Epilogue

June 1, 2016

East Hampton

“I cannot believe this is your wedding dress,” Juliana Del Vecchio clucked while fastening her cross necklace at Charlie’s nape, because it was bad luck to not have something borrowed. 

Smiling into the antique cheval mirror in her and Jon’s bedroom, Charlie smoothed the white shift dress stamped with blue poppies.  It was the same dress she’d worn to her first family cookout in the yard of this house, and now they were having a bigger family cookout – with a Justice of the Peace and wedding cake.   

It was also the same dress Jon had shoved out of the way to screw her against the guest house.  They were going to relive that moment sometime this summer.  At least that's what he promised this morning when spying the dress hanging in their closet.

There was no better choice of a wedding dress in her opinion, and besides… It covered old and blue in one fell swoop.

“This dress is perfect,” she asserted while inspecting the loosely twisted chignon that Anna crafted for her this morning.  The corkscrew curls framing her face were a little too structured to suit her and Charlie lightly fingered them to create a more carefree and windblown look.  “Be happy you got your June wedding.” 

The wedding date had been a heated source of debate in the early part of the year.  Charlie’s idea was to get married on August ninth, which was the anniversary of that infamous first cookout, but Jon squashed that idea right out of the gate. 

He would wait until warmer weather since her wish was to be married here on Lily Pond Lane, but Memorial Day was as far as he would go.  That is, until Juliana started talking about how nice it would be to have the wedding on her and Edward’s anniversary of June twelfth.

It was pressure from his future mother-in-law that had Jon and Charlie getting married on a Wednesday, two days after Memorial Day in the month of June.   

“I still wish you’d waited another couple of weeks,” Juliana sniffed, patting her own hair in the reflection next Charlie.  “And had a real wedding.”

How could she keep from laughing?  Her mother was so sincere that it was just… funny. 

“Ma.  I had a real wedding thirty years ago, and it turned into a pile of dog crap.  Jon and I don’t have to have a big fancy ceremony to make this official; we need a J.P.’s signature on a piece of paper.  Being barefoot in the yard and surrounded by family when we exchange rings is the icing on the wedding cake.  Okay?”

A wedding cake that she couldn’t wait for Jon to see.  The whimsical confection was her one indulgence for today and she’d been anticipating his reaction ever since placing the order.  When it was delivered to the house this morning, Charlie cried. 

Three tiers blanketed in smooth fondant icing, each stacked level had a different theme.  Designed to represent Main Beach here in the Hamptons, the round bottom tier sat in a bed of brown sugar “sand” which edged up the sides until turning into a wavy Atlantic Ocean.  The cake artist had sculpted a little dog that bore a striking resemblance to Nana, which “ran” around the edge.

The round middle section was banded at the bottom by a sugar replica of Charlie’s Love bracelet.  One side of it boasted an intricate, 3-D version of the New York skyline that included a representation of their brownstone duplex.  That layer's other side was a similarly intricate depiction of the house on the Navesink, and the two murals were “pinned” together with his guitar on one side, and a bouquet of paintbrushes on the other.

It was the uppermost tier that was her favorite, though.  This one wasn’t round like the other two because it was a six-inch cube designed to look just like the guest house out back, where she and Jon had first connected in such a visceral way.  Some artistic enhancements were added in the form of white lilacs, but the cedar shingle siding, windows and doors were perfect and left no doubt as to the source of the inspiration. 

Then, on the roof of the guest house…

Her eyes misted every time she thought about the sugar-sculpted figures of Tinkerbell and Tick Tock that sat atop it all. 

Tink wore a jaunty red beret tipped at an angle as she leaned in to kiss the croc on his snout, and he was quite smitten with the idea, as illustrated by heart-shaped pupils.  At their feet were two anchors, and the one that sat next to her little green fairy shoes read “Jon”, while the one leaned up against the hefty crocodile haunch said “Chiara”.

The final touch was a white banner that the two characters each held a corner of, displaying the black inscription.

Always smile at a crocodile!

Tony was supposed to have gotten pictures of it from every angle this morning, and she hoped like hell he did.  It wasn’t only a work of art, but it was a work of heart that she’d want to look back on over and over again.

“Okay, okay!”  Juliana threw her hands in the air in a dramatic display of defeat that effectively drew Charlie from her reverie.  "Maybe you don't need the wedding I think you do.  What do I know?"

According to Charlie’s father, the wedding could be on New Year’s Day in Antarctica with a penguin presiding, and both of her parents would be there in parkas, smiling all the way.  They liked Jon and, more than that, they adored seeing their daughter happy. 

God knew there was no one happier than Charlie. 

Alright, so maybe happy wasn’t the most apt description.  That might imply that she went around with a constant smile and rainbows in her wake.  She was still an Italian woman with an attitude and the trials of everyday life, but that everyday life didn’t leave much room for complaint.  A good hashtag would be #blissfullycontent.

There was a light knock on the door and a voice on the other side beckoned, “Mom?”

“You can come in.”

The knob turned and Caleb’s head popped hesitantly around the corner, verifying that there was nothing to scar his eighteen-year-old psyche before crossing over the threshold.  In his hand was a manila envelope, but Charlie was too busy being a proud mama to be inquisitive about it just yet.   

Her sons continued to mature and were no longer cute boys but handsome men.  Sharing a house with Jon had provided Caleb with a live-in running buddy/coach/motivator, and he was taking full advantage of it to become leaner and more muscled than ever.  With his nineteenth birthday only a couple of months away, his face was maturing and becoming more angular, and the kid – young man – in the soft yellow shirt was a heartbreaker, if she did say so herself. 

His girlfriend, Becca, agreed.

“Jon asked me to bring this to you,” he advised, offering her the envelope that she now took time to see had “Counselor” written on the face in Jon’s heavy hand.

“What is it?”

“That’s what I wanna know,” Lilah popped off with a sniff as her blingy sandals glided into the room, trailed by Izzie.  “I asked him to let me bring it, but the stubborn cuss just smirked at me and said ‘in your dreams’.  He knows how nosy I am and torments me with it every chance he gets.”

Pushing the manila rectangle into Charlie’s hand, her son drawled, “Aaaand that’s my cue to leave.  I make it a policy to avoid getting between those two.   Meet you in the kitchen.”

Both he and Noah were escorting her down the “aisle” from the kitchen door to the far end of the pool, where a simple arch of white lilacs had been erected for the occasion. 

“Okay, baby.  I’ll be down in just a minute.”

“So open the damn thing already.”

Izzie didn’t even wait for Caleb to squeeze past her and get out the door before she was crossing impatient arms over the bodice of her dress.  She and Lilah had been spending more time together, and Charlie was convinced that the pair of them could rule the world.  Lilah had a natural charm that allowed her to work people, and with psychiatrist Izzie telling her which buttons to push, the two of them were a force to reckon with.

“Yeah, open it,” Juliana seconded with an “encouraging” jab to Charlie’s bicep.  “I wanna see what has to be delivered in the minutes before he marries my daughter.”

Good grief.  If they drew her mother into their circle of evil villainy, Charlie wanted off this ride.  Joining forces would enable those three to accomplish unspeakable things, so she just passed the envelope over.  “Then open it, Ma.  I already know what it is.”

