A/N: Apparently I was kidding about the epilogue being any shorter than the other chapters. I know, I know, you're all furious. The fate of anyone not mentioned here is unimportant in Eric and Sookie's lives. Thank you all so much for reading. This has been a great experience writing.
Christmastime, 2022, 10.5 Years On
I did know then, that this was my it. It was in that moment I recognized that we were exactly the right fit for one another, and that we would continue to be.
Eric and I did end up going back to the hotel that day to meet Pam and hear all about Anguilla and the resorts down there. She had a ton of notes and things to go through with Eric, and got highly annoyed at both him and me for our obvious distraction with each other throughout dinner. We didn't stay a night apart for the next three weeks and the weekend after Jason's wedding we flew to Seattle to pack him up. It took shockingly little effort which had made me sad. It had been very much a bachelor pad; very sleek and clean and very modern, and very empty. Most of his things fit into my, our, then sparsely appointed house in New Orleans, but the remainder had been shipped to Gran's and stored upstairs. I'd insisted it was really stupid for him to pay for a storage unit when there was that unused extra space.
It was about four months later on a Sunday when we were back at our favourite restaurant, sitting beside our friend the taxidermal gazelle, when he handed over a sheaf of newspaper with his finger on it telling me, "We should go see this today." It was the picture of a house in the real estate section, which I'd long since stopped taking to peruse when we divvied up the paper.
I'd raised my eyebrows at him. "You're buying a house?" I'd said.
"Well, I like our house, but eventually we are going to want something bigger, yes?"
"I guess?"
"So unless you want to build, which I'm assuming you don't, since you tend to prefer older buildings, we should really be looking as of now. This way we won't miss anything that comes up that's really good."
"Uh, sure," I said. It had struck me as a little weird but then again, I'd never given a lot of thought to the process of buying a house before. "Any particular reason we're getting the jump on this now?"
"I'm assuming we'll want to be able to move in right away once we are married. We'll not only have to find the right house, but then get any work done so it's all ready for us."
"Oh really?" I'd asked brightly. He'd just said it so matter-of-factly. "When's that happening then?"
"End of next summer? Otherwise we'd have to wait for winter break, right?" It was right before Thanksgiving.
"Seriously, Eric?"
"What, you don't want to?"
"Are you actually asking me?" I was about eighty percent grinning like the village idiot and twenty percent just shocked by his audacity in that moment.
"Ah yes," he'd said. And then he took out a ring box, and pushed the little wicker footstool out from in front of my chair and knelt and asked, "Sookie Stackhouse, will you marry me?" And he'd been wearing that shit-eating grin again, and I could only nod my smiling assent. I'd been so focused on him that I didn't even look at the ring itself until after he had put it on my finger. I don't know if that's normal, I know a lot of women are really excited about the ring. He'd chosen a pale, sky blue diamond encircled by smaller white ones, with a thin diamond band. It's very, very pretty. Perfect, really. Pam had helped.
Pam had gone ahead and bought one of the apartments in Amelia's second building, where she still lives. As for she and Amelia themselves, they'd somehow managed to strike the perfect balance of being not actually together as a couple, but still being consistent, well, lovers, for a good long while. As far as I know they no longer hang out alone, but they've managed to stay friendly. There's no awkward ex vibe between them. Amelia had eventually found Bob, and they seem to fit together perfectly well. He's very quiet most of the time, which compliments her propensity towards loudness very well. Pam is now dating a younger woman named Miriam who we have met a few times, and she is very nice. I think that Pam is quite serious about her, and I'm hoping that Miriam is actually as mature as she seems, and that the age thing doesn't become an issue down the line.
Lafayette had been offered a professorship at Tulane here in town, the prospect of which had thrilled him, not to mention Amelia and I, to no end. Unfortunately Rasul had been more or less unwilling to leave his job in Washington. It ended up being three months chock full of turmoil and frustration for both of them. The job offer had come right around the time Lafayette's grandmother had died and his mother had reached out to him. He was down here alone as Rasul couldn't join him. Then Lafayette's mother had shown her true colours yet again and they'd had their final falling out. Lafayette got back on a plane that very day after screaming at his mother, in response to her telling him that she blamed herself for his "turning out a faggot, because I loved you wrong," that she hadn't had a fucking clue what real love was, but he did, and it was waiting for him back west. He had proposed to Rasul that night. He'd been dead right on both accounts as far as I was concerned. Three years ago, they adopted their two daughters, half sisters, who were ages three and six at the time.
