"Hey ma! I'm home!" I heard the deep voice of my third son call. Stamping of feet in the foyer reminded me of just how snowy of a day it was and also that he was not alone.

Instantly I was on my feet, from the floor of my bedroom where I had been wrapping up birthday presents for Bosco's surprise party that we were throwing for him the following evening. I shoved the gifts under the bed and threw the sizzors and tape into my craft basket and set them on my dresser, making a mental note to go back later and hide the gifts in another place so that Bosco wouldn't find them and ruin the surprise. That man was worse than a hound dog when it came to finding things he wasn't supposed to find. When it came to finding everyday simple things, however, like his wallet or his keys or making his dirty laundry find it's way into the hamper, he was absolutely infantile.

It was December 23, and Bosco's 57th birthday party was bringing all of my children under my roof again. I was elated by the fact that they would all be in our home for three days and four nights. Christmas day was always a great time for us, but even more so because Bosco had been born on Christmas Eve. This was the first year we had thrown him a surprise party and I was confident that he wouldn't find out about it. It had been a while since we were all together for Christmas. Last year, Brett had been invited to stay at another professor's house for the holidays and the year before that, Mikey had been to Florida with his partner's family. This was the first time that everyone would be together since Emma had little Faith. I was so happy to finally have a big family Christmas, just like we used to.

I glanced at myself in the mirror and ran my hands over my hair. Satisfied, if nothing else, with my appearance, I hurried out into the hall and down the stairs.

There he was, standing in the foyer, gentle layers of snow covering his heavy sheep-skin winter coat and his blond hair, even on the tip of his nose. He was so handsome, so classically beautiful and charming, he took my breath away to see all that he had become in his twenty-four years.

He had gone to Harvard at eighteen years old to become a writer. He had done so well at his courses that when he finished there was a job waiting for him at the University. He had been teaching writing courses now for two years. Even before he had graduated he was teaching part time. He was making more money at twenty-four than I made in one year as a police officer. We were so proud of him, of everything he had done, of the man he had become. He was suave and debonnaire, chased after by so many women, and yet, he declined dates and social gatherings where he knew he'd been asked for the purpose of being set up with some girl, to stay at home with a woman who he claimed was just his best friend and roommate. There was no way on this earth that they could keep me believing that they were just friends and this trip was going to be the big pay off. I wasn't letting him go until he told me just what was happening between he and Carly Davis.

She was the daughter of our best friends, Ty and Sasha. She and Brett had grown up together. They had been best friends as long as I could remember and when they both turned eighteen they had gone off to Boston to go to school. She to Boston Bay and he to Harvard. I thought that they would each find someone else to spend time with and get serious about, but that never happened. As many times as Sasha or Ty or Bosco would ask, they would always get the stock response. Just friends and nothing more. Who did they think they were fooling?

And here she was, standing beside him in our foyer. Her arm linked through his. How fresh and lovely she looked in her five foot six frame, wearing a matching sheep-skin coat that reached her ankles with a brightly colored knitted cap on her head and scarf thrown about her delicate neck, contrasting beautifully with the rich color of her skin. She was sensational looking, every man's dream, with her dark eyes and ivory teeth. She was Sasha all over again, but for her eyes. She had Ty's dazzling bright eyes that could make any man melt. She had been valedictorian at their high school graduation. She was now a fashion designer with her own small shop near Cambridge. It was small but she was doing very well.

I took the steps two at a time until I was at the bottom. Brett's handsome face lit up as he gathered me into his strong arms and swung me off of my feet. I held onto him, relishing the feel of him in my arms, the smell of his aftershave, the way he would always be my little boy, no matter how old he got. He looked a lot like I imagined Charlie would have looked like if he had lived. Brett had a lot of his father's features, but he looked mostly like my side of the family.

"Ma, you sure you look great!" He cried, as he set me down on my feet again. When he smiled, he reminded me so much of his father. His eyes shone with that blue brilliance that would light up even the darkest room

"Not bad for an old broad, huh?" I grinned as I reached for Carly and pulled her into my embrace and squeezed her tight. "How you doin baby girl?" I asked as I pulled the knit cap off of her head and ran my hand over her ebony hair.

