"You might not owe Kingston anything, but you owe me—"

            "Bye, guys!" Maverick, despite Everleigh having at least five inches on him, was well trained in picking her up by the waist, turning them both around, and leading her to the car, away from whatever she was protesting at. Everleigh liked to flip Roman off over his shoulder when he was the one who Everleigh was protesting at—there was only so much that Maverick could do. Getting her away from everyone was his main priority.

            At least that day was better than the time Maverick was forced to pick her up fireman style over his shoulder and carry her out of what was, embarrassingly, a bar that Everleigh had chosen to pick a fight with a man double her size who wore a pro-life shirt and looked ready to end hers. Roman had kept him as distracted as he could while Everleigh screamed at Maverick to put her down. It may have been a poor idea for Roman to have challenged Everleigh to a tequila shot contest—he should've known he'd lose badly and he probably should've kept better sight on who was entering the pub at the time. It was kind of sleezy, it was in the boonies of Soho when Everleigh and Maverick had still lived there. They hadn't been back since. Nobody knew if Everleigh was even allowed back in. They'd almost gotten arrested that day, it wasn't worth going back.

            "Bye!" Florence waved. Decidedly ignoring her sister.

            Maverick practically threw Everleigh in the car. "I'll text you when we're on our way back! Let me know if you need more time."

            "Thanks, Mav!" Roman said. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. God, it was cold outside. He should've listened to Florence when she told him to throw a jacket on before he came outside.

            Despite her protest, Everleigh was already distracted by her nieces in the back to even wave goodbye while Maverick backed out of the driveway. Dishing out what looking like MilkyBar buttons. Which had always been her favourite, besides the raspberry lemonade at Greggs. She was probably only offering them to the girls to get them to stop being so offended that her and Maverick hadn't put up a Christmas tree yet. That was what they were on their way to do, but it had never been that big a deal for either of them.

            "Okay, what do you have for them?" Florence asked.

            Roman had grabbed his bags of gifts from his apartment the night before, after the girls were asleep, Florence had let him hide them in a cupboard nobody used. Walking back into Florence's, he made quick work of  grabbing them and meeting back in the living room, where Florence already had multiple rolls of wrapping paper out and put her favourite Christmas playlist on—which consisted only of Christmas songs by the Beach Boys. When she got sick of it—usually only on Christmas Eve, she switched to the Charlie Brown Christmas record that Roman had bought her for one of their first Christmas's together.

            "Did you buy—"

            "I know you always said that we should use the wrapping paper we have."

            A small smile pulled at the corner of Roman's lips. "Is it because it has Santa on it—"

            "Look at the Father Christmas, he's so cute!"

            "Is that what we're using for him this year?"

            "Is that okay?"

            Roman nodded, sat on the ground beside her. Tried to ignore his knee brushed hers no matter how desperately he'd tried not to touch her. They started separating Santa gifts from the other gifts. Like it was second nature. Because it was.

            Roman and Florence were always good at speaking wordlessly as they figured out Santa gifts. There were things they wanted to give the girls, and things they'd like that they were okay with giving them as someone else. They knew each other so well that an eyebrow raise meant Santa and a small smile meant from them.

            "We really need to give you a wrapping paper intervention one day, though, Flo." Roman was already cutting into paper when they were done separating the gifts.

            They had so many rolls of paper stored in the garage, out of sight and reach from the girls. Each time they had Santa gifts to wrap, they made sure that they had different paper than the ones from mum and dad. Kept the magic alive a little longer. 

            "One day." Florence hummed happily as she took the plastic off the new tube. "Not today."

            "Clearly."

            "He's so cute, Rome."

            "He's pretty cute."

            "I don't know what we're going to do when we don't get to wrap these together."

            "You mean when you finally tell your parents about our divorce?"

            Florence frowned at the gift she was wrapping. Probably not because she had always had trouble making sure the paper didn't slip off hardcover books—and she always grabbed the hardcover books—and more based on what he'd said. Sometimes the furrowed brow, lips pulled to the side look was cute. Other times it was terrifying. That time, Roman was unhappily stuck between the two options.

            "I meant more when we tell them that Santa's not real."

            "Oh." Roman gently took the book from her. Started wrapping it. He'd never really thought about giving it up. "Guess that's gotta be soon for Nav, huh?"