Or at least she had a pretty good idea, based on their bedtime chat last night.

While she normally loved lying quietly tangled in the sheets with Jon, last night had been different.  He was quieter than usual and unreadable eyes studied Charlie intently while light fingertips stroked her cheek over and over.  It was bothersome enough that she finally broke down to ask what he was thinking.

"Wondering whether you're nervous about the wedding," was not what she expected to hear, because that hadn't been a conscious thought for her up until that point.

Charlie considered it carefully before telling him, no.  In that moment, she wasn't nervous at all.   

Psychological counseling was still a thing for her, and with the help of the therapist, she’d managed to put her psyche at peace over a lot of things – Joey’s death, Owen’s death, and Owen’s… abuse of her.

Yes, she could even admit that she’d been abused, much to the surprise of her entire family.  To her own surprise, too, but it was supposedly a vital step in the healing process.

There were still random days that she slipped down the rabbit hole and fell into her old mindset of guilt and defensive fear.  Those incidents were beyond her control and happened without warning, so there was no guarantee she’d wake up perfectly serene on the morning of their wedding.

She reminded Jon of that and he nodded before quietly revealing that there was a second, intact copy of the divorce papers he had drawn up before Christmas.  He was holding onto them in case she ever needed the reassurance they were intended to provide.

She managed not to cry all over him at the thoughtfulness, but just barely.

The man Charlie had once accused of avoiding emotion no longer existed, having vanished right around the night of their engagement.  Ever since then, they shared their days over an evening glass of wine and he did so without filter.  Cussing a promoter, wondering if he was doing the right thing by his band members, asking her if she was okay and being truly interested in what was going on in her world were all commonplace on their couch.

He’d gone from being her fiercest opponent, to an illicit lover, boyfriend, fiancé and now… best friend. 

With last night’s conversation still so fresh in her mind, Charlie would be shocked if the second set of divorce papers wasn't inside the envelope whose clasp Juliana was now unfastening.  Jon wanted to keep her from slipping down the rabbit hole today.

 “Divorce papers?”  Juliana didn’t find his gesture as thoughtful as Charlie did and was shaking the document with outrage.  “Why is he giving you divorce papers on your wedding day?  What kind of man does that?”

“The kind who knows the woman he’s marrying.”

Meeting Izzie’s smile with one of her own, Charlie nodded in agreement with her friend’s assessment.  “He’s reminding me that this is always my choice, Ma.”

“Oh.”  Both the papers and the envelope dropped to Juliana’s side along with her non-flailing arms.  “Then I guess that’s okay.”

“I’d say it’s more than okay,” Lilah countered, stooping to pick up the folded sheet of paper than had fallen from the envelope.  “I’d say it’s sweet as a honeybee's butt.  Honest to goodness, Charlie I’m here to tell ya that he loved Dorothea, but I never saw this selfless side of him before.  It’s fascinatin’ the way he's wrapped around your little finger.”

He was anything but wrapped, but Charlie wasn’t in the mood to debate the fact. 

Yes, he shared himself with her, but there would never come a day when he neutered himself to the point of letting her run the show.  They still went at it like prizefighters when there was a difference of opinion, with each determined to make his or her stance known.  That’s just how they were built.  She and Jon needed to get it all out in the open by voicing their opinions loud and clear, because when they did…  That’s when the compromise began. 

It worked for them.

“What’s that?”  She inquired curiously at the thin sheet of paper that Lilah was reading and grinning over like a fool. 

“Somethin’ that’s way sweeter than those stinkin’ divorce papers.”

Holding out a hand to accept what was obviously a note from Jon, it took Charlie only seconds to skim the contents.  She took far longer to revel in it and the bloom of warmth that followed.

Counselor,

Here’s your insurance policy.  I figure you should be the one to hold onto it, but do it with the knowledge that your signature on the dotted line will break my fucking heart.  No pressure.

♥J  

It took three times through before she was able to tear her eyes away from the familiar script and pass it into Izzie’s impatient hand.

“Do not lose that.  Put it in the top drawer of the dresser when you’re done.  Ma, give me the divorce papers.”  Finding that Lilah was still grinning at her, Charlie scowled and demanded, “What are you doing still standing there?  Go get your daughter and meet me in the kitchen. Oh, and make sure Tony has taken eight thousand pictures of that cake.  Ma, go find Daddy and tell everybody to get seated.  Izzie, there’s a basket on the back of the toilet in the guest bathroom.  Get it for me.  Let’s get this show on the road.”

😊 😊 😊 😊 😊

Jon pushed the untucked blue hem of his shirt out of the way, shoving both hands in cargo shorts pockets as he smiled and half-listened to Tony and Dom’s conversation about food prep.  Tony’s shirt was white and Dom’s was light orange, but they were both the mandatory button-downs decreed as the men’s uniform of the day.  The two of them were overseeing the reception/barbecue after the ceremony, and Dom was detailing the creation of his secret shrimp marinade as they stood in the shade at the edge of the yard.

Personally, Jon couldn’t care less.  He was more interested in peering past the lilac arch toward the kitchen door.  There was no reason to believe the counselor was going to leave him standing at the altar, but he needed to see her face.  To know that there wasn’t fear and uncertainty hovering behind her eyes. 

Because if there was…

Well, there wasn’t a fucking thing left for him to do about it. 

There was nothing of material consequence left for him to offer.  The Tribeca apartment was gone, the new brownstone was now a completed part of their Brooklyn home, and she owned half of this house along with a boat that she knew nothing about yet. 

There wasn’t even anything left to give of himself, except for a promise of tomorrow.  He’d forked over his fucking soul – twice – with those damn divorce papers, and carved her a personal entrance into the fortress that kept him separated from the rest of the world.

No longer could she accuse him of avoiding an emotional or any other kind of conversation.  He held nothing back and had placed her in the center of his very exclusive circle, which was a group of individuals that got the “privilege” of seeing him at his best, worst and everything in between.

The way he saw it, once a woman held your head while you puked your way through the flu and still managed to look at you with love in her eyes...  She deserved no less than everything, and he’d done his damnedest to give it.

With the other shit, it should be enough.  Logically he knew it was enough, but it didn’t stop him from standing here and watching the goddamn door like Nana waiting for them to come home from a party. 

“Hey.  Stop fantasizing about the honeymoon and answer the question.”

He was mildly surprised to see that Luke had joined them sometime during the ridiculous tour of Insecurity Land.   Having chosen pale green as his shirt color, the counselor’s brother stared expectantly, waiting for his answer while Jon had no idea what the question was.

“Sorry.  What?”

The other two men didn’t even try and hide their laughter.  Because his brother was an asshole, Tony tossed in a shit-eating grin to go with his mocking, “He asked what you decided to do with the old lady’s money.”

“Yeah.  Charlie told me a couple weeks ago that you two were still trying to come up with a plan for it.  Having any luck?”

“Not yet,” he told them with a shake of his head.  “But we’re working on it.”

The money wasn’t exactly a source of contention between them, but they hadn’t found the right way to fulfill their friend’s wishes yet.  Melding his heart and her soul – or vice versa – into a legacy for Chiara wasn’t easy.

The very first idea was a coffee shop much like Dorothea’s Soul Kitchen in that it was donation only.  The premise was that “Coffee with a Friend” would provide coffee and pastries under the red beret logo that Chiara designed, but she ended up dismissing the plan as being “not enough”.

