and Scout eyes it.

“No, boy,” I say sternly before rushing over to pick Henry up.

I deposit him by the cabinet where the connecting toys are.

Squat down and pull out a mesh basketful.

I blink at the child and speak in sweet mommy-like tones.

“We’re not supposed to ask that of everyone , Henry.

” I snap a yellow piece and a blue piece together and hand them to Henry.

He catches on right away and starts hooking pieces together himself. Scout follows Henry, plopping down beside him and the basket of connecting toys.

“Sorry,” I tell the grown-ups with a grimace. “He’s still learning.”

“’Bout ’natomy!” Eleanor crows proudly, standing right in front of Mom, her back to the coffee table. She crosses her arms to inform Roger, “Mommies and daddies are different.”

He strokes his beard. “You don’t say.”

Mom holds Eleanor by her shoulders. “What a bright girl.” She pulls her into a hug. “Eleanor’s six in February,” she tells Roger, “and growing up so fast.” Her eyes go misty.

“In kindergarten?” Roger asks.

Mom replies, “Next year.”

“Eleanor,” I call. “Want to help your brother build something fun for Grandma and Roger?”

She shrugs. “Okay.” She sits cross-legged by her brother and starts snatching away his toys. Henry blubbers out some tears. “Eleanor,” I say in horror. “Share.”

She hoards more of Henry’s connecting blocks, piling them in her lap. “I’m sharing.”

Okay. Maybe this was a bad idea. I run my hands through my hair. “Sweetie.” I hold out my hand and Eleanor reluctantly gives me one of her pieces. Then two. In ridiculously slow motion. I roll my eyes at her and she giggles.

“Okay,” she finally says. She hands Henry a fistful then gets a fresh batch for herself from the basket. Henry’s over his momentary sadness and gleefully hooking things together again. Whew. I feel like I need a break!

I dart a glance at the clock. It’s only been five minutes.

The coffee beeps that it’s ready as Dean enters the room. “I’ll get that,” he says.

“No, no,” I answer hastily. “I’ll go!” I glance at the kids and Mom and Roger. “Why don’t you stay here?”

“No need,” he responds breezily. “I’m already on the way.”

Right. I stand upright and smooth back my hair. Sit on the sofa closer to Mom. “So, Roger,” I say. “Mom tells me you were a mechanic?”

He nods.

I wait for him to offer something more. He doesn’t. “Did you work locally?”

He nods again.

Mom adoringly pats his arm. “Roger had his own business! For over thirty years!”

He nods a third time. I’m starting to feel like I’m talking to a bobblehead.

“How great!” I respond. I look at a Roger, hoping to draw him out. “What was the name of your business?”

“Roger’s Automotive,” Mom says sunnily.

“Ahh. Nice!” I try to give Mom a look encouraging her to can it, so Roger will open up. She doesn’t take the hint.

“It’s over on Twelfth and Vine,” she supplies next. “At least it was. Roger sold the business, and a new tenant has it. They’re putting in something else.” She turns to Roger. “A coffee shop, is it?”

He nods.

Arghhhh.

“Do you have kids, Roger?” I ask him directly.

Nod.

“How many?”

Nod. Nod. Nod.

“Three?” I guess—accurately, I suppose, because he nods another time.

“Roger’s a very succinct speaker,” Mom says besottedly. “He’s got ten grandchildren.”

“Ten! Wow! What fun!”

He nods.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I’m not going to ask him their ages, because I don’t want to count the nods. Or have Mom answer for him. Which she seems perpetually inclined to do.

Dean returns bearing coffee. He hands a mug to Mom and another to Roger. “I forgot to ask you how you take yours, Roger?” He glances at Mom. “I know Rosemary drinks hers black.”

“Roger does too!” Mom informs us.

Roger freaking nods.

I jump to my feet. “Why don’t you sit here with Mom and Roger?” I tell Dean. “I’ll go get ours.”

“But I don’t mind it.”

I practically shove Dean down on the sofa. “No, sit!”

“What?” He screws up his face.

“I mean.” Deep breaths. I apologize to Mom and Roger. “Sorry. I just take my coffee in an, um—very particular manner. So I’ll fix it!”