"Oh, just wonderful, Faith!" She squealed, hugging me back equally as tight. "You do look wonderful. When are Emma and Rob coming? I can't wait to see little Faith!"

"They'll be here after dinner. Have you seen your parents yet?" I asked as I helped her out of the sleeves of her heavy coat. I held it while she pulled off her gloves.

"No. We just got in and came right here. So, do you need help with anything?" She answered lightly, turning around and hanging her coat up in the closet. I had the feeling that there was something going on and that she was trying to avoid my question.

That was unlike them. They always went to see Ty and Sasha first, so much so, that it had begun to bother me by times that we were always left till the last. Bosco always told me to pick my battles, so I had never mentioned to either of them how much it bothered me.

Brett had already taken off his boots and was on his way down our long hall toward the kitchen. I knew he could smell the cookies I had baked earlier in the afternoon. He stopped and surveyed the livingroom, his hands on his hips, a trait he inherited from me and let out a low whistle.

I had decorated this year as if the Queen of England were coming to spend the holidays with us. I had always loved the Christmas season, but this year I had felt a real need to make my home homeier and more cozy. We had a large living-room with a bay window that faced the side of our house. It looked out to the gazebo that Bosco had built for me a few years back. It was airy and bright, with long flowing white curtains hung on wrought iron hangers. We had a fire place on one end with a sectional couch against the back wall. A wonderfully warm throw rug laid in front of that fireplace and on more than one occasion, Bosco and I had laid down on it drinking wine and talking into the wee hours of the morning. Namely, after one such occasion, a few months later we had a daughter.

We had many wonderful times in that room. Game nights, movie nights, family discussions and making of crafts and school projects. It was the place where you could find almost any member of my family when they were home. Even throughout the years, the kids brought all of their friends home and they all hung out in that room. The secrets those four walls held, must have been many.

Our tree that year was almost six feet high. It was decorated with over twenty sets of lights. I had strung pop-corn and cranberries as well and it added to the splendor. I had kept almost all of the ornaments that the kids had made in church or school and had found a way to incorporate them into the tree or around the room.

Candles burned brightly, giving the room a peaceful quality. The lights on the tree made the presents beneath it sparkle, making the contents inside even more beguiling. I had ornaments of santa and his reindeer on an oak table that had been passed down to me from my grandmother. They were seated on a red table runner and took up almost the entire middle section of the table.

All around the room were small oak side tables that matched our huge square shaped coffee table that Bosco had made during one of his many 'new hobby fazes'. During the years, Bosco had taken over a dozen classes to keep himself busy. Cooking, wood, ceramics. He had done it all. The only thing we actually kept in the house were the end tables and furniture he had built, which were all very professional and very impressive. The cooking, wasn't exactly edible and the ceramics....well...just weren't anything that I wanted in my house. They were kept in his shop in the garage. Anyway, on the side tables I had put out small candy dishes filled with chocolates and cookies and different Christmas candy, all on pretty lace doilies and red napkins. I really got into the spirit of things.

"Wow, ma! It looks just great in here. Just like when we were kids. Remember that Christmas when Kitza knocked over the tree and ruined half of the ornaments?" He asked, looking back at me and giving me one of his sweetest smiles.

I came up beside him and poked him playfully in the ribs. "I remember why she knocked over the tree. You and your brother chased her into it, if I recall."

I laughed remembering the kitten that the boys had found at their bus stop one winter just before Christmas. It was freezing outside and they felt sorry for her and brought her home. At first, Bosco refused to let them keep her. He didn't want a pet. They put her outside in a cardboard box filled with blankets sat inside the door, crying and looking out at her. She had pressed her sweet little face against the side windows that ran parallel to the door and peered in at them, crying to be let in from the cold. Both boys had gone to bed crying and terribly upset that night, afraid that they would wake up and find her frozen to death in the morning. After putting two inconsolable boys to sleep, I had marched into our bedroom to find Bosco and give him a tuning, and I couldn't find him. It took me fifteen minutes to figure out that he was in the garage. I had pulled on my warmest sweater and made my way out into the shop, where I found him working on a toy train he had been making for the boys for Christmas, the kitten right beside him on the workbench, eating a dish of tuna and drinking milk. Oh, how it had made me love him even more, to see him petting that kitten and talking to it as if it were a baby. When he heard me come in, he had turned around with his familiar grin. "Ya didn't think I would let a poor kitten freeze ta death, did ya?"

