Who's The Boss? Christmas Reunion Special

Tony hummed a cheerful tune to himself as he dressed the tree with lights. Fresh pine, the crackling fire, and chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven, the aroma of Christmas just filled his soul with joy and made him giddy. The little ones would be spending Christmas with them that year, which made it feel all the more magical. He could just picture their smiling faces Christmas morning when they run down to see what Santa brought them. Santa snitched, too, so he knew what they were getting—he laughed at his own excitement. The lights blinked awake as he plugged them into a nearby outlet, and the tree quickly illuminated the room in bright reds and greens. He took a step back to fully appreciate the beauty of it all: the lights, the tree, the fire, the presents… It truly was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.

Angela emerged from the kitchen with a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and her phone clutched in the other. "Oh, Tony, that looks wonderful," she said.

"And you said we needed new ones," he said in a teasing tone, his eyes drifting to her bottom as she found a seat next to the cozy fire. "I got them working." He swaggered back to the tree with a gleeful look, but his face fell slightly when he noticed a few rogue lights refusing to blink awake. He hoped she hadn't yet noticed.

"Sam just called," said Angela as he moved toward her. He gave her a gentle peck. "She'll be here in a few minutes."

He tasted chocolate and a hint of peppermint on her lips. "Sam's coming over—now? With the kids?"

She shifted. "No, she says they're with Matt…"

"But they're still coming for Christmas, aren't they? I've already stuffed their stockings."

"She didn't say," said Angela, but the expression on her face told him everything. He wondered what sort of state Sam was in over the phone. Were there tears? Oh, he hoped not. The divorce had taken a huge toll. The timer for the cookies dinged in the kitchen.

"What's with Matt always wanting to spend time with the kids, huh?" he grumbled as he made his way into the kitchen. Angela followed him. "He had them Thanksgiving, too, Angela. Remember? And you can't have both."

"He's their father, Tony."

"Yeah, well, I'm their grandfather," said Tony, putting his oven mitts on and removing the cookies from the oven. "Don't I get a say?"

"No." Pouting, he set the cookies down. She pulled him close, resting her head on his shoulder. "We don't know anything yet… For all we know, she could just be stopping by for a quick visit and come back with the kids in a few days."

"Quick visit," he echoed. "Yeah, coming all the way from Maine just for a quick visit. I don't think so, Angela."

"The commute isn't so bad," she insisted and he huffed. "He's a good man, and an excellent father to those kids…"

"Yeah, I know," he said, giving in. She was warm and smelled absolutely divine, as always. "It's just hard, honey, that's all. We used to see them all the time, you know? Now, I wonder if they still remember our faces."

"Tony, sweetheart," she said, "we FaceTimed them yesterday."

"Yeah, well, the camera adds ten pounds," he said.

He heard the faint sound of the front door opening, and suddenly he was giddy again. He tossed the oven mitts aside and practically ran to his daughter. She was cold and wet, but not even that could stop a father from showing his daughter love. He lifted her with a slight effort—after all, she was no girl anymore, but she would always be his little girl, no matter how old she got—and spun her around, then kissed her lips. Her suitcase stood lonely by the door—and he hoped, prayed, that maybe some of the kids stuff was in there.

"You weren't supposed to get here until Thursday," he said as Angela had her turn to hug and kiss their daughter.

"There's been a slight change in plans," said Sam in almost an apologetic tone. Tony helped her out of her hefty winter coat. "Matt's spending Christmas with his brother in New York."

"Hey, oh, what about the kids," said Tony. "You said they were coming here with you."

"We sort of promised them we'd spend Christmas together this year," said Sam. "It's our first Christmas separated, and it's hard enough for them as it is…"

"So, Matt's coming here?" He liked the guy okay when he and Sam were still together, but of course no guy would ever be good enough for his little girl. But he broke her heart—they broke each other's hearts, really—and he could never forgive him for that.

"That's the thing," she said. "We're spending Christmas Eve at his brother's, and then we'll spend all of Christmas Day here."

"But Santa…" said Tony, nearly in tears. He tossed her coat aside.

"…will be sure to visit both houses, don't worry,"assured Sam. "Matt's family opens their presents on Christmas Eve, anyway. We'll be here at eleven Christmas morning. I promise."

"Eleven?" He pouted more. Having the best Christmas Eve was vital for having the best Christmas. And he needed the kids to be there. "Can't anything be done?"

