Page 8 of All in for Christmas

I don’t know what I am. Delusional? I can’t tell anybody this.

That I’ve invented an entire family! With a living-breathing-barking dog!

And laundry. Nobody wishes for piles of unfolded clothes.

Dean guides me back toward the bed and I sit in a daze.

“Jeez Louise,” he says. “How many margaritas did you have?”

My chin jerks up and I stare at him. “What?”

“Last night?” He speaks gently. “When you were out with the girls?”

“Er. Which girls are those?” I breathe heavily. “Exactly?”

He scrunches up his face. “Um. Your gal pals? Heather? Mia? Kirstin? The ones you have your girls’ night out with on Fridays.”

“We what?” I clasp my hands together. “We have a girls’ night out?” Heat prickles the backs of my eyes. Yes. We worked it out! I knew there was a way if we put our heads together.

Dean seems oddly detached. Okay, okay, and slightly judgy. His jaw goes slack. “Did you drink pitchers ?” His dark eyes are huge. “Do shots? What?”

“What? No!” I nervously lick my lips. Rub my twitchy nose.

“I mean, maybe sometimes. But not—not last night.” There were several times in college, truthfully.

I’m less sure about now, with us having grown-up responsibilities.

“Last night, I was at Walton’s holiday party! ” Surely he remembers. “With you .”

“Paige.” He sets his hands on his hips. “You know I wish it were otherwise, but it’s not. I agree it’s discriminatory to divide the faculty and staff and I—and some other teachers—have rallied against it, but—” I can’t comprehend what he’s saying. We weren’t at the same party?

“But you were there. ”

“Sure,” he says. “Attending the faculty party at six.”

“And I was—?”

He crosses his arms. “Celebrating with the staff at three.”

My mouth hangs open and I close it. “Staff?”

“Look.” He shakes his head. “I realize working as Principal Peabody’s assistant isn’t the greatest job in the world—”

“I wh-what?” I blubber like a drowning fish. “I’m in admin and not a teacher?”

His worried expression rattles me and my nerves are already frayed enough. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry. Is this about your not finishing college?”

My head grows light and the room spins. “ I dropped out of college? ” I can’t help the shrillness in my tone. No. I never would have done that. Something catastrophic must have happened.

Eleanor appears in the open doorway holding a toy Highland cow in one arm. It’s got a curtain of bangs over its eyes and stuffed horns. Scout’s with her, sitting faithfully at her side. “When can we have breakfast?” She rubs her tummy. Waits.

“Five minutes, sweetie!” Dean tells her.

Scout barks like he’s hungry, too.

“Same for you, boy!” Dean promises and the pair skulks away.

I turn to Dean, my pulse pounding. “How old’s Eleanor?”

“Almost six,” he says like I should know this. I definitely should know this, assuming I am who he thinks I am. Which is what I’m still trying to wrap my head around.

“And, er.” I anxiously rub my nose and ask, “When’s her birthday?”

He drops the words like lead weights, “February. Ninth.” I quickly calculate the dates. Can it be? Can she be? That had to have been right around the time Dean left for—

“Paige,” he says sounding disappointed. “Are we back to Puerto Rico?”

I shrug helplessly.

“Sweetheart, we’ve settled that so many times. I’m not resentful I didn’t go.” What? “I’m really not. Things worked out. Our life took a different turn. A better one.”

“But what about Wendy?” I blurt out, then cover my mouth with my hands.

He peers at me strangely. “Wendy?”

Where am I? How did this happen? This isn’t a preview of a Christmas future.

I’m in the future somehow. Our future, mine and Dean’s.

No, wait. Wrong. The present? An alternate reality, perhaps?

This can’t be the past. Neither of us is college age anymore.

Dean looks exactly like he did yesterday.

I cast a quick glance at the mirror. I’ve changed a bit, though.

Maybe I did drink margaritas? No. It couldn’t have been that wild a night.

I was at home. My real home, not this one, and I only had one glass of wine with pasta.

I press my palms to my temples when my head threatens to explode.

Dean’s lips turn down. “Hon. Next time? Call an Uber. I mean it, seriously. I can’t believe you drove in that condition.”

A wave of heat crashes over me. Now he thinks I’m a lush!

“No, it’s not that,” I babble. How can he not recall the holiday party?

He was there, too! Right along with me. Of course, I was a teacher, not Missy Peabody’s assistant.

We didn’t have kids or a dog , either. Fear grips me.

Maybe I’ve died and landed somewhere that’s not the Good Place.

No. Dean wouldn’t be here in that case, or those cute kids.

And they are cute, even though they’re total strangers.

How can I not know my children? I am such a bad mom!

Dean studies me a long while. “Nothing some coffee can’t fix,” he says decisively.

“And hey.” A compassionate frown. “I’m sorry I judged you earlier.

Who am I to talk? I’ve had those party moments myself.

” He plants a kiss on my lips, so swoony my pulse hums. “Just don’t let it happen again without calling a car, all right?

” he says warmly. “You’ve got a lot of people depending on you.

” Yeah, apparently. Three more than I knew.

Four, if you count Scout. But he’s not human.

I need to know about Mom. Is she okay?

“So, Mom?”

He pauses on the threshold. “She’s expecting you at Beaumont’s at noon,” he says. “Which is why we need to fix you up.”

“Dean.” My breath catches.

