Stolen Dreams

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I don't. I own this plot. She doesn't. She has a lot of money now, and well, I haven't quit my day job.

A/N: Don't fall out of your seats. It is an actual update. I could offer you a lot of meaningless drivel as to why this chapter has taken so long. Honestly, this is not the chapter I ever meant to write. However, this is what you get.

Major Masen and I would like to take Veteran's Day to thank all of those who are currently serving our country in the military, all those who have served, and their families. You all make great sacrifices each and every day and you will never know just how thankful I am for that. To you, I dedicate this chapter.

Chapter 38

The weeks following our wedding were a lot like the weeks previous. Edward was gone more than he was home, and when he was home, it was as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. I tried to ask him about it, but his pained, "I can't, baby. It's classified," made our conversations very short. He'd watch the news on occasion, seemingly looking for something specific, but since he never found it, I couldn't pin it down.

We continued with our every other weekend visits with Ryan. Sometimes, Carlisle and Esme brought him to us, and other times, we would go to him. Edward and I weren't getting to spend a lot of time together, but he was able to carve out the time to spend with Ryan. I kept telling myself that it was as it should be, but it was hard to shut off my feelings. Zafrina and I met a little more often in those days. I knew that I should be talking to Edward—a fact she reminded me of often—but that would have required him to be around.

With only one week left until Thanksgiving, I was getting close to reaching my breaking point. Edward hadn't been home in four days, and his responses to my texts were few and far between. At this rate, I was going to be eating a Banquet meal on Thanksgiving by myself since he couldn't tell me if he'd even be home.

"Hey, Esme," I said into the receiver as I answered my phone on the way out of the office.

"Do you have any particular traditions for Thanksgiving?" she asked instead of saying hello.

"Um, just the normal ones," I said hesitantly. "Why?"

"I'm making the grocery list. I'm going to the grocery while we are in Seattle this weekend; the Thriftway is practically bare already. Carlisle's mom always makes this horrendous oyster stuffing and insists that it is a necessity. I didn't know if you or Edward had anything like that. Your dad said he had to work that day but that he would stop by for a bite to eat," she rambled, sounding completely frazzled.

"Back up. I'm lost," I admitted.

"You are coming here for Thanksgiving, aren't you?"

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that," I told her. "We were supposed to be switching holidays, and this was your year."

"Bella," she said patiently, "do you have plans for Thanksgiving?"

"No." Alice and Angela were both going home to eat with their families and had invited me to come along since we had no idea if the boys would be able to take off or not. Poor Ben had been covering the office, and Angela had spent several evenings eating with him there just to spend time with him.

"Then, why don't you come and spend it with us? It might be our holiday with our son, but there is no reason that you can't be here, too," she reasoned.

I smiled, and a tear leaked from my eye at her thoughtfulness. "Thank you. I'll check with Edward . . ."

Esme cut me off. "He's welcome, too, of course, but I expect you here regardless. Just because he is wrapped up in work doesn't mean that you have to spend the holiday alone. And if he has a problem with that, he can call me and I'll give him what for."

I laughed at her maternal vehemence. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be there. What can I bring?" I asked as I pulled into our driveway. Edward's car sat in the same spot that it had occupied for the last two weeks; he'd been picked up by military transport on the rare occasion that he'd been home. The house was as dark as I'd left it.

"Pie?" Esme suggested.

I agreed after verifying the number of people attending the meal and then told her I would see her the next day. The clicking of the lock sounded loud to my ears, and when I opened the door, I gasped and dropped my briefcase.

My living room furniture was gone.

A blanket was spread out in the middle of the floor where the coffee table should have been, and large, fluffy pillows were strewn about. A couple of them looked suspiciously like my couch cushions, but in the low light of the fire in the fireplace, I couldn't be certain.

"Hello?" I called uncertainly, looking through toward the kitchen. I grabbed an umbrella I'd left near the door a few days before and wielded it like a baseball bat. Reason started to creep in, and I wanted to smack myself. First of all, a serial killer wasn't going to make my living room look like something from a posh harem, and second, he certainly wasn't going to answer me.

