As it turned out, the girls didn't even question the fact that they found their parents asleep on the couch, because there were presents under the tree and stockings filled and who fuckin' cared where their parents slept when those were the other benefitting factors? All they cared about was that they didn't even have to drag them down the stairs to the pile of presents. Didn't matter they were still in their clothes from the night before. Like a reverse walk-of-shame.

The presents went by quick. Roman took pictures with his phone. Sent a couple texts wishing people merry Christmas—mostly to Everleigh and Maverick, Troy still didn't know how to text and Dawn never had her phone on her. He could tell him in person later. He also sent a fair warning text to Maverick that he was going to be stuck playing Barbies as soon as he arrived at Troy and Dawn's.

Good, Maverick said, no wedding talk if I'm playing Barbies. Merry Christmas.

Wait. No.

HAPPY Christmas.

I refuse to suffer through the soccer incident again.

Rest in peace.

Can we still call you Mav or is it Meadow now?

I CANNOT BELIEVE SHE TOLD YOU THAT.

Good old-fashioned loverboy you are.

Mav is still fine. Or good old-fashioned loverboy. Dealer's choice.

I'm changing your name in my phone to good old-fashioned loverboy. And Roman did. Quickly.

Good <3

GOFL for short.

Roman laughed and pocketed his phone. Threw an arm around Florence.

"I have to tell you something," Roman said. "Like, really important."

"What's that?" It wasn't lost on him that Florence let her gaze dart down to his lips.

"I didn't get you anything for Christmas," Roman said. "Like, I was trying to and then... I went to the hospital. So. Um. Oops."

Florence laughed. "That's fine."

"But I will do anything you want," Roman said, "after dinner with your parents."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Oh, baby," Florence said. "The dishes?"

"Absolutely."

"Hmm. Clean up the wrapping paper?"

"Consider it done," Roman said. "I could even get you the new book by that author you like. It releases in the new year."

Florence had fallen in love with this one indie author, well, probably even before Maverick was Everleigh's. She'd seen the first book released on Instagram and bought the paperback as soon as it was available. There were colourful annotations all over the book—each reread was a different colour pen. Roman had gotten her the sophomore novel by the author as an early wedding gift. He hadn't known Florence had already bought her own copy.

That was how they'd ended up with two copies of Golden Hour of You and Me; one Florence had written all over, and one that she proudly displayed, even after the divorce, prominently in her—their—living room. She reread it every couple months, cried over it every time, and loved to tell Roman all about it. Like she was finding new reasons to love it with every reread. Roman would buy her new copies of every book if it meant he got to watch her light up like that.

"Best Christmas present ever." Florence smiled. "And I have a little something else in mind for... after."

"Something even better than dishes?"

"Even better than dishes." Florence kissed him.

"EW," Raya said. "Gross."

"Gross?" Roman asked, pulling away. He scooped Raya up in his arms. "How dare you, little miss smooch."

Naturally, Florence took them memo. They both squished her between them, placing kisses all over her cheeks. Between screaming, there were giggles. Roman trapped her there with his arms as she tried to wiggle away. She managed to sacrifice herself and save Barbie by throwing her to the ground. No Barbie kisses that day.

Roman's phone vibrated with a text, so Raya was free to live another day. He pulled it from his pocket.

There were two simple words: help me. along with a video message.

"Oh God," Florence said, also looking at her phone. "Dare I press play?"

Roman's thumb had already pressed it. And there it was: Kingston Meadowlark in his natural habitat. Singing. Except he was clearly going for loud, rather than good. It was annoying that he still didn't sound half bad.

"FOUR POUNDS OF BACK BACON, THREE FRENCH TOASTS, TWO TURTLENECKS, AND A BEEEEEEER IN A TREEEEEE!"

Everleigh closed her eyes and put her hand on her face. It was clearly not only the fourth round of the song, nor the first time it had played.

Florence slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. She knew the consequences, annoy Everleigh and it was Baby Shark for the next month from the girls.

Roman, on the other hand, was too happy with his life at that present moment to give two shits. Welcome to marriage, bitch. <3

you cannot tell me anyone else has to suffer through a Bob and Doug's Twelve Days of Christmas on repeat while waiting at the airport Christmas morning.

also happy Christmas i guess.

Why the hell are you at the airport?

i'm sitting on the tarmac hoping a plane runs me over instead of having to hear this bloody song again.

Have fun!

i'm guessing my sister didn't tell you mum and Esmé are coming for a couple days.

Good, more bad influences for my kids.

one and the same <3

Terrible way to get me to help you. Suffer.

absolutely fuck you i hate you you're a bitch

I hope Esmé sings it with him on the ride back.

i'm returning your present.