"Look, dad… I know divorce is hard. I've been through it once already. Remember?" she said. He took a few steps back. Yeah, he remembered. Hank what's his face, a distant memory now. And kids weren't involved then. There was no question about where Sam—or anyone else, for that matter—would spend Christmas when all that was happening. "But Lina and Jake are excited about having two Christmases this year…"

"Of course they are," chimed Angela.

"And that's all who really matters here," continued Sam, sounding eager to convince him. He had been convinced the second she told him; he just needed time to mourn.

"Of course it is," said Angela, and she squeezed Tony's hand to encourage his speech.

"Yeah," agreed Tony, albeit with a lot less spirit.

A honk sounded in the distance and Sam bent to retrieve her coat. "That's Marci," she said.

"Marci?" echoed Tony as he followed her to the door. "Marci, Marci?" He turned to Angela, his giddiness taking over once again for a quick second. "I haven't seen her in ages…"

"Me neither," said Sam. "She called when I was dropping the kids off with Matt. We're going out for drinks…"

"Drinks—you're going out?" said Tony. "You just got here."

"I know, dad, but I feel like I'm drowning here—and Marci is the only one who understands what I'm going through. I really need somebody to talk to."

"Go. Get drunk, drown your sorrows," Angela insisted. She kissed Sam's cheek and opened the door, practically forcing their baby out. A chill filled the air. "Have fun—and drive safe."

"Thanks, Angela," said Sam. She moved to kiss Tony, who stood paralyzed, goodbye before hurrying out the door.

"Angela!" said Tony as she shut the door. "What'd you do that for? That's our baby, our little girl…"

"Our little girl is almost fifty, Tony," she reminded, "and going through a difficult divorce. Trust me, getting drunk with friends is exactly what she needs right now. That's what I did after Michael and I split—and it helped. It brought me back into the light."

He wandered back to the Christmas tree, beautiful as ever but he only had Angela to show it off to. And so he fell down into the cozy chair near the fire, and Angela took her rightful place on his lap.

"She needs her family, Angela," Tony protested, wrapping his hands around her waist. "That's what she needs right now." Then again, what family? Mona was… gone. Their first Christmas without her. Jonathan and Thomas were spending Christmas in Australia. He sent a selfie just the other day with the both of them relaxed beside the pool. What a concept, aye, spending Christmas in summer. He wouldn't mind flaunting a tan while out caroling. And Isidore, sweet baby Iz—who caught mommy and daddy both by surprise after one heated reunion in ninety-two—was somewhere south for winter, probably spending his first Christmas away from home at some small town bar, picking up girls too high off music and booze to remember anything more than first names and ages, and falling in love for the gazillionth time that month.

He caressed Angela's thigh and she kissed his cheek. "Honey, she needs this time to be with her girlfriends," she said, "to talk about sex and work, and everything in between. It's just a part of healing..."

"Aye, all right, okay," he said softly, pulling her closer. "I get it. I get it." Their lips met once, twice, and a final third time before she rested her head on his shoulder.

The lights illuminated the space. The fire crackled. As much as he wanted everyone to be there, to be in the moment with him, at least Angela could be there.

"I can't believe she's gone," said Angela after a long moment of comfortable silence between them.

Tony knew she wasn't talking about Sam. He kissed her hair. "She's with us in spirit, Ang."

"My first Christmas without her," she said. "I know it sounds crazy, but I always thought she'd outlive me. She was so active, even at the end."

"Well, that's our Mona," he said with a sigh, "always living until she's... not."

"And Isidore…"

"Yeah."

"It's his first Christmas away from home, Tony," she said, "our baby."

"Yeah," said Tony.

"Jonathan and Thomas haven't spent a Christmas here since the recession," she said, and he kissed her hair again.

"It hasn't been that long, Angela," he told her. "But, hey, he lives in Australia—what can he do?" Get a plane ticket home, that's what. Usually he came down for Thanksgiving, and spent most Christmases with Thomas and his family in Australia. He missed Thanksgiving that year only because his work forced him to stay. He called to check in weekly, though, emailed… occasionally sent the old fashioned letter, and he always visited for two weeks every summer, but it would be nice to kiss that sweet face of his again on Christmas Day. It would be nice to kiss all of his kids' sweet faces on Christmas Day.

"I guess the world doesn't revolve around us anymore," said Angela.

"Oh aye," he said, playfully squeezing her bottom, "who says?" Her head lifted and they kissed. She tasted delicious—a taste he had a million times before; a taste he hoped to have a million times more.

"You know, Tony,"—her hands moved to caress his chest and her eyebrows rose suggestively—"it is Tuesday."