Edward, however, did. He strolled in from the kitchen in a tight white T-shirt and a low slung pair of cargo pants. His hair was still slightly damp, and it didn't smell like a locker room, so I quickly surmised that he'd showered at some point.

"Hey, baby, you're home," he said sweetly while wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He took a couple of steps toward me but stopped when he realized I wasn't advancing and was still clutching the umbrella.

"I am," I said hesitantly. "What's all this?"

"My attempt at romance? I just wanted to do something nice for you." He trailed off as I scanned the room. It really was lovely and quite romantic . . . as was the smell of chocolate coming from the kitchen.

"You have the night off, then?" I asked, attempting a smile. I loved that he was trying, and I was determined to make the most of the time we did have, but it killed me each time we got to be together and then he was gone before I woke.

"Tonight, tomorrow night . . . the mission is over, baby," he whispered, finally stepping forward, pulling my makeshift weapon away, and taking my hands in his. "I'm all yours."

I threw myself into his arms and hugged him as close to me as I could possibly get. He didn't make fun; he just held me back, cradling me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. "Shhh, baby. I'm here," he whispered over and over while rubbing his hands down my back.

After several minutes, I pulled myself together and kissed my husband for all I was worth. I'd missed him, damn it.

A timer went off in the kitchen, and we pulled apart reluctantly. Edward threaded his fingers through mine and dragged me behind him into the kitchen, as if he didn't want to be separated any more than I did.

"What's all this?" I gasped. The kitchen table looked more like a staging area than somewhere to eat, and there were dishes everywhere.

Edward had the good grace to look a little sheepish. "I made dinner. We aren't eating in here," he rushed to assure me. "While I pull dessert out of the oven, why don't you go change into something comfortable?"

I didn't want to wear the holey sweatpants I'd resorted to for comfort lately, so I dug through my drawers and found a cute pair of yoga pants and one of Edward's old T-shirts. Underneath, my attire wasn't quite so comfortable, but I'd put up with it for the look I was sure to earn later when he unwrapped me as his welcome home present.

With candles and the fire providing our only light, Edward and I fed each other pieces of steak, au gratin potatoes, and lima beans. It wasn't the most glorious meal I'd ever eaten, but I hadn't had to cook it and I had my husband by my side. In that moment, I was sure it was the best food ever. We talked, laughed, and stole kisses between bites, all like we were teenagers again.

The chocolate lava cake he'd baked—or heated, I didn't ask—was the messiest part of the meal, but also the most satisfying. Each droplet of wayward chocolate had to be licked off, and we were eating with our fingers.

"Sorry," Edward said, not really sounding sorry at all. "This shirt has to go; it has chocolate all over it."

I laughed—he'd just painted my chest with the chocolate on his hand.

"Pity, then, that yours is just ruined," I retorted while running my fingers through the chocolate on the plate and down his chest.

Edward snorted and grinned, removing his shirt faster than I thought was possible without getting chocolate everywhere. I pushed the plate away as I discarded everything but the purple and off-white lace bra and panty set I was wearing. Edward's eyes widened, and he ran his hands lightly over my chest.

"Damn, I'm a lucky man." Edward looked from my breasts up to my eyes. "I love you, and I love what you're wearing. But I need you, and if you leave it on, you aren't going to be able to wear it anymore."

We melted into the pillows, with his body covering mine, skin against skin, and found each other again. Our need took over without preamble and the hard—even more than normal—planes of his body pushed against my softer curves. Our entire meal had been foreplay, and we didn't waste time on anything else. Edward thrust into me, hard and fast, making me lose my breath at the sensation. It just felt so damn good to be with him again this way.

He lifted my leg onto his shoulder and thrust harder. His forehead was lined with concentration, a look that often meant that he was trying to hold himself off by reciting gun names.