Working with Luke in the restoration process of both brownstones, along with her affinity for preserving architecture led to a brief discussion of restoring impoverished neighborhoods to their former structural glory.  A very brief discussion, because the counselor said it was more her than Jon.  She wanted their endeavor to equally reflect them both, and not even the argument that he’d been building houses for years would sway her.

As of yesterday, their most viable option was funding after school programs in some of the less privileged areas of New York.  They were both passionate about the arts, which led to a natural progression of wanting to share that passion and ensuring that it thrived in the generations to come.  Adding acting, music and art lessons to existing programs would be easy to do, but the counselor wasn’t sure it was much of a legacy or what Millie had in mind. 

They would come up with something sooner or later, but for now the money sat untouched in a separate joint account.   

“Everybody take a seat.  It’s time!” 

Thank God.

Juliana shooed her sons toward the half-dozen round tables that were dressed for a barbecue with blue and white checked cloths.  There was no typical audience seating at this wedding, with bride’s family one side of the aisle and the groom’s on the other.  The bride and groom both shared the opinion that there was no “his” family and “hers”.   This family was “theirs”, and everyone was used to that by now.

Besides that, the counselor said, it was a waste of energy to set it up for a five-minute ceremony.  Her reasoning was that they’d spend most of the afternoon and evening eating and socializing, so everyone could just sit at the tables and sip wine during the brief exchange of vows.   

Still staring attentively at the back door while taking his place with the Justice of the Peace and Tony in front of the lilac arch, Jon easily caught sight of the masculine hand that protruded and waved.  One of the boys was signaling that the bridal party was ready, and Jesse launched the counselor’s custom “Wedding March” over the portable sound system. 

Even toned-down from the version that would appear on the album, the song was completely inappropriate for a traditional wedding.  Theirs was not a traditional wedding, however, and this was perfect for him and his bride.  The beat was still driving and optimism reigned as Jon’s recorded voice requested, “Marry me to the blue sky”.

The first person to come through the door was M.J. with a little basket, and she was conscientiously following Izzie’s whispered instructions by dropping just a few… something at a time as she walked toward her daddy and Jon.  He didn’t remember Chiara saying that they’d have a flower girl, but whatever.  As long as the counselor planned to follow behind, he didn’t give a shit if there were flame-eating knife jugglers rocking out to his newest track. 

Izzie stepped fully out of the house next, her short pink dress adhering to the women’s uniform of the day, which was “something summery and comfortable”.  The bouquet in her hand was a professionally designed arrangement of white lilacs from the local florist, and it was nice.  Still, Jon preferred the one the counselor would be carrying, since she hand-picked the flowers from out front just this morning.

He was into sentimental shit like that, which was why he loved that she wanted to get married in their yard.  It was simple and the venue actually meant something to them, whereas a rented facility would just be a big, impersonal room.

She’d done good.  Again.

As the verse shifted to the chorus with a defiant, “I ain’t living with the ghost”, his bride stepped through the back door and onto the patio.  With one son on each arm, her smile was radiant as she took the first barefoot step onto the grass, and Jon released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“I can’t believe you thought she wasn’t coming,” Tony mumbled out the side of his mouth as M.J. wrapped an arm around his thigh and swung the now-empty basket. 

“I didn’t think that.”  The denial was likewise mumbled out the side of his mouth as he vaguely registered the blue and white flowers that littered the counselor’s path.  “I’m just ready to get this done.”

“Mhm.  Whatever.” 

It wasn’t worth his time to glare at Tony.  Chiara was getting closer now, and her pink toenails caught his eye to make him realize…  Those weren’t flowers that M.J. had been spreading.  It was paper confetti.

Weird.

Arriving at the archway, Noah passed his mother’s right hand into Jon’s before dusting a kiss over her cheek.  He followed with a pat on the back for Jon as Caleb bussed the other side of the counselor's face.  Jon's hand was then clasped in a warm shake before both of his "bonus sons" took seats at the nearest table. 

Chiara twisted on the grass so the ends of their bare toes almost touched, and tipped her face up to reveal chocolate pools filled with nothing but love and contentment.  She wasn’t scared.  She didn’t have reservations.

She was going to allow the narrow platinum band to be slipped on her finger and willingly accept his last name as her own.

Jon was left feeling as light as the early summer breeze that danced in her hair, but saying it aloud would mean admitting his fear. No way was that happening here in front of their five brothers.

Later.  Maybe during the two weeks they’d spend cruising the East Coast in their new boat.  He’d tell her, she’d laugh while calling him a dumbass, and all would be right with the world.

For now, though, he chose to murmur something far more mundane.  “Confetti?”

“Mhm.”

“Where’d you get confetti?”

“Divorce papers.”  The curt response was followed by a dangerous arching of her brow.  “You give me one more set of those, it’s not your heart that’ll get broken.”

Lilah was right, Jon thought as he laughed into the heavens that were smiling down upon them.  She was so fucking right that this woman was the rest of his life. 

~# The End #~

As always, thank you all for joining me on another adventure.  Some days, these stories are the only things that get me through and it's my pleasure to share them with those who can find a bit of enjoyment within their "pages".  Until next time, I wish you all peace, love and Jovi!  <3 blush

150: Anyplace You Want

Jon took a second, longer look at the photo of him and the counselor on the front page of her album, feeling pretty damn good about… life.  This was one of his better Christmases and he was feeling optimistic that it would continue on that path during the next hour.  Anything else was unacceptable.

“Lilah said your hand was empty and told me to fix it.” 

With a grateful smile, he accepted the glass of red pushed into his grasp and let the album cover fall closed.  “Did you know about this?”

“The book?  Where do you think most of the fuckin’ pictures came from?”  Tony scoffed.  “Matt sure as hell didn’t take ‘em.”

The photography bug definitely hadn’t bitten their youngest brother, and it didn’t surprise him that Matt wasn’t solely responsible for putting together the counselor’s gift.  In fact, Jon speculated that there was a southern mastermind who may have coordinated the whole thing.   

“This is Lilah’s doing, isn’t it?”

“What can I say?  My wife likes for everybody to be happy.”  One meaty hand tapped Jon’s shoulder sharply.  “Except now that she thinks she wants to fight with me as some kinda screwed up foreplay.  Thanks for that, you friggin’ deviant.”

Jon grinned around the rim of the wineglass as the merlot made a warm path down to his belly  “It’s a helluva rush, man.  Try it sometime.”

“Maybe I already have.”

His eyes connected with Tony’s and they both laughed like perverted schoolboys as somebody started tapping a glass. 

“Oh God.  It’s obvious you two are up to no good,” the counselor observed with a smirk when joining them.  Rather than sitting back down with him, though, she stood beside Tony and slid an envelope back and forth through her fingers.  “And that dirty giggling tells me I don’t even wanna know.”

“You’re definitely the brains of this outfit.”  Tony draped an easy arm over her shoulders as Dominick gave up on the glass tapping and whistled with two fingers.  The shrillness was far more effective in getting the attention of this crowd. 