He giggled. "Tuesday. My favorite day of the week." And he dipped down to capture her lips again.

They were certainly not in their prime anymore. Angela retired about a decade ago, but chose quickly to help Mona run an organization helping LGBT youths on the street, or in less than loving homes, about a year into her retirement, for everyone's own sanity. Tony still taught, but he found himself taking on less and less courses each semester. Retirement was just around the corner for him, he knew, but he enjoyed his students and coworkers too much to even think about that. Their schedules conflicted most weekdays, and sometimes even on weekends, but they agreed early on to always make time for each other on Tuesdays. A random day they chose on the spur after one passionate argument in 1997. From then on, nothing was ever scheduled on Tuesdays, except date nights.

"Shall we move this to our bedroom, Mr. Micelli," she said, standing.

"If you insist," he said, quickly following her up, "Mrs. Micelli."

They darted toward their bedroom, but Tony stopped halfway up the stairs. "Wait a minute—wait a minute. What about Samantha?"

"What about her?" questioned Angela from atop the stairs. "She'll probably be out all night, if she comes home at all. And she knows where we hide the key, if she does come in late."

"All right. But her bag," he continued, gesturing to her suitcase by the door, "should we bring it up?"

"Oh, it'll be fine sitting there until the morning," she said. "She won't need it tonight."

"Okay, okay," he said, his excitement returning, and he practically danced his way up toward her. "Now come here, baby."

Everyone was around the Christmas tree. Little Sam and tiny Jonathan were opening their presents while Iz sat with him. The ages were off—Sam looked about twelve, Jonathan about eight, and Baby Iz, fast asleep in his arms, still just an infant—but his mind couldn't fully process the changes and he didn't care. Mona sat in the chair, looking on as the kids ripped apart their gifts. Angela and Marie were getting warm by the fire while having their own conversation about one thing or nothing—girl talk never interested him much. But what a beautiful family; what a beautiful life…

"Tony," Angela said, turning to him.

"Yeah, Ang," he replied, suspecting she needed something from the kitchen. Maybe Iz needed a bottle.

"Tony," she said again in a loud whisper, and he felt her hands squeezing his bare shoulder, and everyone around him began to fade. "Tony, I heard a noise downstairs."

He shifted, the image now dissolving into a vague memory. "A… noise, Angela?" he questioned through a tired yawn, tasting a sourness in his mouth. He was attempting to revive the image of everyone around the tree, but was distracted by the noise of footsteps downstairs. He licked his lips to moisten them. "It's probably Sam," he said, the face of their now grown daughter returning to his memory... He was happy she returned home safe.

And then he heard it: the sound of glass hitting the floor and a man's muffled groan. He rose out of bed in search of his sweatpants, long ago discarded, and his bat. Despite warning her to stay in their room, Angela, dressed only in her robe, followed him out into the hallway and down the stairs. Sam's suitcase had fallen onto the floor, tripped over, perhaps, by the intruder. The rug beside it was in disarray. Slowly, they made their way toward the kitchen—he kicked the door open and made to swing—act first, think later—but stopped mid-air once he came face to face with their intruder.

"Isidore, baby!" said Angela, too surprised to do anything but look at him. He was tall and scraggly, like his mother, and cute and charming, like his old man. The perfect mixture of the two of them, Mona once said. He held a chocolate chip cookie in one hand and the broom in the other, already collecting the shattered glass around him.

Izzy cautiously stepped away from the glass—"Careful… careful," his father warning him as he moved—and into his mother's opening arms.

"Sweetheart. What are you doing here?" she said with a kiss as Tony discarded the bat and went searching for their dustpan.

"Not that we're not happy to see you, but we thought… We just thought you had a gig in Oklahoma this weekend," said Tony, grabbing the broom from his son's hand and moving to clean up the mess.

"Oh, you know," said Isidore when Tony leaned in for a kiss of his own, "you play one bar in the south… you've played them all."

"Uhuh," said his father in disbelief, sweeping up the mess, "Eddy bail on you again?"

"Yeah, he… left for Dallas to be with some girl," he said.

"Oh sweetheart," said Angela, pulling him in for another hug, "I'm so sorry."

"It's so hard to find good drum players these days," said Tony.

"Tell me about it," agreed Iz. "But hey, I'd much rather spend Christmas here with you guys, anyway."

"And I see you've made an entrance," continued Tony as he swept. And maybe they should have brought Sam's suitcase up—but they hadn't considered any clumsy sons making any entrances that night.