            A small pout formed on Florence's lip. Roman silently slid the wrapped present toward her. Usually, their gift wrapping sessions ended up being Roman wrapping presents and Florence wrote on the gift tags. From them, at least.

            Their version of Santa had unusually ugly handwriting—courtesy of one Kingston John Meadowlark who shipped them from wherever he and Everleigh were near Christmas. It had started when Navi was first introduced to the idea of Santa—and from there, it had only gotten more extreme. None of the girls had cards signed by Maverick, but they had plenty of emails or texts on Roman's phone. Everleigh wrote all their tags and cards so the girls were none the wiser. (Everleigh had nice handwriting, like a font. Curly but not too curly. For a doctor, more than legible.) (Maverick's looked like a child learning how to write—Roman would probably win a bet that Lyra had nicer handwriting. And she was three.)

            One day, they'd get it. And they'd all laugh together. It would be a good day.

            "She is going to middle school."

            Roman sat back. One leg bent under the other, back against the bottom of the couch. Hands dangled lazily over his thighs. "Jesus."

            "What?"

            "We're so fuckin' old, Flo." Roman laughed.

            "Don't say that."

            "I know, I know." Roman waved a hand. "You're older than me."

            Florence laughed. "That. And we're not that old."

            "Feels like we are." Roman played with a bow. "Sometimes. I mean, middle school? My God."

            "Raya's right behind her."

            "Don't remind me."

            "They're going to keep growing up whether we like it or not, Rome."

            "I know." Roman picked at the sticker on the bow. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

            "It's natural—"

            Roman leaned forward and stuck the bow to Florence's forehead. Leaned back and snorted at the expression on her face.

            "We're trying to have a conversation."

            "Call it an intrusive thought." Roman pushed himself off the ground.

            "You're going to do this and walk away?" Florence asked.

            Roman shrugged. "Gotta check my glucose."

            "You do not."

            "At some point, I do." Roman laughed.

            "You're an imbecile."

            "Cute pet name. I like that one." Roman turned to look at her. "Better than anything you ever called me while we were together."

            "Roman."

            "Yes?" Roman dug into a bag he'd left near the entrance to the room. Tried to find his CGM. Pulled it out before walking back to where Florence was, sitting down beside her. "Blood warning."

            Florence looked away as Roman pricked his finger, winced as she stuck his finger in his mouth when the monitor told him it was scanning.

            "You're good," he said.

            Florence looked back up at him. "Can we please get through Christmas without... talking about us?"

            "That's—" Roman took his finger out of his mouth. "—kind of difficult given the situation."

            "I'm sorry this is such a sodding circus. Probably not how you wanted to spend your Christmas."

            "Truthfully?" Roman started. "I was planning on spending it alone. Come and see the girls at some point, maybe for lunch. If that was okay with you and... Troy and Dawn. But I was probably going to spend most of the day by myself, probably watching movies."

            "You know mum and pa would always have a place for you, right?"

            Roman shook his head. "Wouldn't feel right."

            "And you're not..." Florence cut another strip of wrapping paper. Always too stubborn to admit she was terrible at wrapping gifts. Roman always found it charming. "Seeing anyone?"

            "I'm not."

            "Have you tried?" Florence asked. "I mean... look at you."

            "Not sure what you mean by that one, Flo."

            "You know exactly what I mean."

            "Wanted to hear you say it."

            "We were together for over 20 years and you want me to say once we're divorced that I think you're attractive?" Florence asked, laughing. "I mean, we have three kids together."

            "Sometimes it's nice to hear."

            "Yes. You're attractive."

            "And you're beautiful."

            "Are you really not seeing anyone?"

            "Are you?"

            Florence shook her head.

            "Not even Mister Ice Rink?"

            "Even if I'd wanted to." Florence laughed. "Think you ruined that when you threw a snowball at him."

            "That wasn't me."

            Florence raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes it was."

            "It was an accident." Roman shrugged, started wrapping another present. "I was definitely aiming for you."

            "This is why you didn't get that baseball scholarship."

            "I'd say that was fate."

            "Fate?"

            Roman looked up from the present. Decided he didn't want to look Florence in the eye and looked back down again. "Wouldn't have met you if I didn't come here for university."