"Let go, baby," I whispered, needing to see him lose his tightly wound control. He, however, wasn't about to come without me and shifted his thumb across my hip to my clit. The tight spirals he knew I loved brought me to the edge, and I groaned as my release washed over me. I barely had the presence of mind to watch as Edward clenched his eyes shut and let go with an almost pained moan.

He let go of my leg just in time for me to shift it to the side as he collapsed on top of me. "Love you so much," he whispered huskily. I knew I didn't have his full weight on top of me, but I loved it. Here between the floor and the man I loved beyond reason, I felt safe and protected.

We stayed like that for several minutes, just breathing each other in and relishing in the feeling of our bodies together at rest. Eventually, however, the floor got to be a little harder than was pleasant. I shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable, and disturbed Edward, who seemed to understand my predicament. I expected him to roll over and lay me on top of him. Instead, he lifted me up and carried me up the stairs to our bed, where he loved me slowly for hours.

There were a few nights in my life that I'd ever felt that cherished, but I knew that one would always be one of the best.

~SD~

Ryan was already at the house when I arrived home. He and Edward were playing basketball with a neighbor I'd never met and only paused long enough for my boys to run over and greet me. Edward looked well rested, which I knew wasn't a result of last night. I'd barely made it through the day.

I danced away from both of them as they tried to hug me. Nasty, sweaty boy did not go well with pin-striped suit. Edward leaned in and gave me a boyish grin and a peck on the lips. "Hey, wife," he said with a wink.

"Hey, husband," I teased back, glancing at Ryan over his shoulder. "You ever going to give Ben a break?"

"Already done," he affirmed. "I sent him home about nine this morning and finished out the day, at least until Ryan got here. We don't have anything that can't wait until Monday, which is good, as I intend to spend the entire weekend with my wife and son." It was as though that was the first time he'd really said those words. His face lit up, and he kissed me again. "Damn, that sounds good, doesn't it?"

"It does," I agreed. Ryan and the neighbor boy were starting to look impatient and kept glancing at us. "Why don't you two finish your game while I make dinner?"

Edward nodded once and turned to go back next door. "I laid out pork chops," he called over his shoulder.

All I could do was shake my head at his less-than-subtle tendencies and make my man some pork.

~SD~

The three of us spent the entire weekend together, playing games, shopping, talking, and watching movies. Ryan found plenty of things he wanted for Christmas, and I tried to pay close attention to what Edward picked up. It was our first year as a family, and I wanted it to be perfect.

It wasn't all fun and games, though. Dad called with the news that Gerandy's trial was scheduled to start right after the new year started. Ryan was visibly shaken by it but never would tell us why. When I called Esme later that night to tell her about the trial, I made sure to mention Ryan's reaction. She promised to mention it to Jacob when she dropped him off for his appointment on Wednesday afternoon. I could only hope that he would talk about whatever was bothering him with someone if it couldn't be me.

He was mostly back to his normal self by the time he left on Sunday, having extracted three promises from each of us that we would be there on Wednesday night. His giddiness over the upcoming meal reminded me so much of Edward. Their favorites were even the same, with the exception of sweet potato pie on Ryan's part, and that was only because he'd never eaten it.

Thanksgiving was chaos, pure and not-so-simple. Esme's entire family was there. Carlisle told us that his parents were spending the holiday with his sister and her family in Michigan. Edward and I reluctantly volunteered to stay at Charlie's because the house was full. Ryan would have none of that, though, loudly announcing that he wanted us there and didn't care if everyone else stayed in a hotel. His grandparents were clearly offended and looked to Carlisle and Esme for help in correcting his "rude behavior."

Carlisle opened his mouth to say something to Ryan, took one look at his face, and snapped it closed. "He wants them here," he finally told his in-laws. He offered to pay for their hotel room, but they declined and took off before everyone had even arrived.

The next morning, Esme's mother didn't show up to cook as planned, so Christina, Esme, and I were running around like crazy, trying to make the traditional holiday meal without the extra hand and experience we'd been counting on. At least we didn't have to cook the turkey. Carlisle had decided he wanted to deep fry it, so he, Edward, and Charles spent hours outside tending to the fryer, while the kids watched the parade in the living room.

