Observing Christmas Traditions

Charlie smiled at her. "Me too."

"Good night, Charlie Mitchell."

"Good night, Claudia Anderson."

And with that, they observed their last tradition of Christmas.

***

Carol Anderson came back downstairs, the plate of chocolate chip cookies still in her hands. She had the silliest grin on her face. "What?" Deana Mitchell, her friend of 23 years, asked as the blond set the plate on the kitchen's island counter and leaned against it.

She opened her mouth to respond, paused, and close it, shaking her head. "This is something you need to see."

"Ooookay," Deana said slowly, following Carol back towards the stairs.

Carefully, the women opened the door to the library and slipped in. The fire had burned down to its embers, casting a dull orange glow around the room. Just enough light for Deana to see.

"At last..." she whispered to her friend as they huddled together, watching their children slumber on the floor. Charlie was on his back, his head propped up on a pillow and half a comforter covering his body. He was shirtless, but Deana was a little relieved to see his boxers on. Curled up on his chest was Claudia. Like she belonged.

The girl stirred. The mothers froze, but she didn't wake up. "We should leave them." Carol nodded and they retreated. Outside, Deana remembered the Yale fiancé and his promising career. She hadn't cared much for him, but had Carol? A thunderbolt of fear struck her.

Before she could say anything, her old friend released her. "I don't think I could have asked for a better present on Christmas."

Deana nodded. "Merry Christmas to that."

"Come on, let's go eat Santa's leftovers..."