            "And here I thought you came for the international student tuition fees."

            "Well, those were just a bonus." Roman taped a piece of paper down onto a Barbie doll. (Raya had specifically asked for one with hearing aids.) (How could they have refused?) "Now I'm in debt, depressed, and divorced. What a winning combo."

            "Rome, can we not?"

            "Not what?"

            "Fight about this?"

            "I didn't know we were fighting."

            "You always do this."

            "Do what?"

            "You bicker. And it's annoying as all hell."

            "Is that why?"

            "Why what?"

            Roman stayed quiet.

            Florence sighed. "Not the only reason."

            "Can you tell me the reasons?"

            Sometimes when Florence looked at him, it made him want to take everything he'd ever said back. The mean things, the nice things, and everything in between. Because that look made him want to invent a time machine and never meet her so that he could, ignoring every paradox it would create, never have to see her look that hurt ever again. Even if it meant forgetting her entirely and the, he would say, wonderful life they'd had together.

            The look he got from that was one of those looks.

            "Roman, please."

            Roman searched her eyes. He used to be great at reading them. Now they were clouded. He nodded. "One day?"

            "One day. I promise."

*

When they finally found Everleigh at the Christmas tree farm, she was standing outside a Santa photo op, about to cry she was laughing so hard. It was only when they got closer, Roman realized why she was missing the growth in her hip named Maverick.

            "Why the hell—" Roman started.

            "Ly was scared," Everleigh said through her fits of giggles. "Like hell I was going to volunteer."

            "He's a God damn Saint, Leigh," Florence said. She squeezed Roman's hand. (Yup. Because they were holding them.) (Roman wanted to faint.)

            In front of them were their daughters posing with Santa, which wasn't unusual for the season. What was unusual was that Lyra wasn't sitting on Santa's lap, she was sitting on Maverick's, who Santa had an arm wrapped around. Though it was clear he'd been trained to smile naturally, every single time a flash passed, he'd steal the quickest glance at Everleigh, who was taking her own photos with her phone and snort-laughing at him.

            "Nav and Ray wanted a photo," Everleigh explained once she'd pocketed her phone. All that was left for the meeting with Santa was a candy cane for each of them handed to them by an elf. (No, not Maverick.) (One who was paid to be there.) "And Lyra didn't want to be left out. But she got nervous the closer they got to the front of the line. This was the solution Kingston came up with—she agreed she'd sit with him. Kept her from crying at the very least."

            "If I had a dime for every photo I have of Mav with Santa..." Roman trailed off.

            "Ours was better," Everleigh said, turning toward them.

            Roman tried to ignore the small necklace around her neck with a silicone ring acting as a pendant. Flew just below the radar enough that nobody would comment on it. If it had a diamond, Everleigh's charade was over. Then again, if anyone knew Maverick, they'd probably know he thought the ring through; that a silicone wedding ring was something she could wear in a lab without fear of it getting wrecked. Anyone

            "Disagree," Roman said. "Those are my girls."

            "I was your girl first," Everleigh said.

            "You are a pain in my as—" Roman started.

            "Stop being so... that, Leigh," Florence said.

            "Myself?" Everleigh snorted. "Apologies."

            "Did you even get a tree?" Florence asked.

            "Yeah, it's in the car." Everleigh shrugged. "We found it in like six minutes, so we've been wandering aimlessly since then. This is the best thing that's happened all day."

            "Well." Florence managed a small smile. "Thank you."

            "How are you feeling?" Roman asked.

            "Better than I have in a while," Everleigh said. "Thanks."

            "Good. I'm glad."

            "Are you both coming to brunch?" Florence asked.

            "That's not tomorrow, is it?"

            "Day after."

            "Blimey."

            After Maverick paid for the photos—during which he flipped Roman off for trying to hand him his debit card to pay for them himself—he walked over to the three of them. Raya and Navi hugged Roman and Florence, but Lyra was still clinging to Maverick as he carried her. Head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. Maverick didn't seem to mind.

            "How was that, babes?"

            "Wonderful. Santa nearly grabbed my—"

            "Maverick." Florence was a little too good at giving Everleigh and Maverick her scolding mother voice.

