December 25, 2020

Aoibheann (Pronounced "Ay-Veen") was at it again. Since Thanksgiving, every time the Home Alone movie comes on, she loses herself for the duration.

I stood by listening, for about the 10th time this month, to the characters and decided that I was beginning to hate Home Alone.

If only Aoibheann would open up and talk to me.

But no.

No. That wasn't her way. At least, not with me it wasn't.

While Niall and her could talk together about anything from bullets to the birds and the bees, Aoibheann was a closed book in my presence.

Her Father thought it was because we seemed so different. I understood his point but it still hurt.

I had realized long ago that my ways seemed shallow and too effeminate to Aoibheann. What she failed to realize, however, is how much of my act is for show.

Some men need a lot of support behind the scenes. A pretty wife in tailored gowns, dripping baubles and champagne glasses can get away with things a woman wearing fatigues and a sidearm never would. There was value in both, but the dainty, doting wife was rarely given her due. Suspicious eyes don't linger long on a trophy wife; a point I had never been able to drive home to Aoibheann.

You see, in our business a man enamored into a stupor by flirtatious smiles or curvacious figures was a liability. And where their were men, their were potential liabilites.

Of course, if Tyler had let me join him on his latest mission, he probably never would have been captured by the Russians. Headstrong and stubborn as a mule, when Tyler got it in his head to do something dangerous, he usually needed me to bring him to his senses.

Unfortunately, plans went amiss and I was left off their flight itinerary. When Cooper rang the house about Tyler's capture, I near-fainted. For the first time ever I didn't know what to do.

I couldn't tell Aoibheann about the capture. That was for sure. She'd have been worried sick.

No, there was nothing to be done, and so I sat at home, biding my time by the proverbial phone, throwing charity balls and hosting USO fund-raisers on behalf of our countrymen and women at war.

When she switched the TV off, I watched Aoibheann from the hallway. She gathered herself and went into the dining area to await supper. Niall had prepared a lovely spread this Christmas. I didn't have much of an appetite myself, but I knew how to put on a pretty face and fake it.

When I walked into the room I was surprised to see my daughter running her fingers through the fogged windows. Like a little kid, she was drawing her and someone else's initials onto the glass.

My heart swelled with the thought of some good news.

Was my baby in love?

With a small smile, I called out from the hall before entering the room. I shook my head as Aoibheann startled at my voice. When she quickly wiped her evidence away I knew I'd have to pry this forth-coming story out of her. Just as I thought I was getting somewhere, though, the doorbell rang and all hell broke loose...

...I never wished for Niall and his sense of humor to appear beside me more than I did at that moment.

When Dillon left to get my Dad back from the Russians, he cracked a lot of jokes to try to lighten my mood each day. I always managed a small smile for him and somehow it helped,  if only momentarily.

Dillon promised to come back and I had to trust he'd keep his word.

Looking at my Mother now, though, I really wished some futuristic bodyguard was here to protect me and my plant.

I'd need one once mother knew what I'd been keeping from her.

Just as I was about to spill the beans, with Niall standing in the shadows behind me, and the deliveryman waiting in our doorway for a signature, I looked down at my little avocado plant, closed my eyes, and smiled.

They were alright.

They were ALRIGHT.

As long as I knew that, I could do this.

I could do anything as long as they were alright.

Or, at least I thought I could, until my mother asked me again why the deliveryman called me Mrs. Grier.

Geez, what a way for Dillon to crack a joke.

He thought it was hilarious that day on the way out of the hospital. I had to explain why everyone kept referring to me as his wife; my little ambulance lie coming back to bite me on the ass.

It was the only way they'd let me in the ambulance and his hospital room, though. What was I supposed to do?

As it turned out, Dillon got a nice charge out of it all. I was just relieved he wasn't upset about it. You never can tell what a guy might think about something like that. We'd only just met, after all.

But, no.

Dillon was a gentleman about the whole thing, even going so far as to call me Mrs. Grier as I signed his against medical advice discharge papers for him.

"Aoibheann!" Mother screeched,   waiting for me to come out of my head. "What is going on?"

"Vivian-" Niall attempted to interject on my behalf. "Let me expl-"

He never stood a chance, however. Mother cut him off at the proverbial knees. "Oh, no you don't, Niall. This, I want to hear from the horses's mouth."

Turning to me, one hand on her hip and the other pointing straight at me,  "You! Out with it. Now!" She ordered in no uncertain terms.

Holding the little plant tightly, I moved forward to turn off our Christmas music. I began to stutter a response when our doorbell rang.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" My Mother cried out, throwing her hands in the air with frustration. "Now what?"

She walked to the door to open it and gasped in shock at the two men standing before her. "Tyler! Oh, Tyler, you're home!"

Niall moved lightening-fast to catch my Kevin plant before it could hit the marble floor. I had no time to think as I ran at my Daddy, wrapping my arms around both him and my Mother. 150 pounds soaking wet, Daddy was a sorry sight to see.

Frail as a rake, Daddy looked like skin and bones. His hair was cut to the quick, and there were living shadows haunting his eyes. Deep blue bruising circled them,  and I swear I could see the ghost of Christmas past looking back at me from them.

But he was home.

My Daddy was home!

And he was safe, and sound, and in my arms.

Alive, and well, and standing on my stoop.

I didn't even realize I had been crying until a tall man next to my Daddy stepped forward to give me a tissue.

"Hello, Aoibheann," Dillon said quietly, putting his hand back into his pocket.

"Dillon!" I exclaimed, jumping at him. "Oh, thank God. Thank you, Dillon. You brought him home. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!"

I threw my arms around Dillon next, laughing and crying through a mess of mascara and eye liner. "I'm so happy to see you both."

"I'm happy to see you, too," he replied, smiling as he took in the plant Niall was holding. "And I see Kevin has arrived just in time."

I began to laugh at our inside jokes, when my Mother cut me off. "About that," she said, clearing her throat. "I have something I need to say tonight."

Despite the gratitude I felt for my Dad's return to us, a sudden spike of fear began to climb my neck.

Oh, crap.

Here we go.

When my Mother ran into the kitchen mid-sentence however, yanking Niall along with her, I started to wonder what was going on.

A few seconds later, she returned with a bottle of something bubbly and five flute glasses which she promptly filled.

I didn't pick up the name on the label but that hardly mattered. As Mother raised her glass, she made a toast.

"For all that we are given each and every day. To our loved ones, our family, and friends. To all that truly matters in this world, I say God Bless. God bless you all, and thank you, God. For it is the small blessings such as these who are often over-looked but whom are the most important in our lives."

Mother continued to hold her glass up high as she continued through wet, grateful eyes. "I love you, my darlings! Merry Christmas to you! Merry Christmas, my loves!"

As I shared this drink with my family, missing my brother in his absence, I repeated Mother's words in my head.

This was a precious time.

The liquid bubbles slid down our throat and I savored the glass of perpetual gratitude Mother had poured us.

A special blend, it was the best drink we'd ever shared because it was made with love.

I looked forward to another glass next year, or in the months to come, when my brother returned to us as well; safe and whole.
----------
*Cameron, J. (1984). The Terminator. Hurd, G.A. Orion Pictures. United States.