In the end, the food was good, and everyone talked throughout the meal. Ryan liked sweet potato pie almost as much as his father. The Carters finally showed up just before we were ready to eat and acted as though nothing was amiss. I certainly wasn't going to say anything. Viola did help clean up and was a little less frosty than the last time I'd seen her. That was...until she mentioned visiting at Christmas.

"Oh, Ryan will be in Seattle for Christmas. We are going to celebrate a few days later," Esme said, trying to downplay it.

"You aren't serious, are you? That's ridiculous. You need to put your foot down, Esme. This is his home, and he needs to be home on Christmas," Viola scolded.

"He has a home in Seattle as well, Mother," Esme answered through gritted teeth. "We split holidays with Edward and Bella, and this is their year for Christmas."

She turned to me, her face pinched and her lips pursed. "I hope you're happy, ruining this family and confusing that little boy. Esme and Carlisle have given him a good life, and you're just messing that up." She turned her attention to Esme. "I won't be a witness to my child and grandchild getting hurt, Esme. I told you this was a bad idea from the beginning, and time is proving me right."

Viola threw the dish towel she's been using to dry dishes onto the countertop and stormed from the room. We could hear her harpy-like voice shrilly calling to her husband that it was time to leave.

"Bella, don't mind her," Christina said in a tired voice. "She's always like this. Actually, we should all be thankful—the rest of the weekend will be much more enjoyable now that she's gone!"

Esme was leaning against the counter with her head down. "She always has to make things so difficult. It's like she never considered how hard this was going to be for me, too, and she just made it that much harder."

My heart sank, knowing that we were part of the reason she was hurting. "I know that it's going to be weird to have Christmas somewhere other than your house, but I promise that we'll make it like home for you," I said.

Esme's head snapped up, and Christina's tilted to the side in curiosity. "What are you talking about?"

"You are coming to our house with Ryan for Christmas, right?" I asked. Edward and I had talked it about and were planning to settle the plans later in the weekend. We figured Ryan would be happier if we were all together, and for our first Christmas with him, we wanted him to be as happy as possible. They'd invited us here for the weekend; I assumed that she would know that we were reciprocating.

"I—I thought you would want this Christmas to be just for you," she stuttered. "I thought we would be intruding."

I playfully rolled my eyes. "Nonsense. We're a family. We'll work out the details later, but Christmas is at our house this year."

Esme crossed the kitchen in three strides and hugged me tightly. I could feel her tears against my cheek, but neither of us said a word. They weren't necessary.

~SD~

Life seemed to come in spurts and stops. One minute, I couldn't wait for time to just move, and the next, I was wondering where in the hell it went.

During the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Esme, Carlisle, Edward, and I formulated our plan for our Christmas celebration and made our agreements on who was getting what. Ryan had made a list—a very detailed list—of what he wanted for Christmas. The four of us chose the most important items and split them evenly. We even agreed to a limit so that none of us went overboard. It took a lot of restraint from both Edward and me, but we squeaked by with a dollar to spare on our limit.

In our minds, we had ten years of missed Christmases to make up for. "Nothing can make up for that time, Bella," Zafrina reminded me when I complained to her about it at work one day. "If you keep trying to do that, you'll spoil him rotten and have a monster on your hands. Not to mention ruining whatever relationship you have with Carlisle and Esme, and at this point, Ryan still wants and needs them in his life."

I knew she was right, but it still sucked.

The cap didn't stop Edward and me from going completely overboard with the Christmas decorations, though. The outside of our house didn't rival Clark Griswald's, but it was a near thing in my opinion. Edward scoffed and told me I didn't have a lot of room to talk when he looked around the house. There were Christmas-y knick-knacks all over the place, garland on the entertainment center and banister, twinkle lights in the banister garland along with red bows, and the Christmas tree took up entirely too much space. He couldn't even get the star we'd bought on top because the tree was too tall; instead, he used a zip tie and secured it to the front to make it look like it was on there. Ridiculous, yes, but it was ours.

