"It is our first Christmas together, I was thinking it was going to be a pretty quiet break. Just the… Just the two of us, you know?"
"I know, son." Bill Schuester replied.
Will smiled; it reached his eyes and crinkled the skin around him, much like his father's. "You tell our little Emma that we will have Christmas dinner on at precisely three on Christmas day."
"Will do, dad. Thanks again. Alright, say hi to mom. Yep. Bye."
"Who was that?"
"Emma!" Will exclaimed, setting his phone down on their dresser and returning to his side of the bed. "I didn't expect you to be up so early, baby." He bent down and kissed her forehead awake, smiling as he gently lowered his weight onto the mattress. "That was my father, just reminding us about Christmas dinner."
"Oh." She smiled, and it reached her doughy eyes; a small spark erupted from them at the mention of her father-in-law. He was more of a father than she had ever had. "How is Bill doing?"
"Fine, fine." Will replied, waving his hand around. He finally settled it on his chin, his elbow sinking into the mattress as he leaned in close to his wife. "Everything is going to be fine." She nodded as if to assure him more than her, though it was clear she was nervous. Every Christmas since she had left her house at the age of eighteen, her parents had someone managed to show up at her place on Christmas, even if she hadn't been in contact with them for the whole year. It was then the Emma Pillsbury freak show; names like Freaky Deaky and Nitpick and Worry Wart were among her mother's favorite names for her. What would make this year any different?
"Will?" Emma questioned, her eyes losing their smile and instead wearing an ugly attire of panic. It crept into her trembling voice. It made her cheeks quiver. It made her eyes squelch lower into the plains of her face, her pupils wide with an anxiety that Will knew she was battling with every though battled hard because of him, for him. "You will be home for Christmas, won't you? The show choir competition ends on the evening of the 23rd, and you're going to get home on Christmas Eve. Right?" Will could hear her voice rising in octaves, a sign of her increasing anxiety, a sign of an upcoming panic attack.
"Of course." Will assured her, stroking his thumb across her forehead and rearranging some flyaway orange curls. "Nothing's going to stop me from spending our first Christmas with my new bride." A sleepy smile appeared once again on Emma's face, and Will relaxed once more. "It's going to be fine. I'm going to spend Christmas with you. It's a promise." Their lips met, a smile on both of them. Christmas was going to be extra extraordinary this year.
"Into the bus, guys. Yes, Mercedes, bus, not buses." There was a small groan at the lack of space for performers and equipment, though most were grumbling about going to a competition during their sacred winter break. "Mr. Schue, you can't be serious!" Santana cried in a strangely level voice. "This is the one time where I can do whatever I wantz with my girl Brittany and my parents won't even mind."
"Not to mention the school work!" Rory piped in, the w and the r accenting with his Irish tone. Kurt rubbed his shoulder softly as if saying, "Nice try, buddy." Rachel rolled her eyes and grabbed Finn's hand, making a beeline for the back of the bus.
"Come on, fellow Glee clubbers, some of us need to warm up and properly relax before this competition that could completely change our lives. Plus, when we win and I become famous, it will be a good, motivational story that mass production companies can quote me on for products ranging anywhere from compact mirror to tween t-shirts."
"I love tweens! They're so cute and cuddly." Britney giggled, tangling pinkies with Santana as she pulled her into the bus, away from a rigid Mr. Schuester.
"You do know what a tween is, right?" Tina asked, retrieving an ear bud from the depths of her curtain black hair.
"Of course. It's a wiener dog puppy. And if you put ketchup on them, they're called chili cheese dogs."
Santana gave the rest of the glee club a death glare, as if daring them to say anything against her girlfriend's thoughts. The topic was immediately dropped, and people began settling down and finding seats. "Has anyone seen Blaine?" Kurt asked after a while of listening to Rachel plan her Golden Globe acceptance speech with a baffled Finn.
"Shouldn't he be with you?" Puck asked, turning his head behind him to stare at the male soprano. "I mean, I would think that men who do skin treatments over the phone would have almost a sense of telepathy with where one another were at…"
"Very funny, Puckerman." Kurt replied, fixing his hair with his thumb. He bit his lip, his eyes searching all of the heads on the bus, yet none came out with slicked black hair.
"He'll be here." Mercedes reassured him, patting his knee in the space next to him. "He'd rather die than miss a show choir competition." Kurt gave her a mystified look. "What? It says so on his Twitter page." She nodded as if this explained everything. Kurt just sighed and began examining his nails, picking at his cuticles simply to preoccupy his mind. He watched as Mike helped Artie onto the bus, storing his wheelchair in a separate seat.
"Five minutes until we leave. No exceptions." Brad called, settling down in the driver's seat.