"I tried being quiet, but… you know me." He was his mother's son, after all. Tony recalled another broken glass thirty or so years prior, and him running downstairs thinking someone broke in. It was just Angela and whatever that guy's name was… He vaguely remembered being called an ugly woman, for whatever reason. "I guess I woke everybody, huh?"

"Yeah," said Tony, "and we're everybody." He finished sweeping, but cautiously stepped aside, reminding everybody to be careful of any loose bits.

"Wasn't that Sam's bag I tripped over in the living room?"

"She's out with Marci," explained Angela. "And the kids aren't with her."

Tony felt the sadness hit him again, like a bullet lodged in his chest; he didn't need reminding they weren't there. "Yeah… we'll fill you in on the details when the rooster starts crowing," he said with a slight pout. "But for right now, let's get some sleep—it's one in the morning."

"You can take the front bedroom," Angela told their son as they entered the living room and headed for the stairs.

Tony took a detour for Sam's luggage. It was clear that it was hazard lying there. "I doubt Sam'll be home anytime soon…" And the front door opened and Sam wobbled her way into the house, smelling of booze and cigarettes. She greeted her family with a drunken mumble, then nearly collapsed onto the floor. Tony grabbed her before she hurt herself. "I, uh, guess I spoke too soon."

"Two of three," said Angela as Tony guided their daughter carefully toward the stairs. "I suppose next Jonathan will be coming down the chimney."

They paused, their eyes locking on the fireplace. Nothing. They continued up the stairs.

Tony stood before the stove the next morning, humming a Christmas tune as he dutiful cooked eggs for his babies. Of course, not all of his babies were home, but two out of three ain't so bad—and plus, the baby who didn't like eggs wasn't the one home.

Samantha, in all her glory and in the same clothes as yesterday, pushed open the door and, with a hard groan, sat in a chair. "Good morning, sweetheart," greeted Tony. She winced in pain. "Sorry," he said in a quieter voice as he brought the eggs to her plate. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I'm middle aged," responded Sam, rubbing forehead.

"Hey, oh, don't say that—don't say that. If you're middle aged, then that makes me…" He proceeded to divide the remainder of the eggs onto the two empty plates around the table. "Oh, I can't even say it." He placed the pan back onto the stovetop.

"Dad…" she said, smiling slightly.

Angela entered the kitchen with a bright smile on her face. "Good morning, everybody!" And Sam quivered. "Oh, sorry, sorry—good morning," she said in a whisper, kissing Sam's head. "I take drinks with Marci went well."

"Yeah," said Sam with a groan. "Marci can really hold her alcohol. Just between us, I think she may have a problem."

Angela greeted Tony with a firm kiss. "Well, she isn't a mother to twins like you." She wasn't a mother at all, actually. But she was on her fourth divorce.

"You going in today?" he questioned Angela when she reached for her car keys.

"Just for the morning. I should be back before lunch," she said. "I'm just going over a few things with Dawn about what we're doing for Pride."

"Pride, huh? I thought that wasn't until…" Summer, wasn't it? Maybe Spring… But wasn't there something in October, too? He could never keep up.

"June, dad," answered a miserable Sam in the background.

"That's months away, Angela."

"And we're already heaps behind," said Angela, the only person he knew who enjoyed planning things so far ahead. She kissed Tony again, then wiped any lipstick lingering on his mouth. "Bye," she said cheerfully as she walked toward the door. "Sorry, sorry—bye," she repeated in a lower voice when Sam groaned, blowing a few last kisses to her family on her way out.

Sam gave her a half-hearted wave goodbye, then focused on her eggs.

"How does the saying go," questioned Tony, moving to the fridge to fetch the orange juice. "You can take the Angela out of work, but you can't take work out of the Angela…"

"She does a lot of good there, dad," Sam defended. "She helps a lot of kids get out of really bad situations…"

"I know, I know," he said, pouring her a glass of orange juice. "And I'm proud of her. I really am—but I… I just think sometimes she works a little too hard. She's supposed to be retired, remember?"

"This is retirement for Angela."

And Isidore tiredly entered the kitchen with his hair in complete disarray and face unshaven, and dressed in his pajamas. It was like he was a moody teen again—oh, how he missed those days.

"Good morning, Baby Iz," greeted his father with a kiss on his son's cheek.

"Morning dad," came Iz's groggy response. He was never a morning person—in fact, that was the only time he slept as an infant.