~SD~

"What are you doing?" Alice asked incredulously as she walked into our kitchen one Friday about a week before Christmas.

"Baking," was my simple answer, though it might have sounded more like "bay-in" because my mouth was full of batter-covered beater.

Her eyes were wide, staring at my day's efforts as if she'd never seen eighteen dozen cookies before. Oh, and three platters full of haystacks, peanut butter balls, and divinity. "I see that. Why?" she asked, slowing her words as if I needed help understanding her.

"It's Christmas," I retorted. Really, I thought it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was Christmas, and you baked cookies at Christmas. Never mind that I'd never done it before.

"Uh-huh . . . And what are you going to do with all of these cookies?"

For the first time all day, I actually stopped and looked around the kitchen while I pondered my answer. What was I going to do with all these cookies? The urge to giggle struck me, and I let out a rather unladylike snort. The absolute lunacy that had taken over in the last three weeks finally caught up with me, and I started laughing at myself. Once I started, I couldn't stop, and my laughter incited Alice's.

That's how Edward and Jasper found us when they got home twenty minutes later, sitting on the kitchen floor, covered in flour, and gasping for breath with tears streaming down our faces.

"Uh . . . I guess we're going out to dinner?" Edward asked carefully, eyeing the mounds of baked goods warily.

I snorted again, and that set off another round of laughter. "Yep, guess so," I managed to choke out. "Unless you want cookies for dinner."

"Are there oatmeal raisin?" Jasper asked, his eyes lit up like a kid on, well, Christmas.

That sobered me immediately because fuck me if he didn't just ask for the one type of cookie I hadn't made.

The expression on my face must have alarmed him. He backtracked and held his hands up in front of him in supplication. "I was just kidding, Bella. Really. Uh, sugar are my favorite, the ones with sprinkles."

"Well, good, because it looks like you'll be getting a couple . . . dozen." I grinned, shook my head at myself, and stood to kiss my very handsome husband.

We did go out to dinner after I got cleaned up. Alice and Jasper were going to spend Christmas with the Brandons in Forks for Christmas and then were flying to Texas to spend the week after with his family. They would be home just in time for New Year's Eve.

Fisher House was sponsoring a Military Ball for all active servicemen and veterans in the Seattle area as a fundraiser on New Year's Eve. According to Jasper and Edward, it was going to be a huge event, and they'd already bought tickets.

"The tickets were only $50 per couple?" Alice asked dubiously. I grimaced, knowing what she was thinking. We'd attended several fundraisers over the years together that were several hundred per plate.

"It's for veterans, too," Edward reminded her gently. "A lot of them served in WWII and don't have a lot of disposable income. The organizers wanted it to be affordable for them but still raise enough to add some rooms to their facility. There is a silent auction, too."

"What does Fisher House do?" I asked.

"It's like the Ronald McDonald House for the families of veterans and active military personnel. They give the families a place to stay nearby when their loved ones are in the hospital," Jasper explained. "With so many veterans aging and an active foreign war, space can be hard to come by."

It only took one instant for me to imagine myself in the shoes of those men and women that had to travel far from home to be with someone they loved, and I knew I'd do everything in my power to make sure that Fisher House had a great night. Alice seemed to have the same thought and nodded at me across the table.

The next day, I called Kate and Zafrina before offering our services free of charge for children of those injured in service to our country. The woman I spoke to at Fisher House was so grateful, as there were a lot of times that the kids got lost in the turmoil of recovery. Later, I discovered that another item had been added to the silent auction—$1000 in designer clothes from Alice.

Though thoughts of the upcoming ball were wreaking havoc with my nerves, it did serve to get my mind off my worries about Christmas. Before I knew it, Christmas Eve had arrived and brought Ryan to our doorstep with it. Our greatly toned-down doorstep.

"Hey, Ma!" he practically yelled as he launched himself at me. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," I whispered, my throat tight as I hugged him to me.