            Everleigh snorted. "Language, babes."

            "Sorry." Maverick made a face. Looked like he was contemplating flipping Everleigh off.

            It was confirmed when Everleigh did flip him off.

            Maverick rolled his eyes at her.

            That was how they said I love you, after all.

            "Auntie Leigh says you're a couple of wankers because you haven't shown us Charlie Brown Christmas," Navi said.

            Everleigh choked on her own inhale.

            "Everleigh," Florence said.

            Everleigh laughed awkwardly. "I didn't say it like that."

            Maverick snorted, covered his mouth. Looked away. And, in plain sight, was the black silicone wedding band that he'd placed on his middle finger instead of his ring finger. Subtle. God almighty, what a couple of dough heads.

            "Right," Navi said, "you said—"

            "Navster, remember those MilkyBar buttons?"

            Navi stayed quiet.

            "You bribed her?" Roman asked.

            "Technically, no. I offered them buttons after I accidentally said something that shouldn't be repeated."

            "Buttons were good," Raya said.

            "That's bribery, you dip—"

            "I have a PhD, I know the definition of—"

            "Who's hungry? I'm starving," Maverick interjected.

            "Famished," Florence said, though she had already rolled her eyes at her sister.

            "Perfect," Maverick said. "It's on me."

*

After eating, during which Everleigh ordered a couple—few—too many mimosas to drown herself in the bribery scandal that Florence wasn't going to let her forget any time soon, Roman and Florence took the girls home and set up A Charlie Brown Christmas.

            The movie was only half an hour, but that didn't stop the girls from falling asleep before it was over. Clearly running around a Christmas tree farm with their relatives and eating white chocolate was a sleeping cocktail. Speaking of cocktail, Roman had drank far too much wine for the runtime and was, presently, a little too wine drunk for likely his own good, to the point that maybe he should've fallen asleep with the girls instead of actually watching the film.

            Florence leaned her head on a lazy fist, a pillow with Raya's head on it against her thigh. Navi was asleep on her sister. She spun around her wine glass, downing the rest of the red before she spoke again. "Are we really failures for never showing them this?"

            Roman looked at her, hand rubbing Lyra's back. She fallen asleep on him about four minutes in. "I don't think so."

            "But it's a classic."

            "Yeah," Roman said. "But you showed them Muppets Christmas Carol, and who would want to see anything else besides that?"

            Florence smiled softly. Only a wink of a curve, but it was there. "That's because—"

            "Because it's your favourite Christmas movie," Roman said, "I know."

            Florence lazily drew circles in the air with her finger. "How do you keep all that information in your head?"

            "About you?"

            "Mhmm."

            "Because you're you."

            Florence hummed.

            "You telling me you don't know my favourite Christmas movie?"

            Florence shook her head. "I'm not saying that."

            "So you do?"

            "Unless it's changed from Little Women."

            "Which one?"

            "Greta."

            Roman smiled. "Where do you keep all that useless information?"

            "There's a filing room in my brain."

            "A filing room?"

            "Filled with cabinets." Florence grinned. "And there's one on family."

            "Is that what I am?" Roman hid a smile behind his hand.

            "From the day I met you." Florence made a motion of thickness with her hand. "Your folder's disgustingly overflowing. Probably need a second folder just for all of your favourite things."

            "That so?"

            "Hate to be the one to tell you," Florence said, "but you weren't the only one in love."

            Roman swallowed hard. He was a little too inebriated from too little wine. Only went to show him why he ended up so fucking drunk at the market to the point he was drunk when he woke up the next morning.

            "You know, believe it or not," Florence continued. Tilting her head back and forth. A sure sign she definitely had too much wine, too.

            "Please don't give me an option for not."

            "Sorry," Florence said, "believe it. Because I love you. Or. Loved."

            "Freudian slip?"

            "Stuff it." Florence scoffed.

            "I love you, too."

            "I can't believe you're not seeing anyone."

            "Is that so hard to imagine?"

            "Well, yeah." Florence nodded. "Obviously."

            "Obviously what?"

            "Fishing for compliments?"

            "This time I'm actually confused."

            "You don't see the way people look at you, do you?"

            "What's that supposed to mean?"