"I thought he just played piano?" Finn questioned quietly to no one in particular, though his eyes were focused on Rachel.
"Finn, it's almost an insult to my talent that you would assume that just because he is good enough to accompany us, that's all he does. People are more than just one dimension. Just because you're great at something doesn't mean that's all you can do. Like…" She clicked her tongue, her eyes darting around her fellow club members strewn throughout the bus, looking for an example.
"Like you." Finn told her, grabbing both of her hands in his own.
"W-What?"
"Like you, Rachel Berry. You're talented at singing and dancing and glee, but you're so much more than that."
"Really, Finn?" The awe in her voice was drenched with drama; Santana made a little puking motion behind Rachel to Quinn, the two girls giggling madly.
"Really." Finn replied, kissing her softly.
"Have no fear, Blaine Anderson is here!" A new voice called, stepping onto the bus with legs clad in pinstripes. "A little fashion mishap momentarily slowed me down, but I'm here!" A grin rearranged his features as he put his bags with the others, turning to find a seat. Kurt jumped out of his seat, temporarily abandoning his diva, and nearly jumped into a hug with his boyfriend. The two were then squishing into a seat with Mercedes, chatting animatedly for such an early hour.
"Okay, pianist." Santana called out, exaggerating the second word with a long breath. "Five minutes was so up ten minutes agoz. Let's get goin'! I didn't arrive here at 6:30 for nothing."
"He knows that, Santana." Britney reminded her, her blue eyes meeting chocolate brown ones. Santana simply nodded, acknowledging the powerful effect Britney had on her.
Brad opened the bus door, a blast of winter air meeting the occupants. "Will, c'mon, time's a wastin'!" Mike stuck his nose to the glass, rubbing the condensation off with his forehead. "Oh, it's Mr. Schue that's holding us up. He's talking to Emma."
Outside the bus, Emma retrieved a scarf from around her neck and wrapped it around Will's neck. A light dusting of snow coated her eyelashes, which hung heavy, her eyes not meeting Will's. "Emma." Will said quietly, staring back at the bus and back to her white face. "I don't… I don't have to go if you need me to stay with you."
Her voice and eyes were instantly back. "No, Will, you made a commitment to these kids. You made a commitment to yourself. You need to go. I will be fine." The words were said, and yet there was no feeling behind them. Will was about to protest, though Emma placed her lips to his. "I'll be fine." She promised, resting her forehead on his as she stood on her tiptoes. "I'll spend Christmas Eve with you. And Christmas. Because you'll be back. And we'll be together. I'm not worrying."
"But—"
"Goodbye, William. Have fun and call me when you get there safely!" With a final kiss and hug, the bus was off to Cincinnati for the Winter Wonderland Show Choir Competition.
"Is this a Mr. William Schuester?"
"Yes, it is, may I ask who's calling?" Will held his phone close to his ear, trying to block out the noises of his kids romping off of the bus, hoots and hollers of excitement and exposure to the icy temperature ringing through the air. They were ready for the competition. Practice had paid off, and he knew his kids were going to place highly in the ranks. They had arrived a half hour before the performance; the clock chimed 4:30PM. This was it.
"This is Douglas McArthur from the Ohio National Show Choir Board. I called to inform you that the competition has been cancelled due to a huge storm cell that is supposed to hit the surrounding area late tonight. I hope this hasn't caused any inconvenience, but the Board cannot afford to reimburse our choirs."
Will was shocked. His mouth hung open, and he didn't hear the line go dead.
"Well?" Brad asked, turning off the bus.
"Cancelled." William muttered dryly, not believing it. "And we don't' have time to go home tonight. It'd be too risky, he said the storm is supposed to hit tonight."
"The worst blizzard Ohio's ever seen." Brad mentioned, laughing under his breath. "Perfect."
"Brad, what are we going to do with the kids?" Will asked seriously, sitting down in one of the seats and looking at the bus driver. "What if—what if they don't get home in time to spend Christmas with their families?"
"Then at least we'll have our own family."
"Rory?"
"That's right, Mr. Schue, it's me. Sorry to invade on your discussion, I was looking for my coat, Santana said she saw it under the bus and that I should look for it."
"Rory, I think she meant she's trying to throw you under the bus."
"No, I don't think so, Mr. Schuester." Rory replied, his Irish accent thick in his voice. "Anyways, I heard that the competition was cancelled. That stinks. But I want you to know that, even though I don't get to spend the holidays with my real family in Ireland, I consider this glee club to be my family. And that's what Christmas is about, right? Spending time with the ones you love?"
"Y-Yes, yes it is."
"Good. Well, I'll go check my room again, I hope Finn didn't mistake its terry-like texture for a towel again. Thanks, Mr. Schue. Brad."