“Yes, Paige?” But what can I say? None of this is happening.

We broke up six years ago. Never married.

Never had kids. Much less a dog. I’m a teacher at Walton, and not Missy Peabody’s Girl Friday—and starting a brand new literacy program for students on top of that.

He’s right about coffee. Maybe that’s all I need? A swift kick-in-the-butt java hit!

I need to process what’s happening before I lay it all on him. “Coffee sounds good. Thanks.” He smiles at me so fondly my heart bursts with joy. Then I remember none of this is real. It’s just some far-out fantasy. Which I’m sure to pull out of soon enough.

He winks and says, “Stay right there.”

As if I’m going anywhere. I don’t even know where I am. Are we still in Piney Mount?

He shakes a finger at me but his eyes sparkle.

“I’ll be right back.” Dean closes the bedroom door and I give an enormous sigh.

This is probably a dream like I first thought, with extremely elaborate casting and detail.

I’ll think much more clearly after having my coffee and can decide how to proceed from there.

Or possibly, I’ll wake up first! I shut my eyes tightly and will it to happen. Wake up, Paige! Wake up now!

I open my eyes and grump. Sit back against the headboard and pull up the covers, settling in.

Might as well check the newspaper to see where I am and what day it is.

I grab the rolled up paper from the nightstand and slide it out of its plastic sleeve, dusting off the moisture from my hands.

Then I hold it up, perusing the front page of the Piney Mount Herald .

That seals it. Same town. Which I might have guessed from the fact that Mom is here and we’re meeting at Beaumont’s.

News snippets in the sidebar report hefty snowfall accumulations, boding well for the ski slopes in the surrounding areas.

Above the fold, there’s a large photo of a comet trailing majestically through the nighttime sky.

My hands shake as I read the headline: “Rare Astronomical Event Graces North America.”

Today’s date glares back at me from the front page’s masthead.

December twentieth. Which is the day after the nineteenth, yesterday.

Or the yesterday I think I had. Same year.

My breath quickens. But now, everything’s changed.

My living quarters, my job, my relationship status—in a substantial way.

Marriage? Kids? A family dog? At least he’s well trained, and pretty adorable.

But Missy Peabody’s assistant? Really? And— ooh, my heart aches —what about Paws and Read?

Is that even a thing here? Have I failed all those volunteers, dogs, and students?

The full laundry basket taunts me, giving me a glimpse of my low-end-fashion life.

There are no nice teacher outfits for me here.

Only outfits like we wear on casual Fridays.

Blue jeans and long-sleeve T-shirts seem to rule the women’s category.

Apart from their rumpled state, Dean’s clothes look more professional.

Khaki slacks and oxford shirts. Those will take some ironing—not by me!

I’ve never owned an iron in my life. Then there are all those little kiddie clothes.

The majority appear to be unisex in nature. Small sweaters and jeans.

Smart move, so Eleanor’s pieces can get passed down to Henry.

Good gravy. I’m already thinking like a mom!

Maybe it’s not that hard? My mouth goes dry, and I stare at the door to the hall.

What other surprises await me on the other side?

Tension brews inside me. Surprises I didn’t plan for.

Can’t control. My mouth gets dryer, like cotton’s wedged inside it.

The kid part honestly terrifies me. I did some babysitting for the neighbor’s kids as a teen, but that was ages ago, and those kids were older, eight and ten.

Old enough to reason with and play board games.

I have no idea what children Eleanor’s and Henry’s ages do, apart from what I’ve seen in the movies.

They clearly watch cartoons and eat pancakes.

So that’s a start, though not a huge one.

Mom might not be much help. She was never much of a traditional mom to begin with.

I hope she’s okay, though, and not enduring any medical problems. I guess I’ll learn more at lunch at Beaumont’s.

Does Mom recall my other life? Know about my seeing Dean at the holiday party?

Can she possibly help me sort out this predicament?

Will Dean, when I tell him what’s going on? But how? I do a trial run in my brain.

Dean, I have something to tell you…

No. Sounds like I’m chronically ill. Or that I’m leaving him. Again.

There’s something we need to discuss.

Nuh-uh. Too accusatory, and he’s done nothing wrong.

I think. Unless he’s somehow caused this mess inadvertently?

How? By giving me that advent calendar? I don’t see it anywhere.

I wonder if it’s hanging in the kitchen, and what this kitchen looks like.

Hopefully, it’s not a wreck. And has a dishwasher.

I’ll die if it doesn’t have a dishwasher.

How barbaric. Is that even possible in modern times?

At least Dean is equitably minded. I’m sure we share all the tasks around here.

Unless stuff has changed about him, too?

No. He’s still the same old Dean, as far as I can tell. Only much more of a family man And he’s decently good at it! I give him full credit!

Okay. Deep breaths.

Something had to have caused this weird time split. It’s like time moved backward and then forward again, but in a totally different direction. Could this really be because of the calendar? No, that’s absurd. This has to be a dream. One I’ll wake up from very soon!

I shut my eyes and wait. Count to ten—slowly. Open them.

Blow out a breath and try again.

Dean, I’m concerned we’re… Wrong. That will concern him, too—about me.

The truth? Yes, always the best course. Why not?

I don’t know what’s happening, but—

My jaw clenches. Ouch. Maybe best to practice out loud.

“Dean,” I say boldly. “I’m not who you think I am.”

The door pops open.