My present is getting to be with your sister.

that's disgusting why are meadowlark husbands so gross i hate it

I'm going to text Mav to turn it up <3

i'm going to text Florence to dump you again <3

scratch that, i'm going to text Bash to dump you.

HARSH.

NEVER USE BRENDON SEBASTIAN ELLIS AGAINST ME THAT'S SO MEAN AND IT'S CHRISTMAS.

harsh and mean that you're leaving me with this spoon when it's Christmas.

Are you actually that upset or have you not told Margaret you're married yet?

ehhh wrong question you are not my therapist.

I'm on vacation anyway. Gotta take Christmas off before everyone comes to me with their family trauma FROM Christmas.

then fuck off.

See you later.

if a plane doesn't run me over first.

Florence laughed. "You know, nobody I've ever dated has been as good with her as you are."

"That's because Everleigh makes herself hard to be around."

"Feel like there's a but there."

"But," Roman said, "kind of comes with my job description to make difficult people like me."

"Whatever kind of Roman magic you're sprinkling everywhere," Florence said. "please keep it up. Forever."

In a court of law, Roman would've said it was an accident that he let his hand rest on the inside of her thigh, just above the knee. "Roman magic, huh?"

Florence tsked her tongue at him. "Naughty."

"You're telling me those kids—" Roman motioned with his head to the girls, all preoccupied with their new toys. Not a care in the world. "—would even notice we weren't here anymore?"

Florence pressed a finger to his chest. "Foul."

"Not what you were saying the other night—"

Florence laughed. Pulled him into a kiss. And the world was right.

*

The one thing Roman could count on for Christmas at the Meadowlarks?

An ugly cardigan. He never thought he'd have to excuse himself to go to the washroom and cry, but he did. When someone thinks they're never going to get another ugly Christmas cardigan, it's a little emotional when it's received. No matter how heinous the pattern is.

That year was almost normal for the pattern, but the reindeer shoved into a more traditional pattern made it uglier than the intentionally ugly ones. It was worse than Maverick's, which was some weird Beatles Abbey Road mashup with music bars instead of traditional patterns that was entirely too busy, but he grinned and bore it. Kind of had to, as did Roman, with the admittances of their significant Meadowlarks' the day before.

Esmé spent most of the time taking pictures of them to make sure that neither forgot what they looked like at any time of the year. It was even better when she captured Maverick's expression when Everleigh opened her gift from Roman.

Maverick's jaw dropped. "Where in the—"

"Maverick," Florence chided.

"Heck did you find a Dewey Riley poster?"

Roman laughed. "I refuse to reveal my sources."

"We're putting this in the bedroom—"

"We're not putting it in the bedroom—"

After the excitement of present-giving died down, Maverick was indeed whisked to a corner of the living room to play Barbies, and it looked like he even kept his cochlear implant on for it. A Christmas miracle.

"Now, Mags," Troy said, "I have a question. About your son."

Margaret took a long sip from the too-full wine glass Everleigh had poured her. "Oh boy. Hit me."

"I'm not blaming you for this—" Troy started, Margaret drank more wine quickly. "—but my daughter was never late for anything until she met that boy."

Esmé nearly bathed Everleigh in her rum and eggnog but slapped her hand over her mouth at the last possible moment.

Everleigh covered her face. It was nice that she was wearing her ring, though. On the proper finger and everything. "Pa."

"I am not late to everything," Maverick called, waving Raya's new Barbie around.

Troy snorted.

It was Margaret's turn to nearly lose her drink. "You were late to your own birth, Mav."

"I was not."

"Your mother was due with you on the second, chucklehead."

"You were actually late to your own birth, Kingston?" Everleigh asked, laughing. "My God."

"And I kick myself everyday," Maverick said. "I could've been birthday buddies with Stevie."

"We were so close to Stevie moving to Windsor with Everleigh and you moving away," Esmé said. "This is a Christmas tragedy."

Maverick looked like he was considering throwing the Barbie at his sister, but elected not to due to impressionable young viewers that had given up on Barbies and were trying to figure out what to colour on him. They had already rolled his pant leg up to study their canvas, even when it didn't change. (Though, sometimes it was waxed.) (Maverick really needed to stop gambling with his body.) "I'm going to let that slide because it's Christmas."

"It's a miracle," Margaret said.

"Okay, okay," Troy said, already leaned over and setting up the board on the coffee table. "Mags, Es, are you in for Trivial Pursuit? You can be on the same team."

"I propose," Roman said, "that Mav and Leigh can't be on the same team."

"Seconded," Troy said.