Esme and Carlisle kindly edged past us into the house, letting us have our moment without an audience. Carlisle's arms were full of presents, and Esme rolled their luggage in.

"The house looks beautiful," Esme told me once we joined her in the living room. "What happened to the . . . tchotckies?"

Esme had seen the house at its worst when Edward and I were in our decorating frenzy. She'd stopped by one afternoon while shopping in Seattle. Because of the school holiday program, Edward and I had spent our weekend with Ryan in Forks, and they hadn't seen the house. When Esme stopped by, I could tell she was fighting to hold in her laughter as she looked around.

"They . . . found another home," I answered with a small laugh. I'd taken a few of them back to the store, and those I couldn't return, I'd donated to one of the homeless shelters in town. They'd tried to make their halls as cheery as possible for those living on the streets, and I was glad we could contribute, even if it was with a ridiculous looking wicker Santa.

She snorted and tried to hold in her laughter as she nodded.

Ryan was, of course, enthralled with the mounds of gifts piled around the tree. To be fair, not all of them were for him. All of our presents were organized around the tree in clumps; one side was for our parents, one side was for our close friends, and ours to each other and the Cullens' presents were mixed in with Ryan's.

"When do we get to open presents?" he asked excitedly.

Edward snorted. "Tomorrow morning—after eight. You aren't allowed to come down here or wake any of us up before then."

Carlisle and I both looked at Edward in disbelief.

"That was always the rule in my house growing up." Edward shrugged. "Are you really going to complain about more sleep? Besides, it's going to be a late night and a big day tomorrow."

"Oh? What are the plans for tonight?" Esme asked.

We had dinner ready in the kitchen and plans to attend services at Angela's church at ten. Several members of the youth group had called the house over the last week to specifically invite Ryan and to ask him to participate in their caroling. We had told him about it during one of our nightly calls, and he'd seemed excited.

Esme and Carlisle were amenable as well, and we chatted about their normal Christmas traditions over a meal of ham, green beans, and a homemade macaroni and cheese. Since our kitchen was still overflowing with cookies, Edward had forbidden me from making a cake and insisted that cookies were a more than suitable Christmas dessert.

Knowing that we would be getting back home quite late, Esme and I had Ryan choose four cookies for Santa's plate before we got dressed for church. We left it on the counter with a special Christmas glass beside it that we would fill with milk when we returned.

Angela's church was bedecked with garlands, bows, and candles, giving the large sanctuary an intimate, homey feel. The youth had gathered near the front, and Ryan ran off to join them eagerly. Esme watched with a sad smile as she saw him greeting his friends; it was the first time that she'd really gotten a glimpse of his life here, and I thought she was perhaps realizing that one day soon, he might choose to live with us instead.

"That was a beautiful service," Carlisle commented as we left the parking lot near midnight.

"It was," I agreed. "I really liked how they had the kids leading all of the carols and hymns and passing out the candles at the end. It was a great way to incorporate them."

"Well, Jesus loved the little children," Ryan replied semi-sarcastically.

We all laughed loudly, the solemn spell of the church service broken. Ryan talked almost non-stop in the backseat, no doubt in an effort to keep himself awake. Most of what he was saying didn't even make sense.

Ryan stayed awake long enough to put the cookies and milk on the coffee table by the tree and to change into his pajamas. I wasn't convinced that he'd done a great job brushing his teeth, but I let it go, as he was barely awake enough to walk to his room.

"Night, Ma," he mumbled as I tucked him in.

"Good night, Ryan," I whispered. "Merry Christmas."

Downstairs, Carlisle and Edward were putting the finishing touches on the 10-speed bicycle that Ryan had asked for from Santa Claus. Esme was holding the new helmet and pads that went with it—because Santa was nothing if not concerned about safety.

"This is perfect! He'll love it," Esme whispered reassuringly. We'd decided to share the cost of Ryan's gift from Santa, but Edward and I had gone to the store to pick out the orange and green bike. And rather than waiting until the last minute, Edward had put it together in our garage, knowing that Ryan wouldn't have time to see it.