"Wait, Rory—" Mr. Schuester called, stepping off the bus. "If you could not tell anyone about the competition, I'd like to tell them all later."
"Of course."
Will sighed, watching as the newest member of New Directions walked back into the hotel. "Come on, Brad, we can only go up from here." The two men walked into the hotel and put their things away, finding everyone in their rooms and telling them what had happened.
"But we'll be home in time for Christmas, right?" Finn asked, patting Kurt on the shoulder so that his knees buckled. "I mean, my mom makes the best fruitcake, and to miss it would be killer."
"Finn, focus." Kurt muttered, his eyes sweeping up and down as he stared at Mr. Schuester.
"We're planning on leaving tomorrow, but it's just going to depend on the weather." Will answered. "Believe me, I want to be back home just as much as you do." His thoughts were on Emma, sitting at home, alone on Christmas… He shook his head, trying to physically remove those thoughts by shaking them away.
"I can't believe that I didn't get my chance to show the Ohio National Board my rendition of Memory." Rachel cried, balling her fists at her sides.
"Rachel, everyone knows you can sing." Quinn piped in from her room, where she was braiding Santana's hair. "You're constantly stuffing that fact down our throats."
"Hey, guys, c'mon, let's get out of this funk. We'll be home tomorrow!" Blaine exclaimed, stopping next to Mr. Schue on his way into the room. "At Dalton, whenever there'd be a big exam or stressful situation, we'd always do something fun to break the tension."
"Drinking's not permitted, Blaine McBoozeypants." Santana quipped, high-fiving Brittany for her creative nickname.
"I think what Blaine's trying to say," Kurt began, removing himself from the group and next to Blaine, "Is that we need to stop feeling sorry for ourselves and just relax. So we came two and half hours from home for nothing. So? At least we're all together. We might as well make the best of it. Now, I'm going down to the pool because a complimentary steam room is calling my name. More specifically my pores." He added, a tiny grin sitting on his lips. "Anyone who wants to join me, meet me down there in five." With that, Kurt Hummel was off.
Fifteen minutes later, the entirety of the New Directions glee club was heading towards the pool.
"Dude, I think… I think Kurt fell asleep in the steam room." Puck whispered to Finn, nudging him to look at his brother.
"Woah, man. Go wake him up, Rachel told me it's dangerous to sleep in here… I tried once."
"And what happened?"
"The cleaning staff told me to get out and nudged me with a broom."
"Gross. No, let's see what happens. No! Oh, dude! Stop right there, I've got a plan. Give me two minutes." Puck was out of the steam room, yet back as quickly as he disappeared. A can of whip cream was in his hand, and even Finn could smell the oldest joke in the book coming on.
Shaking the can of whip cream, Puck turned to Finn. "Come on, man, help me."
"What do I do?"
"Just.. I don't know, make sure he doesn't wake up."
Puck was soon spraying whip cream in Kurt's outstretched hand. Then, he stretched a finger under Kurt's nose, rubbing it back and forth before—
"OH MY GOD, PUCK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Kurt screamed. "It got in my hair!"
"Might want to tell your boyf—Oh my God. Dude. Are you seeing what I'm seeing? That's a speedo."
"Hey, guys!" Blaine called out, waving as he stepped into the hot tub with a hot pink speedo on his waist. Puck and Finn both looked to Kurt, who was both mortified and smiling.
"That's my boyfriend." Kurt managed to choke out through a constrained, surprised windpipe. "Who's ready for the hot tub?" With his towel, he wiped off the whip cream mess and, no longer concerned about his hair, rushed towards the hot tub.
"Blaine Anderson, what do you have on?" Mercedes asked, grinning madly as lowered herself into the steaming water with an appreciative sigh.
"Apparently, a beau." Blaine grinned as he looked at Kurt next to him, who had his arm secured around his waist. Everyone was shocked when Kurt took his tank top off to reveal porcelain, yet sculpted chest; most had never seen him without a shirt, let alone in a public place.
"A bow? Hair bows are so 80's." Tina told him, settling in next to Mike and Mercedes.
"Dude, I'm just gonna come out and say it, because it's what's on all of our minds. What did you use to get that bikini wax?" Sam asked, flipping his blond Bieber hair to the side.
"Obviously Kurt." Santana muttered to Britney, sharing a quick giggle and kiss.
Blaine ignored the question and instead began to explain the swimsuit contests that were hosted during the holiday breaks for those who spent that time at Dalton. Soon the whole group was settled in, soaking up the scorching waters and simply enjoying their predicament.
