We’d spent the night before at Isabella’s mom’s house, letting everyone coo over our baby. She’d been hesitant at first because it was going to be “so loud and overwhelming” but I’d reasoned that the kid’s whole life was going to be that way, so we’d gone. And despite all the noise, he’d slept like an angel most of the time, despite how many different arms he found himself shuffled into.
Christmas morning, though, that was at our new place.
Granted, the baby was only a month old, so it wasn’t like we had any big Santa story to tell or wide-eyed-wonder to witness yet. But it felt right to cuddle up in front of a fireplace and our tree, listening to our baby coo at the twinkling lights on the tree as we got occasional drop-ins from Vissi and some of my more distant relatives, as well as some of hers.
Including Emilio.
Who, while he seemed permanently changed from the helplessness and rage he’d felt over the whole marriage situation, had become a doting and loving uncle.
He’d brought over what had to be the entire baby toy section for him, as well as spa gift cards and offers to babysit while she went for Isabella, and even a bottle of whiskey for me.
We would likely never be the best of friends.
But it was a start.
“Who the hell is that?” I grumbled when the doorbell rang for what felt like the tenth time that morning.
Before I could even get up to see who it was, though, there were footsteps in the hall.
And suddenly, New York’s craziest sonofabitch was standing in my living room.
Holding a goddamn puppy.
“Hey there lil’ mama,” Brio Costa greeted Isabella who looked a mix of absolutely in love with the giant-eared, squat-legged puppy, but also concerned. Maybe that I wouldn’t let her keep it. “Kids, they should have a puppy to grow up with,” he declared as he reached out, tracing the garland over the doorway with his fingers. “Figured it would be a good first Christmas present. You got a yard and shit,” he added, shrugging. “You got a yard, you gotta have a dog for it. It’s a rule.”
And with that, he dropped the dog into Isabella’s lap, walked over to our son, and gave him a nod. “Merry Christmas, little man,” he said. And then he was gone just as suddenly as he came.
“The fuck was that?” I asked, feeling a little whip-lashed at the whole situation.
“Yeah, ah, apparently, that is Brio’s thing now,” Isabella said, shaking her head at her distant cousin’s strange appearance. “He just… brings people animals. Like he’s doing community outreach for the local shelters or something,” she added, smiling as she rubbed the puppy’s head.
“Yes,” I said, reading her mind. “We can keep him,” I said, watching as she shot me a beaming smile.
It seemed right.
A house to build memories in.
A wife I loved more than I knew I was capable of.
A son who was just one of many, we hoped.
A yard.
And a dog.
It sounded like a great start to forever to me.