I grabbed the afghan off the back of the couch. "Let's throw this over it so it's not so obvious."

"Bella, it's still going to look like a bike," Edward replied, but he helped me drape the blanket over the handlebars and seat.

We each ate a cookie, and Edward drank the milk before we all retired for the night. With Ryan's earlier level of excitement, I doubted that we'd make it until eight a.m.

~SD~

I was right, but it wasn't Ryan that woke me at seven fifteen on Christmas morning. The firm knock on the door made me sit straight up in bed and throw on my robe before running down the stairs. The rest of the house was still quiet, so I hoped that whomever it was hadn't awakened everyone else.

Through the window next to the door, I could see the lights from a police car. My heart jammed into my throat. I threw open the door to see my father standing on the doorstep, holding a fresh cup of coffee.

"Sorry it's so early, kid," he told me. "I tried to get up here last night, but Mark switched me shifts so I could be here with you today."

I threw my arms around him in a huge hug. It didn't matter that he'd woken me so early. What mattered to me was that he took the time off to come and spend Christmas with me like he had for the last ten years.

Since everyone else was still asleep, Dad and I went into the kitchen, and I got started on breakfast. The cinnamon rolls went into the oven, and the coffee maker started percolating. One by one, the adults filed into the kitchen, enticed by the dual aromas of sugar and spice and Arabica beans.

Dad was greeted warmly by the Cullens and Edward, but he was literally bowled over when Ryan ran into the room.

"Grandpa!" he yelled. "Merry Christmas!"

Dad laughed, a little winded, and pushed off the counter he'd been knocked into. "Merry Christmas, bud. Did you check under the tree yet?"

"No!" Ryan hollered. He turned around and ran into the other room at full speed.

Edward had the foresight to have the camera in hand and snapped pictures as Ryan ripped the blanket off the bike.

"Oh my gosh! This is so cool," Ryan gushed. You'd think he'd never seen a bike before. Immediately, he started pointing out various features to Carlisle. The rest of us took seats around the room and watched him.

Eventually, Carlisle gently reminded him that there were other presents under the tree. Ryan passed out the presents and then eagerly tore into his own. Dad had gotten him his own fishing pole and tackle box so they could go out together whenever he wanted. Ryan sorted through each of the lures Dad had included and asked what each would catch.

Then, there were the piles of clothes, boxes of Legos, iTunes cards, and Nerf guns. Edward had insisted that they each needed one, and before Ryan could get his open, Edward had retrieved his from behind the couch and shot Ryan right in the cheek.

"No fair!" Ryan shouted. "Mine's still tied in here! I can't get it out!"

I took it from him and untwisted each and every twist tie that anchored the gift into the box. Esme stopped me before I got it completely out, though.

"Ryan, now that you've opened all of your gifts, why don't you sit and watch us open ours?" Esme suggested.

Ryan didn't seem to think too highly of that idea, but he did as she requested, albeit reluctantly. He fidgeted the entire time we opened gifts, and we went as fast as we could. When the last gift, a new pair of running shoes for Edward, was opened, I slipped into the kitchen and brought out the warm plate of cinnamon rolls.

Everyone took at least one, and Ryan sighed contentedly as he chewed. The room was full of paper and happiness.

"This has been the best Christmas, ever," Ryan concluded, looking at all of us together as a family.

Yes, indeed, it had been.

If you haven't seen National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, well, I don't know what's wrong with you, but it's necessary to see it at least twice in your life. Preferably with alcohol. Alcohol is also usually involved in my holiday baking routine. That could explain the vast amount of baked goods I always make. But hey, if you want to have some fun, come on over—at least your sweet tooth will be satisfied for a few . . . weeks.

Rec this week:

It is sad to say, but reading is a lot easier than writing. Of course, that means I've been doing too much of the former and not enough of the latter. But you should read this story anyway, because it is fantastic.

Letters to Corporal Masen by solostintwilight: It's a heart-warming story set during WWII, with just the right amount of facts and romance. It's also complete as of today.