"Third," Esmé said.

"Not this again." Florence groaned.

"It isn't fair—"

"Who else am I gonna pair up with, Rome—" Everleigh protested. Maverick had already made his way over and was sat beside her—the goblins crawled around him like vultures, ready to colour him like he was a doodle bear.

"Navi."

"I get the baby?"

"Not a baby anymore," Roman said.

"Oh my God." Everleigh leaned into Maverick's shoulder. "We're so old."

Maverick simply laughed and kissed the top of her head. Birds of a feather.

*

As it turned out, there were only a few dishes to do. Which gave Florence just enough time to put the girls to bed, head downstairs, and quickly hug Roman from behind.

He considered himself lucky he heard her come down the stairs while his song changed, otherwise he might've woken the kids up with his scream. (Last Christmas to All I Want for Christmas is You.) (Nobody tell Mariah Carey, but Maverick's version while drunk on rum and eggnog after—eye roll—he and Everleigh won another round of Trivial Pursuit was better than hers.)

"Hello there," Roman said. Placing the last dish on the drying rack and grabbing a towel to dry his hands.

Florence wasted no time pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. Leaned her forehead against him.

"You okay?"

Roman assumed that was a nod he felt against his spin.

"Baby, you're going to have to let me turn around."

Florence's arms loosened. Slightly.

Roman shook his head. Laughed. "Don't make me do it."

"You wouldn't—"

Roman would. He bent over a little, shimmied her arms over his shoulders, and pulled her onto his back. Florence laughed, legs wrapping around him.

"We're going down if you take my knees out, baby." Roman laughed. "Be careful."

Florence laughed, letting go, turning him around. Kissing him quickly.

"I like this." Roman looked down to see Florence wearing his ugly cardigan from Dawn. He ran his finger along the edge of it. "Are you really okay?"

"I'm just..." Florence wrapped her arms around his waist again. Smiled up at him. "Happy. Is all."

Roman smiled. "I'm glad."

"I want to apologize—" Florence said. "Again."

"Florence," Roman said. "You don't have to."

"I do," Florence said. "I want to say that I should've talked to you. Properly. I shouldn't have been drastic and I shouldn't have left you in the dark. But... I love you. And nothing should've blinded me from seeing that. Even if I was scared."

"For what it's worth," Roman said, "I don't need everything to be perfect. And I'm sorry that I made it seem like it needed to be. I'm good with cleaning up dirty dishes and I'm good with kids who call us gross. And I'm—"

Florence kissed him again. Smiled when she pulled away.

"I'm good with this," Roman said. "I'm good with us."

"I'm good with us, too. Whatever us entails."

"Careful, if you keep being sweet on me, I might go into a diabetic coma."

Florence pinched his nipple and Roman nearly screamed. "That was the worst dad joke I've ever heard you say."

"I guarantee the Michael Jackson pronoun joke was worse." Roman rubbed his chest but laughed with her.

"Oh God, don't—"

"Hee / hee." Roman went on his toes for a moment. Nearly fell into Florence.

Florence's hands pressed his shoulders as she laughed, Roman's arms found her waist. Dancing in the kitchen had never been their thing, but the magic of Christmas gave new meaning to everything. Even Florence and Roman. He wanted a thousand more nights to dance with her.

One of the first moments Roman knew he was in love with Florence was when they were studying for their degrees. He was past the point of pretending he didn't know what he was doing in psychology, but occasionally he liked to ask her questions just to see if she would answer. Florence would laugh, take his textbook so she could read the description of whatever the hell he was asking about, and figure out what the answer to his question was in under two minutes. Every time.

It wasn't even the act of her answering that made him fall in love. It was the way her eyes would shine, even in the bad library fluorescents. Never the storm, always the waves. She would look at him like he was the world, and to he couldn't fathom that anyone else would be deserving of the title other than her. She would run a hand through her hair, tuck it behind her ear, and shift her seat a little closer so she could point to the answer to his question. Even when she knew he already had the answer. Florence would let her knee graze his and their elbows would touch. She smelt like the lightest touch of amber vanilla and Roman could've breathed it in until the day he died.

Every memory Roman had of falling in love with Florence was intoxicating; the scent of amber vanilla swirling around like a Van Gogh. Each brush stroke painted on the canvas of their lives, blues and yellows that told the story of what Roman would say was his favourite romance of all time. Theirs.

Standing there with Florence in his arms was another line on their Starry Night. Another sunflower in the vase. Crow in the field. Almond blossom on the tree. Roman would paint a thousand canvases with the rest of their lives, he just needed the chance.

You make everyday feel like it's Christmas, every day that I'm with you.