"Little Baby Isidore," said Sam with a smile. "I thought that was you last night. But, then again, I also thought I saw Elvis eating at Duchess…"

"No, Sam, you did see him there," Tony insisted as Sam and Iz kissed and hugged. "Yeah, yeah—he's one of those impersonators. He eats there most weekdays. And hey—if you complement his bedazzled jumpsuit, he might sing Hound Dog to you. He did for Angela, anyway."

They all sat together around the table. "I thought you were in some bar in Tulsa," said Sam.

"I was… I was," Isidore said with a sigh. "But hey, I can't miss Christmas with you guys…"

"Eddy went rogue on you, didn't he?" questioned Sam.

Izzy nodded.

"What about you, Iz," said Tony with raised eyebrows, squeezing his son's shoulder. "Meet any pretty girls on the road?"

"Well, just between us…" he said with a sly grin. Tony and Sam leaned in, eager to hear all the juicy details. "No."

"Oh, well, southern girls ain't nothing," said Tony. "It's the girls from Jersey you gotta look out for." He playfully rustled his son's already untidy hair. "You'll find someone. Don't worry. You are a Micelli, after all."

"I haven't really been focusing on… that," said Izzy, avoiding his father's gaze.

"Oh, if it's—I mean, if you're not looking for… you know—hey, that's all right too. We love you no matter what, no matter who…" But Iz was singing about falling in love with girls since he was in kindergarten. Of course, Tony didn't realize with Jonathan… Not that any of it mattered, not truly. They were his kids, his babies; who they loved didn't change anything… not the important things, at least.

"I'm not gay, dad," said Izzy. "Or bi, or anything... I just—I want to focus on my career in music. I sort of… well, I made a promise to myself that I'd be singing with Springsteen before I was thirty…"

"Springsteen?" came Tony's response.

"…and now I'm almost thirty, and I'm nowhere near accomplishing that goal."

"Springsteen?" Tony said again, unable to hide his confusion. His Baby Iz was good—real good, even—and Tony had no doubt he could accomplish anything he set his mind to, but Springsteen? Izzy just played in bars and malls, and the occasional renaissance festival. He couldn't even pay the bills from his gigs, forcing him to take odd job after odd job just to make ends meet sometimes. He was a little too much like his old man.

"Can't you set the bar a little lower for yourself," said Sam. "I mean, Bruce Springsteen—he's the boss. It's not that you're not good, Iz, but you're not the boss."

"Maybe this is a sign for you to go back to school, kiddo," said Tony, hoping his son wouldn't flee at the mentioning of going back to school, like he always did. He quit his junior year because he didn't enjoy what he was studying—the ever so ordinary English major—and started a band with an old friend of his, Eddy, along with a couple of other goons. It put Angela in a frenzy. Tony was supportive, at first, but now it was time Iz buckled down, figured out what he was going to do for the rest of his life. "Get your degree and… you know, get a job that pays the bills and has benefits…"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, I do…"

Izzy huffed. "Face it, dad. Your son's a loafer..."

"And your daughter's a loser," said Sam. "Failing not one but two marriages before even entering middle age. How sad is that?"

"Aye, oh," Tony interjected, "these are my babies you're insulting here." The mood was tainted. It was supposed to be the time of joy, not… whatever he was dealing with now. "Look, we don't have to talk about this now, if you don't want. Let's just enjoy breakfast together."

"I'm not hungry," said Iz, standing. "I'm going back to bed."

"Me too," said Sam, following her brother's lead. "I need to sleep off this hangover."

And suddenly, it was only Tony in the kitchen again, except the joyful Christmas tune in his heart didn't come so easy to him now.

Tony was stress vacuuming their living room when Angela returned home a few hours later. He did not hear her enter, so she unplugged the vacuum to get his attention. Despite it no longer being on, he continued as if it were.

"Tony," said Angela gently, "what—what are you doing, honey?"

"I'm, uh, you know… vacuuming."

"Don't we pay Sofia to do that?"

"Yeah, well, she only comes twice a month, Ang," he said. "And as former housekeeper here, I can tell you it needs a little more care than that."

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"Why would you think something was wrong?" he said, attempting—and failing miserably—to hide his worries from her. She crossed her arms and stood her ground. He caved: "Except that… Baby Iz won't go on a date because he wants to perform with Springsteen, Sam thinks she's a middle aged loser—and I got Izzy all upset when I brought up school again..." He moved to the couch. She followed him. "But I want to see our babies happy, Angela. That's all it really is…"

"I was only gone for a few hours," she said in confusion.

