36
Gigi
“I’m so happy for you both,” my mom said as she hugged the crap out of me the next morning.
They’d gotten home late even though Beau’d texted them and relayed the message that I’d accepted his proposal. We’d been asleep when they came home.
Beau had gotten out of bed to help with bedtime, but the boys had apparently both fallen asleep long before that. Mom being a mom had made sure the boys wore their pajamas before they’d left. So, Beau wasn’t needed.
“Thanks for helping him,” I said, knowing full well she’d played a large part in assisting Beau with last night’s proposal.
“He just needed a little guidance, that’s all.” She laughed. Her arms squeezed me even tighter now. “Do you remember the first time you told me you were going to marry Beau Moreau?”
I laughed into her hair. “If you ever tell him that story, I’ll hurt you. It’s bad enough that he’s seen my scrapbook.”
When we finally let each other go, she made her coffee and I grabbed everything I needed for a smoothie. “I just feel really bad that he won’t be with his family at Christmas. It’s his first Christmas with the boys and Monique’s the only one who’s even met them.”
“Well, we could have an early Christmas here?”
I looked up at my mom. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, you can always come back. You have more time off in January, right?”
“Yeah, I do. But Beau’s stubborn,” I said, shaking my head while I cut up the fruits and veggies on the cutting board.
She let out a loud laugh. “I know a couple of women who can be equally as stubborn.” Then she gave me a wink.
“Doesyour mom realize Christmas isn’t for two more days?” Beau whispered into my ear while we sat on the couch.
Mom was currently divvying up the presents, and the boys were out of their minds excited.
“Hush, it’s her house,” I said with a smirk, then cuddled into his side.
It really was the picture of Christmas perfection.
The huge Christmas tree decorated with far too many homemade ornaments—more now since the boys made some with my mom—two, dark haired, adorable boys sitting as patiently as four year old boys could sit, hot chocolate in our hands—mine had whipped cream and Beau’s had marshmallows and Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” like only he could.
Mom and Jase opened my gift of matching, ‘Team Martin’ T-shirts, which made mom laugh for a solid ten minutes straight. She’d forced Jase out of his comfy chair and practically pushed him down the hallway.
When they came back, they were both wearing the shirts.
Mom still laughing as she declared she was never going to take it off.
Next, we opened a gift from them, which just happened to be matching, ‘Team Martin’ T-shirts.
I laughed for a solid ten minutes.
As did Mom.
Again.
Beau and I hurried into my room and changed.
He might have gotten a bit handsy, but I cut him off when I realized Mom had added a word to my shirt. It said, ‘Team Martin-Moreau’. The Moreau part looked like she’d written it in with a fabric marker. I knew this because she had all the crafting supplies in the world and had made T-shirts before.
I might have started crying then and sobbed into Beau’s shoulder.
Then I ran out and hugged my mom until she could hardly breathe.