“I’d like to make a toast, if you can give me ten seconds of your time.  I know that’s a stretch for some of my siblings…” 

There was bantering among the Del Vecchio brothers, but the counselor didn’t get involved.  She was content to let the brothers argue among themselves as the red envelope slid back and forth through restless fingertips. 

“Boys!”  That was the first time Jon ever heard Julia Del Vecchio raise her voice, but her sons evidently knew the tone that fueled that single word.  They got their shit together in a hurry so that Dom could continue his toast. 

“To Jon, for once again opening his home to us, and to my sister, who prepared a wonderful meal.  Honest to God, I never thought it would happen, but you did Charlie.  I’m proud of you.  Salùd!”

There were multiple voices echoing the sentiment, and Jon tipped his glass in her direction.  “You did good.”

“Thank you.”  While her eyes may have been directed at him, her next words were spoken loudly enough to be heard by everyone in attendance.  “And while I have your attention, there's a little something of my own that I’d like to share.”

“You’re never cooking again?”

Luke was the wise-ass this time around, drawing the counselor’s rueful smile.  “That might be true, but it’s not what I was going to say.  You all know the circumstances under which Jon and I met.  I was divorce counsel to Dorothea in a settlement that should’ve been so much easier than it was.  Would’ve been easier, if I hadn’t been so determined to take some kind of misguided revenge on a man who’d done nothing wrong.”

This was old, forgotten news and the fact that she was bringing it up now had his arm hair standing on end.  “Chiara –“

She cut him off without a glance.  “I know some of you – my brothers, in particular – may find it hard to believe, but I felt incredibly guilty about it after meeting his family and spending time in a house that was one of the sore points of that divorce.  I… caused him a great expense that he wouldn’t have incurred without my insistence, and I promised myself that I’d make it up to him somehow.”

“And I told you there was nothing to make up,” he interrupted firmly.  “It all worked out for the best and is water under the bridge.”

“That’s because you’re generous to a fault.”  The red envelope made another pass through her fingers before she held it out to him.  “But this should settle things on that house.”

There was an stirring of unease in Jon’s stomach when he peered into the eyes of the woman he loved as she silently encouraged him to accept the envelope.  She was so insistent upon settling this imaginary score that he was afraid to find out how she'd chosen to do it. 

With everyone looking on as she shook the envelope at him, though…  He had no choice but to take it.  

Wedging one finger under the flap until the seal popped, he eased out a Christmas card that bore the sassy depiction of Tinkerbell sitting on a gift.  The front of it read, “This Christmas, I thought of you and asked Tink to help me say ‘Wishing all your dreams come true… in each and every way.’”

There was nothing in this card that could make his dreams come true.  It was going to take a foul-mouthed Brooklyn beauty to do that, but it would be futile to make that point now.  She wasn’t going to let him get away with not opening the damn thing, so he sucked it up and did what was expected.   

The sentiment on the inside was Chiara’s handwritten message of, “I love you”.  Beyond that, there was nothing but a piece of paper folded in half, and unfolding the paper made it quickly identifiable as a check.

A very large check with a lot of zeroes attached.

Maybe it was because he’d been on edge for almost a month.  Maybe it was because he felt like she was stealing his thunder.  He didn’t know what it was, but something caused him to go into asshole mode and growl, “Four million dollars?  Is this a joke?”

In the periphery, Jon heard a feminine squeak of surprise that probably came from Lilah.  Identifying which man – or young man – issued the low whistle would be impossible, though.  It could’ve been any of a literal dozen and it wasn’t worth his while to figure it out.

“No.  It’s not a joke,” she countered softly.  “This was the last part of Millie’s message that day.  She knew how the house was weighing on my conscience and wanted to help me make things right.”

Millie. 

Millie had given her four fucking million dollars to pass along so that he counselor’s conscience would be clear. 

Do not go off the rails.  It’s Christmas Day.  The day you've been waiting for, and the entire damn family is here.  You can fight about it later.

Scratch that.  There would be no fight.  He tore the cashier’s check neatly in half and then in half again, searching for the motherfucking Zen that had eluded him his entire adult life. 

“Sorry you both wasted the time,” Jon told her as reasonably he knew how.  “But I never wanted or needed you to right anything.  You’re the one who needed to do this.  I forgave this imaginary debt long ago.”

The woman who looked down at him wasn’t teeming with the insult and indignation that Jon would’ve anticipated.  Her head tipped to one side to regard him with thoughtfulness.

“That’s what Millie said.  She also told me you’d tear it up, if you can believe that, but I thought if I gave it to you as a Christmas gift, that maybe…”

“Oh, God.  They’re going to fight.”

Without shifting their visual focus away from one another, Jon and Charlie simultaneously ordered, “Shut up, Luke.”

The rest of the family laughed, leaving Charlie to inspect the dark flecks that made Jon’s irises appear a more subdued shade of blue and to speculate whether he was truly angry or just good and irritated.  Going into this, she’d known that there was a fifty-fifty shot as to which way it would go, but she’d thought it would be more obvious once she got here.

When his nostrils flared with a huffy sigh, she decided it was borne of frustration rather than anger. 

“Chiara, the only damn gift I want is…”  He was doing such a good job censoring himself that, when he scanned the group of their children, nieces and nephews, she thought he was going to order them all out to save their young ears.  His intention turned out to be entirely different, though.  “Jake, there are two boxes in the floor under my desk.  Go get them for me, buddy.”

The thirteen-year-old immediately hopped up from the edge of the coffee table to do his father’s bidding, leaving the oddly silent room behind.  While they awaited his return, Jon cut an exasperated glare in her direction and spoke to the family members who were eerily subdued. 

“I had the same idea Chiara did about doing my gift giving in the midst of the people whose fingerprints are all over our relationship.  Dorothea was the obviously the first, and then Vivi used Chiara’s name trying to get into one of my fan club shows.  Luke was the one who introduced us, our boys unknowingly brought us back together, Lilah decided to play matchmaker and brought Tony, Matt and Des along for the ride, Dominick and Vince gave me insight to their sister that kept me from walking away…  It just goes on and on.  You’re all the reason that we’re together here today.”

She’d never thought of it in quite that way, but he was right.  Their families were responsible for bringing them together.  Not just one family member, but the entire crew of men, women and children that were scattered around this room.  It was just a little overwhelming to think that, without them, she might not have found her first real love.  That she might still be trapped in a marriage that she hated.

Charlie shivered as Jake returned with a shiny gold box in each hand.

After handing his empty wineglass off to Tony, Jon accepted them with a quiet, “Thank you, son.   Chiara, sit down here with me.”

Eyes that had been boiling with frustration just moments ago were veiled with gravity as Charlie reclaimed her former seat on the sofa.  Bending to put her photo album down by his feet, he took the smaller of the gold packages and placed it on top. 

Unwrapped and topped with a fluffy red bow, it was about the size of a recipe box.  Its mate, which remained in Jon’s left hand, was a shirt box equally adorned with nothing but the same red ribbon. 

Tucking his right leg under the left, he twisted on the sofa cushion to bring his knee onto the seat, and his action prompted Charlie to instinctively follow suit.  They now sat facing one another in the midst of their still abnormally quiet families. 

“They got us this far.  I wanted them to be here for the next step.”  Something about the gentle way he offered the explanation tied Charlie’s stomach into a bow more elaborate than the one on the gift he offered to her.  “The only thing I want for Christmas is for you to accept what I have for you.  Here.”