"Sam thinks she's a failure just… just because she's on her second divorce," he clarified in a much calmer tone. "And Iz… He seems happy with this music stuff but, Angela, I don't know—I don't know. I just want to hug them and kiss them, and tell them everything will turn out okay."

"Well, Tony, life is what happens while we're busy making other plans," offered Angela.

His face quickly wrinkled into an affronting frown. "Angela, honey, they're gonna need a little more from us than John Lennon song lyrics…"

"Sorry, sorry. It was playing on the radio on my way home," she said. And they fell silent. Life was hard, yeah, but it could also be so beautiful. Sam and Iz were proof of the world's ability to make beautiful things. "You know, it's moments like these I really wish mother were still here," continued Angela after a moment.

"Tell me about it," agreed Tony, squeezing her hand gently.

"She would know exactly what to say, what to do."

"She'd either tell Iz to get a job," said Tony with a soft chuckle, "or take him to LA to get a record deal. Probably the latter."

"And she'd take Sam to a singles bar," Angela said. That was what happened when Sam divorced Hank, anyway. "I miss her so much," she continued softly. Tony felt his eyes water.

"That's the fourth time today I tried calling Jonathan," said Angela. She sat at the table while Tony prepared a few sandwiches for lunch. It seemed no one in their household had much of an appetite, however. "I think he's avoiding me."

"He's not avoiding you, Ang," said Tony. "He's on a different time zone. That's all."

"This is when I always call him—after his morning workout and right before he leaves for work—and he always picks up," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe he's busy."

"Too busy to speak to his mother," she said stubbornly, "and right before Christmas—if he doesn't pick up again, I'm leaving a very lengthy message on his voicemail."

"Angela…"

The door opened and Samantha emerged once more, looking clean and no longer wearing the same clothes as yesterday. "Hey dad, Angela," she said much more cheery than the greeting she gave them both that morning.

"Hey, sweetie, you feeling all right?"

Angela had her phone up to her ear, tapping her foot impatiently, but she managed to give Sam a gentle wave of acknowledgment.

"Yeah, much better now," Sam said, "after I've slept and showered."

"Hey, that's good. That's good," said Tony. "Lunch is just about ready…"

"Thanks, dad, but Matt and the kids just arrived at his brother's," she said. "I'm heading there now." She kissed his cheek and made to leave.

"Aye oh, wait—you're not leaving us now, are you? You just got here," said Tony.

"Like I said, we'll see you on Christmas…"

"Hello, Jonathan's voicemail," said Angela in a tone designated only to mother's scolding their children. "This is your mother calling, again…" She stepped aside to continue her message and allow Tony and Sam to continue their conversation.

"Eleven am sharp," he reminded. "Don't forget."

"It's a promise." She moved to kiss Angela goodbye, who accepted with little attention focused on her daughter.

Again, Sam attempted to leave but Tony stopped her. "At least take a sandwich for the road. You barely ate anything this morning."

She accepted with only the slightest bit of hesitancy before finally leaving.

Angela finished her message and turned back to Tony. "I cannot believe him. He's avoiding his own mother."

"Angela," said Tony, "he'll call when he can."

"He better." And she sighed when he gave her a look of concern. "He missed Thanksgiving, and this is the first Christmas without mother… I just miss him, that's all. And with everything going on, I wish I could at least hear his voice."

"Me too, Angela. Me too," he told her, feeling the void in his heart. "But—hey, we will. And we've got FaceTime…" They didn't have FaceTime when Jonathan first moved to Australia. It was remarkable how technology boomed since his days as housekeeper.

"It's not the same," Angela said with a knowing look, she crossed her arms and her eyes, oh how they glimmered. It really wasn't the same without him—without all of them, for that matter, especially this year. He was upset the kids, both grown and little, weren't there with them to celebrate, but at least they were still with family.

Tony leaned in for a kiss and she allowed it. Her head rested on his chest; his arms wrapped around her body. "Nothing feels the same this year, I know," he said after a moment. And he had a hunch all the kids agreed. They pulled apart when Isidore entered the kitchen, no longer in his pajamas. "Hey Iz," Tony greeted, shaking any bit of melancholy away. At least Isidore hadn't spent a Christmas away from them yet. "How about a sandwich? We've got ham or turkey, your choice…"

"Actually, I'm going bowling with a couple of the guys from high school," he said.

Tony felt a pain emerge in his gut. He should have realized he wasn't staying when he entered with his coat and hat on.

"Who's all going?" Angela asked, as if Iz were still thirteen and in danger of hanging with the wrong crowd.