He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed tightly. " I can't believe she's gone. Every time I come home I expect to see her sitting in her chair." He said solemnly. Kitza had been hit by a car almost three years ago, and it still made me want to cry every time I thought of our precious little pet.

I leaned against his shoulder, melancholy for a long moment. Suddenly, I realized that Carly wasn't beside us. "Where did Carly go?" I wondered aloud.

He leaned back and looked down the hall. "I dunno. Probably went to the bathroom." He shrugged off my question. "She's been kinda under the weather lately, the flu I think. She's ok.. Don't worry ma." He winked at me.

I took the opportunity to look at my son, really look at him. He seemed very happy and content but I knew, just knew that something was going on!

"So, what's up with you and Ms. Davis? Neither one of you found anyone yet?" I asked as casually as I could, trying to put my mother radar on low, so as to not give myself away. As if they weren't together!

He groaned at my question and started off down the hall, with me close at his heals. "Ma, don't start! It's Christmas. Just leave it alone, please. And don't say anything embarrassing to Carly about it either." He lectured, his long legs making bigger and faster strides as he made his way into the kitchen. He grabbed a cookie off of the cooling rack and stuffed it into his mouth. He leaned on the counter, savoring the buttery taste of the scotch cookies I had made.

" Brett Charles Boscorelli! Don't you think for one minute that I'm gonna give up this time!" I admonished, my hands on my hips. "We all know that something is........" I was interrupted by the sound of the back door slamming and Bosco rushing through to greet our son.

The years had been kind to my second husband. He was going to be fifty-seven years old tomorrow and he didn't look a day over forty. His hair had just started to become more gray than brownish blond. The lines in his face were deeper, but I thought that made him look more sexy.He was still the love of my life and my best friend, and true to form, he could still irritate me like an awful rash.

He wore a blue down filled ski jacket with a dark blue scarf and matching hat that brought out the color in his eyes. In his arms were brightly colored packages which he deposited carefully on the cherry wood table top.

"Oh we all know.....that's right! We all know that your mother needs to mind her business! That's what we know!" Bosco cried out, coming around the side of the table to give our second son a big hug.

"Dad!"

It made my heart soar to see my husband and son grab each other and hug like they hadn't seen one another in years. Bosco had never so much as gotten a hug from his father, or the man who he had been lead to believe was his father, in his whole life. We had found out when Rose was on her death bed that Anthony was not Bosco's biological father. The news had been devastating and explained a lot to both Bosco and to myself. But Rose had passed on before she could tell him who his father was. It was always a terrible heart ache for Bosco and he never talked about it much, but I could tell it was the main reason why he was so affectionate to our boys. He had never played the macho card around them. He was manly, but loving and I knew how hard it must have been, considering he never had an example to go by, but that's what made me love him more. He was the best father I could have ever imagined for my kids.

"Has she been at ya already?" Bosco joked, winking at me as he hugged his son close. I rolled my eyes at him and crossed my arms over my breasts.

Bosco broke the hug and started to take off his jacket.

"Ya. But I can forgive her because she made my favorite cookies." Brett quipped, turning around and holding his arms out to me. Eagerly, I went to his embrace. Goodness knows, I never got to see him enough.

"Man, it's cold out there! I thought my ass was gonna freeze off before I could get this stuff in from the car. You should see the doll that I got little Faith! It actually talks and wets itself!" My husband gushed, indicating the largest package of all.

I laughed. "Bos, she's only a year old! Don't you think she's a little young for that?" I asked.

He turned around and wagged his finger at me. "She's not too young, I'll have you know. She's smart, Faith and she'll know exactly what to do with a baby doll. Sides, it was the cutest doll in the whole store!"

I'd been told. There was nothing that you could say to Bosco when he had made up his mind. I didn't mind, though. I was just so happy to have all of my family home, or almost all of them. It was only gonna be a matter of hours before all of my kids were home. The party was planned and all set for tomorrow. How lucky we were, how fortunate to have been blessed with a family so fine and loving. I just hoped that all of our tomorrow's were as sweet.

TBC