13
SKY
Dylan copes wellat Christmas Eve dinner with his in-laws. Ed’s excitement at the oncoming gifts adds a relaxed element to the meal. As the alcohol flows, Dylan unwinds, and it helps that Mum and Robert treat him as an ordinary guest and avoid talking about his life. We chat about our recent travels. Mum and Robert have visited some of the same places, which gives us common ground to talk about, and we veer away from the personal. In this moment, I relax. With these people, I’ll always be Sky, not a two-dimensional picture of a rock star’s wife.
My willpower fails, and I drink two glasses of wine. The disappointment on Dylan’s face is clear—he now knows the answer to the question he’s avoided asking.
Ed claims to still believe in Santa, but I’m guessing Ed’s at the age where he thinks denying Santa’s existence will result in less gifts beneath the tree. A bemused Dylan watches as Mum helps Ed place a plate under the Christmas tree. A mince pie and a carrot for Santa and his reindeers. What Christmas traditions will Dylan and me create with our family?
“I think we’ll head to bed too,” Mum says as she returns from putting Ed to bed. “I bet Ed will be up at 5:00 a.m.”
Robert groans. “Please don’t make me get up with him.”
“I told Ed he can open one gift, and then he has to wait for us, at least until 7:00 a.m.”
“If Ed’s smart, he’ll go through all the presents until he finds the box that’s obviously his laptop,” says Robert with a smile.
I grit my teeth. Ed is spoilt compared to mine and my brother’s childhood. Robert has more money, and I understand they want to treat him, but as Ed grows up, I’ve witnessed his growing demands for anything he wants. And Ed always gets what he wants, too. Eight years old and he’s about to own a laptop.
“I remember you’d wake up at stupid o’clock to open your presents, Sky,” says Mum.
“I don’t think I will this year.”
“Christmas is for kids.” Robert sets his empty whisky glass on the table. “The magic is still there.”
“Your kids will be lucky,” Mum says. Dylan stiffens next to me. “They’ll have everything they want.” I will her to stop, but after half a bottle of wine, she’s unlikely to. She sighs loudly. “I’m too young to be a grandmother.”
“Give us a chance, Mum.” I attempt to keep my tone light and shoot her a warning look as Dylan switches his attention to the contents of his glass.
Her mouth parts as the awkwardness dawns. “Okay. Bed for me. Don’t forget to switch the lights off on the tree.”
“I won’t. Night.” As Mum and Robert leave the room, I walk to the tree and flick the switch. A homemade decoration catches my eye, and I take the ceramic star from the tree. In the centre, a picture of a six-year-old Sky smiles back.
“Look at this.” I sit next to Dylan and dangle the star by the attached blue ribbon.
His dark features brighten. “Is that you? I’ve never seen pictures of you as a kid.”
“Sure is.”
He holds the star under the lamp for a clearer look. “Cute! You had a shitload more freckles.” I rub my nose self-consciously, and Dylan takes my hand away. “I love your freckles, you know I do.” He kisses my nose. “These.” Then my cheek. “And these.”
Dylan’s curls tickle my face, and I smile and rub my nose against his neck. If I close my eyes, I’m transported away from here and back to just me and him. He tightens his arms around my waist. “You’re drinking wine.”
“I like wine.” I bury my face further into his skin, inhaling Dylan’s familiar scent.
“I guess that means—”
“Don’t, Dylan. Please. Let’s enjoy Christmas.”
He kisses my hair and holds me tighter. “I love you, summer Sky.”
“You too, Mr Rock God.”
His breath warms my cheek as he sighs. “I just want life to be perfect.”
I look up, arrested by the truth of my situation. Looking back at me is the man who took my broken heart and mended it; he gave himself to me even before I was able to trust him. In Dylan’s striking blue eyes, I see the same love he’s shown over and over in the last year, and the same adoration and happiness the day we married.
I trace his face with my fingers. “And we’ll find as close to perfect as we can.”