"And will their mother's be there?" Tony teased.

To his surprise, their son let out a small laugh. "Just Nita and Frankie. Mark might be stopping by later. And no, their mother's will not be there."

"Okay… have fun," said Angela, though he could tell by the tone of her voice she wasn't too thrilled about him leaving either.

And Iz made for the door, but stopped suddenly. Tony had an urge to tell him to stay, to spend time with family instead. It was Christmas, after all. But he didn't want to be the one spoiling the kid's fun. They're only young once, right?

"Hey, um, do you think we can go look at Christmas lights tonight after I get back," Isidore said. "Like we used to do when I was a kid?"

Angela brightened. "I think… I think that sounds absolutely lovely."

"Cool," said Iz, opening the door. "I'll be back before six."

Some hours later Micelli party of three ventured out into the cold to drink overpriced hot chocolate and view Christmas lights from the comfort of their heated car. Just like Christmas of '95 through '06. They arrived back at their doorstep with bellies warm, their hands numb, and a cheerfulness only the spirit of Christmas could provide.

"I'm so glad the Donaldson's finally trashed that inflatable Santa," said Angela, wiping snow from her coat. "It looked like something out of a horror film."

"I always liked it," said Iz. "It never really felt like Christmas until Santa's demon eyes were staring into my soul."

"Yeah, well, the neighborhood association finally won that fight," said Tony as he unlocked their front door. "It only took about fifteen years." He held open the door, then followed Angela and Iz inside. "Here, let me get those," he mumbled, taking everyone's coats to put on the rack; Tony followed suit.

Angela and Iz made their way to the couch. She shivered, cuddling close to baby. And Iz wrapped his arm around her. "Oh, do you remember… when you were little," Angela said softly as Tony excitingly joined in the cuddling. Iz was now sandwiched between his parents. "We would cuddle like this in bed… and when you refused to sleep, we would kiss your sweet little face until you did." They quickly began kissing their son's face, like they used to all those years ago—except now he was trying to pull away instead of giggling. Life really did happen in a blink of an eye, didn't it?

The moment was interrupted when Angela's phone started ringing and she pulled away, but Tony continued kissing.

"Hello—hello, Jonathan, sweetheart," she answered with a soft laugh, and Tony finally pulled away. Iz wiped his face. "What have you been doing? I've been trying to call you all day." She turned to Tony, as if the voicemails she left on his phone wasn't confirmation enough. "Traveling? Did you drive to Melbourne to see Thomas's grandfather—how is he doing?" He was sick, last they heard. She nodded her head as Jonathan spoke on the other end. "Oh. He's dead?" She took a quick glance at Tony. "He's dead. I am sorry."

"Angela," said Tony with a huff.

She patted his knee as she continued the conversation with their son: "Package? No I don't think we got anything today—Tony, did we get a package?" she asked, turning to him. "He said it was supposed to arrive today—oh, tonight? Tonight. It was supposed to arrive by tonight."

"I don't think it's arrived yet," he said, going to check. He opened the door and could only see Jonathan with an arm full of presents and his phone up to his ear. No package. "Yeah, it's just Jonathan—tell him it hasn't arrived yet, Angela." He made to close the door. But Angela stood abruptly, mouth agape. He checked again. It was still just Jonathan—and, finally, it clicked: "Angela, honey… it's Jonathan!" said Tony, pointing. Thomas appeared behind him with more presents. "And Thomas—Angela, Jonathan and Thomas are here!"

"I can see that," she said, urging them inside out of the cold. "Come in, come in." They set the presents down and hugging and kissing commenced. "Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us you were coming?" she asked, taking him into her arms.

"You could have called," Tony teased. Angela rolled her eyes, but smiled.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Jonathan said, kissing his mother.

"And a surprise it was," said Tony with a kiss and a laugh. He led everyone toward the kitchen. "Hey, let's all go into the kitchen, huh? I'll cook up something real nice—did you eat yet?" It was funny how life continued on, how they could continue as if he was never away.

Everything settled quickly, and by Christmas Eve there seemed to be no more big surprises coming their way. Just last minute shopping trips and late night cuddling (mostly with Angela) by the fire. A typical Christmas in the Bower, mostly Micelli household. Sam and the kids were still in New York, but they FaceTimed daily. Christmas Eve was spent drinking wine and playing board games.

Tony insisted everyone go to bed early, so they could be up in time for when Sam and the kids arrived. He practically ran downstairs the next morning. And upon seeing only crumbs on the Christmas plate he set out for Santa (only moments prior), he couldn't help but get all giddy. "She came! She came!" he said as Angela emerged from the kitchen dressed in her bathrobe with a cookie in one hand and a half-drunken glass of milk in the other.