“There’s not a ring in here, is there?”

The words were blurted without conscious thought because, quite frankly, his seriousness in talking about that “next step” made her nervous.  All it took was seeing the frown lines dig deep into Jon’s cheeks and forehead to have Charlie kicking her own inconsiderate ass. She would give anything to take it back and not see his head shaking with… disappointment? 

“No ring.”

Not knowing how to fix the blunder that had the food in her stomach curdling, she didn't trust herself to do more than nod and accept the gift. Not wanting to open her mouth for fear of sticking a foot back in it, she silently rested the package atop her bent knee in the same way he rested a loose fist on his. 

“All this drama and suspense and there’s no ring?  Are you freaking kidding me?” 

Izzie’s indignant sarcasm broke then tension and drove away a good portion of Charlie's anxiety.  She glanced back up at Jon, expecting him to meet her lopsided grin with one of his own, but his expression hadn’t changed. 

He was still way too serious when prompting, “Open it.”

Not knowing what else she could possibly do, Charlie pried off the lid, tucking it between her leg and the back of the sofa before parting the tissue to find…

Legal documents.  A stack of them that were individually backed in stiff, colored paper and stapled at the top like contracts.

In fact… 

Lifting the first one, she skimmed it and found that it was a real estate contract.  “You’re selling your apartment?”

“Girl, you’re the only one in the country who didn’t know that.  It’s been all over the internet,” Lilah interjected with a snort, handing Lucas back his plastic horse and trailer.  “Mr. Confidentiality dropped the ball on that one.”

“Shut it, Kentucky.”  He didn’t spare a turn of the head for his sister-in-law before addressing Charlie with a concise, “Yeah, I’m selling.  We don’t need it.”

Since nobody had darkened the doorstep of the place in over a month, she thought he was probably right but didn’t comment.   The real estate contract was set aside to pick up the next document, which was the deed to the house they were sitting in and she saw that a trust was listed as the deed holder.  

“That’s my kids’ trust.  The property here technically belongs to them as their future inheritance, but I get full run of the place in the meantime.”

Okay…?  She wasn’t quite sure why that mattered to her, but it was perfectly logical and not all that unexpected.  That document was also put aside to reveal that next up was the deed to the house in East Hampton.  Jon's name was listed as the holder of this one, and right under it was... hers. 

He'd made her co-owner of the house for which he just refused payment.

“What?  You won’t take my – Millie’s – money to pay for half of this house so that you can give it to me?”

“That’s right.”  His quiet confidence aggravated her and had her thumping the heel of one hand into his knee.   Rather than the retaliation she expected, though, what Charlie got was a slow, “I looked into your eyes one night and saw something so unexpected that it took my breath away - innocence and vulnerability.   I don’t know how you managed to preserve it for all these years, but there it was.  And you were handing it to me with the trust that I’d keep it safe and protect it as diligently as you had.  I was humbled and, quite honestly, a little embarrassed.  It was a wake-up call that made me realize that I should be giving more instead of demanding more.  So I’m trying... if you’ll let me.” 

What was she supposed to say to that?  The truth was that she did want him to be more giving, but not with his real estate holdings.  The way he’d just presented himself with unguarded emotion and forthright honesty...  That's the kind of giving she'd been dreaming of. 

“I want you.  Not houses.”

Her unwavering declaration was immediately countered with, “And I want to share the place where I fell in love with you.”

Well, shit. 

“Oh, Lord, my heart just fluttered.”  Lilah tapped Izzie’s arm.  “Did yours flutter, too?”

“I thought I was having an arrhythmia, but now that you mention it, yeah.  That was definitely a flutter.”

Charlie’s laughter at the two women's silliness chased away the threatening mist of tears, and she arched a wry eyebrow at Jon.  “I can’t believe you thought it was a good idea to have them here for this.”

“Ignore them."  He tossed his chin toward the box that wasn't yet empty.  “There’s more.”

Ignoring the dramatic Lilah and her new sidekick was going to take an iron resolve, but she would try.  He deserved that, and he deserved something more - appreciation.  The work and emotion that had gone into this gift were overwhelming and it gave her a better understanding of his recent moodiness.    

“Thank you – for the house and the candor.”

“You can thank me in a few minutes.  Go on to the next one.”

He was poised like a cat stalking a mouse.  Tense, focused and watchful of her every move, Jon didn’t miss even the slightest twitch muscle when she stacked the deed on top of the other papers and withdrew the next document. 

Well, two documents, actually.  Clipped together, they both emerged at the same time, and Charlie saw that the top one was another real estate contract.

Unlike the first one in this gift, however, this one indicated Jon as the buyer instead of the seller – and had her name listed right under his.  Scanning the legalese for the property address, she found it and the red X that indicated a blank signature line.

“You’re buying the brownstone next door to mine?”

“You’re gonna love it, Charls!  That staircase is amazing.”

“We’re buying it,” he corrected over Luke’s endorsement, with the faintest shadow of a smile cutting through the somberness.  “They just accepted the offer yesterday, and you still need to sign, but yeah.  It’s next door to yours.  The next contract would make me co-owner on that one, too, if you agree.”

Flipping the page verified what he said, and she saw the second blank line awaiting her signature. 

“Luke looked at the place with me and thinks we can knock out a couple of walls to join the two brownstones.  That way it’ll be big enough for us and all the kids whenever they stay – and you still keep your house.  I thought it was a good compromise.”  

A home for us all in the place that I love. 

Charlie’s heart pounded in her chest, clogging her throat and stealing her ability to swallow.  Diamonds, furs, millions, vacations homes…  None of it could touch the fact that he really listened to her concerns and crafted a viable solution for their families.

Family.  Because, if they were going to co-own this much real estate, then they couldn't be two separate people anymore.  One unit.  One unified family.

“It’s perfect.”  

That’s all she could push through her thick throat, but Jon didn’t seem to mind.  His attention was again focused on the box and its remaining contents.

“Good.  There’s one more in there.”

“We do not need one more place to live,” she laughed, still choked up at the enormity of it all.  The damn man didn’t know how to do anything in half-measures.  He was an all or nothing personality, and sometimes it was hard to keep up.

“No more houses.”  He concurred easily but remained tense and alert, eyes pinned to her as their families started to murmur amongst themselves.  It was as though they knew there was something big coming, and Charlie found herself apprehensive about withdrawing the final document.   

It took his quiet coaxing to go ahead before she would put her hand in the box, and tissue paper crinkled as she extracted the crisp manila papers and read the header.

Petition for Divorce

Chiara Marie Bongiovi, plaintiff

v.

John Francis Bongiovi, Jr., defendant

With her pulse pounding in her ears almost as loudly as the heartbeat behind her sternum, Charlie managed to swallow the dinner that wanted to come back up.  She made herself breathe through the nausea long enough to read over the simple form in search of answers, but all it said was that the marriage would be dissolved in accordance with the couples’ prenup.

And Jon’s signature was at the bottom. 

“These are divorce papers,” she said dumbly, letting both her hand and the confusing document drop to her lap.

“Yeah.”

That was all.  A steady gaze and simple agreement. 

“We’re not married.”