Will Schuester was not enjoying his predicament. Not even his favorite coffee could get him out of the slump he was in. All he kept picturing was Emma at home. In his mind, she was sitting in a dark room with a blanket, curled up in a tiny ball as she watched depressing, 18th-century black and white films that were meant for couples to watch. He could just see her, the way her cheeks would be caved in, the purple, hazy shadows under her eyes, the anxiety that would be clear in her trembling, wary voice. It was too much to think about. He couldn't stand the mere thought of her being miserable. Soon he was dialing her number, watching as the snow continued to pour from the sky in heavy sheets; it was like a giant was remaking his feather-white bed, spewing his gigantic comforter over the earth.
"Hello?" A familiar voice called out. Will was relieved to hear that she sounded happy, almost gleeful.
"Hey, Emma, it's Will. How are you doin'?"
"Put down that phone and let's continue, missy!"
"Emma, what-?"
"Hold on, Will." Emma laughed, and there was a discomforting clatter on the opposite line. He bit his lip with nervous anticipation, wondering what on earth his wife was up to.
"Sorry, Will, I'd love to stay and chat, but your dad is begging me to get off the phone."
"What?"
"Yeah, they saw the weather forecast and rushed right over with a pot of soup—vegetarian, of course—and a game of Monopoly. We've just been having the best of times these last few hours!"
"Oh!" Will exclaimed, twinkling smile lighting up his whole face. "Emma, that's fantastic, I'm—I'm so happy for you." If Will hadn't loved his parents with all of his heart before, he definitely did now. Why had he been worrying about her for so long? Did he think she could do nothing but worry?
"Of course," Emma muttered, and Will could hear the sincerity in her fair alto voice. "It would be ten times more fun if you were here. I'm sorry the competition got cancelled. It sounds like it was for the best."
"Yeah," Will admitted, sighing softly. "That's exactly what I was thinking. I just wish… I just wish that we would have known. Christmas is a vital time in a child's life, and I want them to spend their last Christmas as a high schooler with their parents."
The other line was silent for a while. Will almost wondered if they had been disconnected due to the severity of the storm.
"You'll be home." Emma answered quietly, yet fiercely; this was a woman with a plan, and she wasn't going to stop until she reached her goal. "And if not, you're with the people you'd consider your second family."
"But I promised—"
"You'll be home." Emma replied, hugging the phone to her chest. "Now go have some fun. I've got to go finish beating the master at Monopoly!"
"Dad is losing? Write this day down in history, Emma, because that has never happened before."
Emma's laugh was contagious, and Will found himself laughing with her; it filled his entire stomach, and soon he was positively bouncing above everyone else, lighter than air. It was a wonderful feeling to talk to the person you loved, but especially great if you could connect with them in a way that no one else could.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Will." Emma breathed quietly. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Mr. Schue, Pianist, I brought you some coffee." Finn stood behind the two men in his pajamas, holding two cups of steaming brew for the men who had been hunched over the television set, watching the weather forecast with a certain air of intensity.
"Thanks, Finn." Will muttered, running a hand through his permed locks.
"How's it lookin'?"
"The forecast is saying we should be clear by tomorrow." Brad answered, and Finn had to stop himself from looking shocked at the sound of the pianist talking; he had never heard the man utter a single word before. To hear a whole sentence was rather weakening, and Finn wondered if he would be able to handle such a big change.
"Besides, it's only about two hours." Will told Finn, sipping from the cup and smiling appreciatively. A small mmmph issued from him. "Now go get some sleep, Finn, it's going to be an early morning. An early Christmas Eve morning."
"Wait." Finn muttered, thinking about the confusion of the words Mr. Schue had just said. "If it's the morning of Christmas Eve, is it still morning?"
"Goodnight, Finn." Brad exclaimed with exasperation, shutting the door behind him.
The next morning's bus ride was filled with Christmas caroling galore, along with the exchange of gifts ("A red and navy argyle bowtie?" Blaine exclaimed to Rachel. "Brilliant! And, the best part is, I don't already own one!") and the talk of what they were most thankful for ("I thought that was Thanksgiving?" Puck asked, receiving a playful slap on the mohawk from Quinn).
Although the roads were treacherous, Brad maneuvered through them expertly, driving slow enough to stop and laughing with a type of sick glee at the cars that were in ditches.
When the bus pulled into the parking lot of McKinley High, there was a sad type of departing mixed with the spirit of Christmas and the uplifting thoughts of what the New Year would bring. Would couples still be together? Would people change, and would it be for the good or the ugly? The new year might possibly bring crushed dreams, or dying hopes, or death or sickness or struggles that people might not overcome. Thought it might also hold new dreams, brimming hopes, birth, wellness, and success. Whether the events that would happen in the new year be good or bad, it was an inevitable truth that was coming whether you were prepared or not. If one thing could be remembered in the past year, it was the fact that this Christmas had truly been an extra extraordinary one. And nothing in the world—not even dreams, wellness, or people—could change that fact.