            "I mean—" Florence gently moved the pillow with Raya's head on it, stood up and laid it back down. An expert in escaping when kids fell asleep on her. Roman had never been good at doing so. "Can I take her?"

            Roman looked down at Lyra. "Sure."

            He didn't know how she did it. Got Lyra off him without waking her up; without even a stir. She took Roman's hand and pulled him off the couch, laid Lyra down on Navi. It wasn't lost on Roman that she hadn't let go of his hand.

            When they were together, they had a signal. Whenever they wanted to leave parties early or something of the like. Florence would take his hand, squeeze it twice, and Roman would think of some ridiculously dumb excuse for them to go home and fall asleep at a reasonable time. (When they had first gotten married, that excuse was usually something sex-related—fully giving into the honeymoon phase.) (Florence would laugh into his chest and some nights? Well, the excuse was right.)

            But this was different. Florence had his hand in hers and dragged him to the kitchen, left the girls on the couch, sound asleep. He followed her like a puppy. There was no hand-squeezing, no semblance that Florence wanted to be anywhere but there. Hell, she even seemed like she was enjoying his company.

            "Here's the thing," Florence said, turning to face him as she leaned on the counter. She dropped his hand. "The entire world fucking lights up when they see you and I think it's a god damn tragedy that you don't notice it."

            "And the kitchen has... what to do with that?"

            "The kitchen was so I could say fuck and nobody would hear."

            "Genius." Roman leaned against the island. Crossed his arms because he wasn't sure what he would do if he let them anywhere near Florence at that particular moment. He'd had too much wine in too small an amount of time and definitely too much for A Charlie Brown Christmas.

            "Roman."

            "Yes?"

            "I mean it."

            "That's fine."

            "You don't get it, do you?"

            "Get what?"

            "It's so easy to love you that you should be with... someone."

            "Okay."

            "You could have anyone in the world."

            "Whatever you say."

            "Why would you choose to be alone?"

            "Now you're being mean."

            "I'm not."

            "Flo—"

            It wasn't that Roman didn't want to tell her. He'd told her he loved her a thousand times and it never seemed like enough.

            It was that his brain short-fucking-circuited the moment she took his t-shirt in her fists, pulled him away from the island, and kissed him like the last ten months hadn't happened. Because the thought that she had instigated it made him feel like a thousand cartoon hearts floated around his head but all he could focus on was her lips.

            Roman didn't want to, but he gently pushed her away with the shoulders. "Are you drunk?"

            "I had two glasses of wine, Rome."

            "They were big glasses."

            "Are you?"

            "A little."

            "Okay."

            "What does that mean?"

            "It means that in the light of that fucking Christmas tree in there, you look bloody stunning and maybe I'm a little drunk but I also don't think that there's anything wrong with... you know."

            "Are you talking about sex?"

            "Did you want to hear the big word yourself?"

            "You are drunk."

            "So are you."

            "Yes. I am." But he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to kiss her until sunrise. All over. He wanted her to take a shower in the morning and not be able to scrub a single spot where his kiss didn't still linger. He wanted to make her breakfast in the morning and dessert back in the room right after.

            "Sex. With you. And me. I just... it's been a while." Florence rested her hand on his cheek, let her other arm dangle over his shoulder. Kissed him quickly and pulled away before he could push her away. "And you're attractive and it would be nice. Because it was always... great with you."

            "How long's it been—"

            "I know you're not asking that."

            "Curiosity."

            "How long's it been for you?"

            "I—" Roman tilted his head. Looked her in the eyes. Oh, he was drunk on something and he wasn't sure it was the wine.

            Barely a thought passed through his brain as he spun Florence around, picked her up, and placed her on the counter. Call him fucking desperate. Call him selfish. Call him whatever you fucking wanted, but if it meant this was real, he'd hear it all over and over and over.

            Florence pulled him into another kiss. Muttered, "No answer?"

            "Too long," Roman mumbled, already with his hands under her shirt, "To argue."

            Florence smiled. Wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him against her, knees on either side of his hips. She only pulled away to pull his shirt over his head, which he willingly held his arms up for.

            "Rome?"

            "Mmm?" Roman liked the feel of her skin on his fingertips. He always had. From memory, he could draw a map to all her favourite places to have kissed.

            "Bedroom?"

            "Mhmm."