“No.”  He didn’t break their visual connection when leaning over to grab the smaller version of the now-empty box.  Fiddling with the lid, he lifted it a fraction as though to open it but didn’t follow through.  “I know I’ve pushed you – bullied you – into one thing after another since we’ve been together, and you’ve given me so much.  I know that.  I appreciate that.  But I can’t stop myself from asking for you just one more thing.

Now fiddling fingers actually removed the box lid, and when he dipped his hand inside, it was to produce…

Charlie’s wasn’t the only gasp in the room.  Every adult female took that same sharp breath right along with her, and if she could tear her eyes away from what was resting in his palm, she’d probably find that at least half of them had a hand over their mouth – just like she did.

Cinderella’s glass slipper was beautiful on its own, simply because of the romantic story that accompanied it, but with the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree reflected in its surface…  It glowed ethereally, as though powered by pixie dust and every other magical concoction Disney had ever branded. 

It was almost as breathtaking as the diamond ring nestled inside it on a bed of Tinkerbell-green velvet. 

A princess-cut diamond ring whose smooth, wide band was modestly simple – for platinum – but the two-carat stone didn’t need an elaborate setting.  Anything more would’ve detracted from the brilliant perfection of the diamond and ruined the air of elegance. 

“Will you marry me, Chiara?"

“Oh, great merciful days, I’m gonna bawl like a baby.”

Lilah was going to have to take a number behind Charlie, who couldn’t decide if the tears pooling on her bottom lids were borne of love, happiness or fear.   Everything was never enough for Jon because he always wanted more.  That drive is what made him successful in everything he did, but this time…

“I get that you’re scared about finding yourself trapped in a relationship without the ability to get out.  Honest to God, I do, and I understand why. That’s what the divorce papers are for.  To make you feel safe.  I’ll never hold you against your will, and if there comes a day when you want out, then sign your name and walk away.”

Tears came in earnest, pushed out by a sob that she couldn’t contain. 

So what if he was driven to go after what he wanted?  This crudely sweet man had just handed over a silver platter that held her special-ordered world, complete with a beautiful red ribbon.

She owned half of a vacation home that she loved because of both its sentimental and architectural value.   She owned half of a brownstone that had been magnificently restored to her specifications, and now she was going to own half of another one that they would make just as magnificent.

“I got a smooth ring so that there weren’t any ‘paint magnets’.  You could wear it while you work, if you wanted.”

She had man who listened and did everything he could to solve her problems.  Most importantly, she had a man who was ready to let her walk away without notice just so he could have her. 

How did Charlie compete with his level of giving?  He said she'd already given him so much, and while it didn't seem like much in comparison, it was all she believed herself to have. What else could she possibly do to hold up her end of this relationship? 

You know what to do.  In your heart, you know.  

The thought terrified her, but yes.  She did.  Her heart had already made the commitment, and now it was time for her head to join in. 

Swallowing her pride and fear, Charlie compressed trembling lips to let tears flow unheeded as she tore the divorce papers neatly in half.  Turning them sideways, she tore again to create four even pieces that were all unceremoniously dumped in the empty box.

“I don’t need this to make me feel safe,” she informed him with an inelegant sniffle.  “I’ve got you.  Can we get married in East Hampton?”

Jon’s somberness washed away in the flood of cheers from around the room, replaced by a a spark of joy that lit those infamous blue eyes deep from the inside.  They were four shades lighter than they'd been moments ago, and Charlie got to seem them up close when he hooked the nape of her neck and hauled her in for a hard kiss.

“Anyplace you want, Counselor.  Any damn place you want.”

149: Somebody Call Hallmark

“I’m proud of you,” Jon whispered in Charlie’s ear as he stacked dishes beside the sink where she washed pots and pans.  Everyone else had adjourned to the Christmas tree, but she wanted to get a head-start on these while they were still reasonably easy to clean. “Dinner was great.”

Happiness seeped through her veins at his compliment, blossoming into a radiant smile that was wasted on the dirty dishes.  She did it.  She really and truly fed thirty-seven freaking people a decent meal.  It wasn’t quite the traditional Italian or traditional American Christmas dinner, but there was something for everyone and there was nothing burned!

Tipping her cheek into his kiss, she cooed happily, “Thank you.  I’m pretty proud of myself.”

“You worked your ass off for a month making this happen.  You have every right to be.”  With a solidly affectionate tap on the back pocket of her jeans, he advocated, “Come join the family before they start opening gifts.  The boys and I will finish this later.”

As if on cue, Lilah’s head popped into the kitchen. “Charlie!  Get your butt in here, girlfriend.  You performed a Jesus-worthy miracle by feeding the masses, so the rest of us will clean up – after we open presents.”

“Okay, okay!”  With Jon and Lilah both pursuing the same objective, there was nothing to do be concede and Charlie laughed over “Jesus-worthy” as she dried her hands.  Anxious to finally clear her debt and conscience over the Hamptons house, she allowed herself to be hustled down the hall to where a multitude of Bongiovis and Del Vecchios gathered into one happy and loud group. 

Jon evicted Jesse and Noah from the couch so that he and Charlie could take their spots, and as soon as she sank to the cushion, someone was pushing a gift into her hand.  Glancing up, she saw that someone was Lilah.

“This one has your name on it,” she announced with a wide smile, although it was wasted breath, since there was a big tag that quite plainly read “Charlie”.

“Okay, thanks.”

Flipping the tag over revealed that, in a strange twist of circumstance, Matt was her Christmas benefactor.  The two of them had gotten each other’s names in the drawing, and while Charlie was quite comfortable with the assorted case of wine she purchased from his favorite vineyard, she wasn’t sure she would feel the same about what he chose for her.  

Leaving it unopened in her lap for the time being, she cheerfully observed what was going on in the rest of the room. 

The younger kids – Isabella, Rocco, Cassie, Maggie, Lucas and Micah Jane – were squealing as they tore open wrapping paper on an assortment of toys and clothing from their aunts, uncles and grandparents.  Baby Gracie was doing her best to keep up with the help of Mama Holly while the bigger kids weren’t far behind.  Noah and Caleb were completely engrossed with their growing assortment of car accessories, and Jake and Romeo was more interested the bounty than their own collection of gifts.  The two had been asking for rides in the new cars ever since arriving to find them in the driveway.

Jesse seemed a little bothered by the vehicles at first, maybe because they were more extravagant than the gifts he and his siblings received this year, but Charlie overheard Jon casually say that she’d used the boys’ trust fund for a good thing and it made his shopping easier.   Six months’ worth of car insurance didn’t require his presence in a department store, and Jesse smilingly agreed that his dad had done an admirable job of avoidance. 

Jon's eldest was quite happy to fawn over seat covers and speakers with Noah and Caleb now, while also drooling over the new sound system for his car supplied by Uncles Matt and Tony.  Joseph was a little bit of an electronics freak and was providing advice on how to maximize the effect of the factory installed speakers in Jesse’s car.  He swore that by the time the tweaks were made, nobody would know that he hadn’t dropped a load of cash on Bose.

Stephanie was just like her mother, who had declined their invitation to spend the day with her sisters and their families.  Jon’s daughter was perfectly Zen and equally appreciative of every piece of apparel, gift card and footwear she received.  Sydney, who sat in the floor next to Steph, smiled at her own collection of girl paraphernalia, readily allowing little cousins to wear mittens, hats and a fuzzy scarf from the pile. 