"She did," said Angela, kissing him tenderly. He wiped her milk mustache away. "And she thanks you… very much."

He took the glass of milk from her hands and placed it beside the empty plate as she took the last bite of cookie. "I love you," said Tony with a peck. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, honey."

The kids all came down one by one: first Jonathan, then Thomas just a second later—they had to call Iz down an hour or so later after Sam texted they were just around the corner. Jake and Lina burst through the front door before he even made it to the last step, and they jumped into Tony's arms.

"Hey, Jakey boy," Tony said, kissing Jake's cheek. "And my Lina Marie." He move to kiss Lina's cheek. Next, they went to Angela, who hugged them and kissed their little heads before guiding them to the proof that Santa indeed had visited. Matt and Sam entered a few moments later with more presents to add under the Christmas tree. Matt placed his hand on Sam's lower back, gently guiding her to the tree. And with raised eyebrows, Angela gave Tony a peculiar look. He moved on, showing the kids the bright lights on the Christmas tree. The next hour was dedicated to opening presents. Lina got rollerblades and Jake got a chess set, along with a million other things—Tony couldn't keep up with it all. But soon he was off preparing the Christmas feast.

"Lina Marie, sweetie, watch the vase…" called Angela with one foot in the kitchen and the other in the living room. The swinging door closed. She turned to Tony abruptly. "Tony, did you see them? They can't keep their hands off each other…"

"Well, that's what two people in love do, Angela," he said, holding her in his arms. "And Jonathan and Thomas are very much in love."

"Not Jonathan and Thomas," she said, playfully slapping his chest. "Sam and Matt—look…"

Together they peaked into the living room where Lina was rollerblading around the room and Jake and Jonathan sat playing chess. Iz watched on in the chair while Sam and Matt were sitting cozy on the couch chatting with Thomas—Matt's arm was around her; Sam's hand was on his knee.

"It was a very cordial breakup," said Tony when they returned to the kitchen.

"Michael and I were only ever that cordial when we were getting back together," she reminded.

"Hey, Matt's a much better guy than Michael," he said. "And he's a much better father, too… I mean, would it be so terrible if they did get back together?"

They paused for a moment, then began squealing like teenagers. And Iz entered the kitchen to the sight of his parents dancing around the room.

"You know, most kids have normal parents," said Iz, interrupting their celebration.

They stopped quickly. Tony returned to the stove. Angela went to the sink to start scrubbing dishes.

"Baby Iz," greeted Tony, clearing his throat. "Hey, you can help me peel the potatoes..."

"This is about Sam and Matt, right?" Iz questioned.

"Did you see them?" said Angela as they both excitingly ran to their son.

Sam entered the room and they went silent, returning to their previous tasks. She gave Iz a questioning look.

"Oh, um, I just told them I got… I got a job as a trash hauler here in Connecticut…"

Both Tony and Angela's heads shot up in surprise, but they masked it quickly to keep up the act.

"Welcome to the adult world, Baby Iz. It's hell." She kissed his cheek. "Jake wants some juice," she told them, going to the fridge. She poured the glass and headed for the door. "Really, congratulations," she told Iz as she left.

"You got a job, Isidore?" said Angela, returning to him. "I mean… you had a job—but you got a job? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't know. It's Christmas," he said with a shrug. "Look, Mark got me an interview. They needed an extra guy—and I'll still do gigs on the weekends. Not much has really changed."

"Hey, I'm happy for you. I'm happy for you," said Tony, "if this is what you really want."

"I mean… yeah," said Iz not so convincingly. "I don't really know what I want right now, actually."

Angela kissed his cheek. "We love you so much," she said with another kiss. "And, who knows? Maybe next year you'll be rocking out with Springstone."

"That's Springsteen, Angela," said Tony.

Iz smiled. "I'm going back out there," he said, gesturing toward the door. "Jake was six moves from checkmate—and I said I'd play winner."

"A job," said Angela when Iz was long out of ear shot. "The next thing you know, he'll have a mortgage and a wife."

"It's a long time before that, I think," Tony said, pulling her into his arms.

They kissed, and he pulled her in closer. "I love you and I love what we made together," she told him when they pulled apart.

"Hey it was fun making him too," he said with a mischievous giggle. But they made more than just Isidore. They made a life. They made love. Real love. "I love you too, honey. Merry Christmas."