Adults were equally as happy as the kids, Charlie noted with satisfaction.  Mr. Bongiovi enamored Dom with the set of gourmet olive oils that was his gift, and Dom’s assortment of specialty spices to his mom carried on the culinary theme. 

That wasn’t the only theme in the house.  Charlie’s wine gift to Matt – which he acknowledged with a solemn gaze and sincere thanks – was complemented by a beer making set-up to Izzie’s husband Aaron from Luke, while Vince crowed over the fancy bottle of whiskey from Desiree and his son Hunter was ready to crack it open.

Luke ended up with NFL playoff tickets from Lilah that were more likely acquired by Jon, and Vivi was fawning over a new Coach handbag from Izzie.  Anna, Holly, Mrs. Bongiovi, Izzie and Desiree received Broadway tickets, jewelry, and spa treatments as their pieces of the Christmas pie.

A loud squeak from Lilah drew the attention of half the room, and Charlie could only shake her head with a grin.  Jon's sister-in-law was happily situating a pair of rhinestone reindeer antlers atop her head to grin in the direction of the couch.  “Jon Bon Jovi, you do love me!”

“Unbelievable, Kentucky,” he griped with a twinkle in his eye.  “I get you a pair of designer boots that you’ve supposedly wanted for two years, and you’re excited over the tacky bit of glitz I threw in as an afterthought.”

“Well, of course.”  A sassy twist of her head had chocolaty hair flipping behind her shoulders.  “Somebody else told you I wanted the boots.  You chose the antlers because you just knew I’d like ‘em.  That makes ‘em special.”

As quirky as Lilah was, she got was really important and Charlie loved that about her.  What Charlie didn’t love was finding out that Vivi was in charge of Jon’s gift.  It gave her a mild anxiety attack to watch him open the package, because God only knew what the brazen woman would deem appropriate.

It turned out that there was no need to wait with bated breath in anticipation of a train wreck.  Vivi chose a sexy pair of sunglasses that Jon immediately proclaimed “kick ass”, along with a black t-shirt that read, “And on the Eighth Day, God Created Jon Bon Jovi”. 

While Jon and Charlie laughed out loud, it earned a groan of disgust from his brothers.  They, in turn, received the bonus gift of a Jersey salute that they took in stride as Jon grinned at Vivi and announced how he was looking forward to his next encounter with the paparazzi. 

“Open yours,” he encouraged with a nudge, nodding at the package still sitting in Charlie's lap. 

With a subdued smile, she untied the pretty bow and eased the festive paper away from.  It was about the size of a pizza box but deeper and, when she lifted the lid and folded back the white tissue, it was to reveal a black leather book embossed with an elegant gold, “Family Album”. 

Darting her eyes across the room, she found Matt watching her as the cover was opened.

The first page held only a single picture.  It was of Jon and her looking at one another, laughing and looking as happy as anyone had a right to.  Charlie thought it might have been snapped at Matt’s birthday party, but the shot was a close-up so she couldn’t be sure. 

Turning the page, she found not only pictures of her and Jon from Matt’s birthday, Tony’s birthday and Thanksgiving, but an assorted combination of family members.  There were several from the Hamptons – one where she held Lucas in her lap, another where her boys and Sydney laughed and horsed around with Jon’s kids, and yet another that showed she and Lilah sharing a hug. 

The snapshots went on like that for several pages – pictures of her and her family interacting with Jon and his clan – and then they stopped abruptly.  Flipping through the remaining pages, she found that there were just as many blank ones at the back of the book as there were filled ones at the beginning of the book. 

“I thought you could do the rest as you go along,” Matt said from where he leaned against the sideboard filled with framed Bongiovi photos.  Lifting his wineglass in her direction, he offered a gruff, “It’s good having you in the family, Charlie.”

“Somebody call Hallmark!”  How any one person could sound so excited yet painstakingly drawl out their words, Charlie had no idea, but Lilah somehow managed.  “We’ve got us one of those holiday movies in the makin’ here!  I don’t know about y’all, but I’m all warm and fuzzy inside, and I like it.  Anybody else want another glass of wine?”

Laughter and boisterous agreement filled the room and Charlie’s heart.  This was the perfect time to give Jon his gift, and after setting the photo album in his lap, she rose gingerly to her feet.

It took a little maneuvering to pick through the through the sea of family assembled in chairs and on the floor, but she finally reached the sideboard that Matt was still lounging against. 

“Thank you,” she murmured while sliding open one of the drawers to withdraw a cheery red envelope.  “I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

“Don’t hurt him and we always will be.”

Love and joy hung in the air as abundantly as the scents of pine and peppermint, and Charlie reveled in both while closing the drawer with a light click.  She patted the biggest Bongiovi on the arm as Lilah worked her way around to fill wineglasses, and smiled serenely up into his face to assure, “I don’t plan to.” 

148: Soft Spot

The day was sunny so far, and Jon was taking advantage of the solar warmth beaming through the big living room windows.  Comfortably dressed in Notre Dame sweats and sneakers, he didn’t even mind the brightness that normally hurt his eyes.  The ambiance of the Christmas tree made up for it this morning, and he enjoyed a second cup of coffee in its shadow while pretending to read the paper. 

He'd had the brief idea of issuing a preemptive strike against the amount of calories that would be in the house today by taking a short run.  Then, remembering that Chiara was the chef-in-residence for the holiday feast, he decided he wouldn't eat enough to make a difference.  That’s why he was sitting on his ass with the dog at his feet, outwardly indulging in Christmas laziness when Jon hummed with anticipation underneath it all.

The last piece of the puzzle – well second-to-last – had dropped into place yesterday, allowing him to cross through the final fucking thing on that endless task list.  It was almost as satisfying as the counselor’s face as she hugged every single one of their children last night and pretended not to cry over some art supplies. 

The kids had been good sports about helping out with the surprise – more eager than he would’ve expected, and that made him happy because it meant everyone was getting along well.  Even Noah and Caleb were being exceptionally agreeable by spending the night here in the house instead of going back to Brooklyn last night.  They wanted to make their mom happy on Christmas, and it was Norman fucking Rockwell enough to soften Jon’s lukewarm, grey heart. 

As though the thoughts conjured his youthful presence, Noah chose that moment to leisurely swing around the end of the front staircase railing and begin a slow saunter down the hall.  It was only upon noticing Jon’s presence in the living room that he paused in the doorway to ask, “Where’s Mom?”

“Kitchen.”  Peering over the rim of his reading glasses at the counselor’s eldest, he sagely advised, “But I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

“Why not?”

The unmistakable clatter of pots and pans came singing down the hallway, loud enough to breach the hundred-foot distance between living room and kitchen.  Even louder was the ensuing, “Dammit all to hell!  I hate this!”

“That answer your question?”

The boy’s dark eyes were filled with indecision as he glanced speculatively toward the lion’s den.  “Maybe I should go help her.”

“Buddy, you do what you want, but I’ve heard at least a dozen times this week that she’s going to do it herself or die trying.”

Indecision turned to concern as Noah pushed both hands into the pockets of his red and black checked lounge pants.  “But what if she screws it all up?”

“I’ll tell you what I told everybody threatening to bring food ‘just in case’.  I don’t care how bad dinner is, she’s worked her butt off for a month to make this happen.  We’ll eat it and lie through our teeth about how wonderful it is,” Jon declared with finality.  “Then you and your brother will fix pizza later.” 

Noah’s laughter and reluctant agreement brought Jon’s own smile to the surface.  The counselor had raised exceptional boys.  They had their issues, but so did everybody.  Most of the time they were upstanding young men with just enough hellion to keep them interesting, and no parent could ask for much more. 

“And I have a caterer on standby,” he added in an undertone.  “But don’t tell her that.”

“Don’t tell me what?”  The counselor snuck up on him from behind, using the dining room entrance instead of the hall.   

“What I got you for Christmas.”

“You’re such a liar,” she scoffed at the tale that rolled so easily from his tongue.  “I have a gorgeous studio that you graciously outfitted as my Christmas gift.”

“That was from the kids.  I’m talking about what I got you.” 

“Hmpf.  I still say you’re full of it.”  Even though Jon told the God’s honest truth, she made no attempt to hide her blatant disbelief.  Pushing up the sleeves of her Stanford sweatshirt, the counselor demanded of Noah, “Where’s your brother?”

“Still asleep.”

“Well, go wake him up,” came the cross command.  “If I have to be up and confined to the pits of hell, he can get his happy holiday hump out of bed.”

Folding his paper in a neat square, Jon bit his tongue and held it long enough to take off his reading glasses while Noah disappeared up the stairs.  “You’re in a fucking festive mood.  Cheer the hell up, or I’m banishing you from the kitchen and calling a caterer.”

Cantankerous features smoothed into a far more pleasant expression as she proclaimed, “Oh, I’m plenty cheery.  I just want them to appreciate it, so I lead with the bitch mother routine.  The only thing wrong with me is that I’m impatient for them to see their gifts.”

“Ah, yes, the gifts.” He tucked the newspaper between his thigh and the arm of the couch as she took up residence on the cushion next to him.  “You’re gonna be the cool mom this year.”

“I’m the cool mom every year.  They just won’t realize how cool until they start playing Santa to their own kids.  When they figure out how hard it is to be both practical and indulgent…  I’m looking forward to some amazing gifts in my golden years.”

Chortling with delight at her master plan, he rubbed an affectionate hand up and down her back.  “I’m glad I fell in love with such a wise woman.”

“Wise men are drawn to wise women.”

“Damn.  It really is Christmas.”  The happily sighed observation came as he inclined his face toward hers.  “You’re being nice to me and everything.”

“Don’t get used-“ The rest of her smartass retort was smothered by a kiss that disheveled her already messy knot of hair.  He roamed hands through it, unhurriedly slicking his tongue against hers just because he liked the way it felt.  He also liked the way her burrowing hands encouraged him as they snuck under the Fighting Irish sweatshirt and lightly scratched his spine. 

“Oh for God’s sake,” Caleb groused.  “This is what I had to get up for?  Seriously?  I’m going back to bed.”

Neither Jon nor the counselor rushed to end the kiss, taking longer to separate than they normally would have just to be mean.  She didn’t even bother wiping the shine from her lips before flashing an evil grin at the boy.  “I can’t help it.  I like him.”

Such simple words, but damn if they didn’t hit Jon in an expectedly soft spot.   The harsh demands he’d put upon himself in the last month were going to be worth it, and he smiled at her like a besotted fool as she tormented her son.

“Can you be a little less demonstrative about liking him?” Noah’s plea was made as he slid past them and dropped into one of the nearby floral chairs.  “I’m glad you’ve got… whatever this is, but please.  We don’t need to think about what you do behind closed doors.”

“We don’t need you to think about it either.” Jon definitely did not need that and tossed his chin toward the fireplace.  “I think an elf came by stuck something else in your stockings this morning.  Why don’t you check it out while we sit here and chastely hold hands?”

As the counselor laid a cheek on his shoulder and tucked both of their hands into her lap, she let loose a delicate giggle that delivered another blow to his soft spot.  When she whispered something equally sweet and dirty in his ear, it was a one-two punch.

He could stop to think about all the ways she managed to manipulate that soft spot, or he could stop thinking altogether and just enjoy everything the day would bring.  They were going to make some beautiful memories today, and since he didn’t want to miss a thing, Jon chose to snug an arm around his girlfriend and hold her close.

“My camera’s in the office,” he murmured into her hair.  “Do you have your phone to get this?”

“No, dammit.  It’s in the kitchen.”

When she would’ve bounced up, his arm constricted to keep her close while he dug in his pocket.   “Here.  Use mine.”

“You’re supposed to be chastely holding hands, not crawling into each other’s skin,” Caleb caustically reminded as his brother tossed an aged Pokèmon stocking at him, and then sank into the adjoining chair with a Spongebob one.  Sentimental Chiara refused to replace the stockings of their youth, and another blow landed in that soft spot. 

Maybe that’s why he was less reserved than usual when flipping the kid a middle finger behind the counselor’s shoulder and offering the gruff order to, “Shut up and stick your hand in Pikachu’s head.”

The bed-headed young man shot a sideways grin at the couch and did as instructed, coming up with a box the size of his palm.  Noah held a nearly identical one, the only difference being that his was wrapped in red instead of green.  They both displayed a finesse more suitable to the small boys who’d originally received those stockings than the young adults they were now, but they didn’t seem concerned.  The paper was ripped away to reveal matching white boxes, whose lids were lifted simultaneously by the brothers.   

“Are you fucking kidding me?” drowned out, “Holy shit!”, but just barely as each held up a set of car keys.

“I raised such genteel sons,” the counselor remarked in a dry aside while snapping photos of wide eyes and open mouths.  “Classy as fuck.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, “They are their mama’s boys.”

“Gah.  I guess they are.”

Caleb shook his keys at Jon.  “If these go to a Mustang, I’m gonna need you to adopt me.”

“This is all your mother,” came the immediate denial, accompanied by innocent hands in the air.  “All I did was make a suggestion – and agree to pay the first six months’ insurance.”

“Whatever.”  Noah hopped up, hot on the heels of his brother as the two raced toward the front door in their socked feet, and more classy excitement could be heard once they came face-to-face with the vehicles parked out front.

The counselor chuckled as they went to join the excitement from the semi-warmth of the doorway. “I think they like them.”

Considering that they circled the silver Ford Mustang and white Dodge Challenger like hyenas closing in on a wounded wildebeest, Jon would say her assumption was a safe one. 

Busy shouting the features of their new rides back and forth to one another, neither seemed to mind that the cars weren’t brand new or that they were the most conservative sports cars their mother could find.  They were just happy to have something to call their own, and it made Jon remember the feeling of getting his first car. 

It was only a beat-up piece of crap, but it belonged to him and he’d been so damn proud.  Seeing that some rites of passage never changed had him adopting a sentimental smile as he draped an arm around the counselor.

“You did good, baby.”

“We did good.  But I wonder…”  Twisting her neck, she looked up at him with a wry grin.  “You think they’re going to be just as excited when I tell them they eventually have to get jobs to pay for the insurance?”

Seeing how high these kids were flying as they revved their engines, he doubted it would make a damn bit of difference.