Pamela (by coincidence) and Mariposa are both absolutely gorgeous girls. They had the same mother but had two different fathers. Then as now. Their mother had been of Middle Eastern ancestry, and the fathers had both been black men, so there is a vague resemblance in the appearance of both girls to Laf and Rasul, as well as the cultural connections. The four of them make a beautiful family. Rasul's parents are as bad, if not worse, than Lafayette's. They still come to us in Bon Temps for Thanksgiving, every year. Jason was, at first, uneasy with Lafayette and Rasul as a couple. It was expected, since he had started out on shaky ground with Lafayette's stated gayness as a mere abstraction. Seeing it had been a different kettle of fish. Surprisingly, it was actually Crystal who bridged the gap.
"Oh thank God, you're not more perfect blonde people!" was verbatim, how she'd greeted them when they'd first met. In addition to being an instant ice breaker, that was an eye opener. I hadn't ever realized she'd thought of me, or Eric or Jason, in that way. Pam, I could understand. She'd come up with us that first year too. Amelia had been absent, having resolved to try having a holiday with her father. She'd been back with us for Christmas, in case you're wondering how it went.
After Crystal's declaration of brunette solidarity, she and Rasul had hit it off famously. Jason was more or less forced to be accepting after that. Happy wife, happy life. Crystal and Rasul talk all the time. The bottom line is, Lafayette and Rasul are family, and they're not just considered so by me, but by my family. Pam is too, albeit a little more reluctantly. Jason had never had the same issues with Pam being a lesbian that he had with Lafayette and Rasul being gay, which in itself made me want to thump him. Pam's standoffishness stems from the fact that she feels like the last single girl at the party at this point. When she lets herself, she's very much the cool aunt. Pam and "baby" Pamela (who is in fact now nine) together are an absolute riot.
Jason and Crystal are still at the Loudermilk place, which never ever did get renamed. Much to the delight of Calvin and Sassafras, my nephew and niece, they did finally put in a pool last summer. Calvin is the spitting image of my brother while Sassa is dark and rail thin like her momma. She's got our blue eyes though. She's going to be a heartbreaker. Heck, they both are. Their house is amazing, and even now Jason's always got something that he's working on.
After their wedding, it became Jason's singular mission to get the place up and ready before Calvin was born. He'd pulled it off, with a whole two days to spare. Crystal's water had broken while she was working on getting some stuff packed up at Gran's the following Saturday morning while Jason was out enjoying some much missed fishing. It had been me that she'd called when she couldn't raise Jason right away. The following Monday was the only sick or personal day I took for that entire school year. Eric had come with me. I tried to argue that he didn't have to, but he wanted to. Besides, he'd asserted, he would get us there faster. That trip up had also been the first time that I was with him when he got pulled over for speeding. He'd managed to talk his way out of his biennial ticket by telling the officer that his sister was having a baby right this minute. He had taken my phone right out of my hand to show off the pictures Jason and Crystal had just sent of Crystal, ready to pop, standing in front of the house. It had worked as proof. Eric was, and remains, a smooth talker. And he had only been sort of lying, since we were engaged by then. 'My future sister-in-law by marriage' is a lot clumsier to say and sounds a lot less urgent than just 'my sister.'
We'd hurried for good reason as it turned out, because there'd been an irregularity with Calvin's heartbeat which they said indicated distress. Rather than wait it out, the doctors had pushed her to have a caesarean section. I've got an opinion on that now, but at the time we'd taken them at their word and worried and panicked and let them bully Crystal. My opinion is that they'd performed an unnecessary surgery, in case that wasn't clear. Calvin had come out perfect, regardless. Later when Sassa was due, Crystal had done a scheduled caesarean. I've got an opinion on that as well, but I only arrived at it after Geir came. I'd had seventeen hours to earn the right to that opinion, but I'd only ever shared it with Eric and the nurse in the delivery room.
Geir is four. Gunnar is seventeen and a half months. We totally nailed it both times. Geir was born on June thirtieth and Gunnar on July ninth. I'd been able to finish out the school year both times, though by the skin of my teeth the first time around. In the very beginning, Eric used to hate back-to-school time, because it meant that I wasn't around as much after the summer. Once we decided to have kids, the autumn became unbridled let's-knock-Sookie-up sex-season, which is now his very favourite season, and mine too, if I'm telling it true. We have a bit less sex now overall. I haven't done a proper survey but I'm pretty sure I'm still getting it a lot more than some of my peers. Eric is still hot. He is possibly more attractive than he ever was. He is like Sean Connery or George Clooney in this way. He'll still be getting the girl at age eighty. Well, provided the girl is me. Otherwise, that is not going to fly. I am not actually worried about that. Eric doesn't have a wandering eye. We have had our issues, but infidelity has never been one of them.
He cut his hair after Geir was born. It's not super short, but it's short. That had taken some getting used to. The party line is that Geir had pulled and tugged and chewed on it, or more deprecatingly, that the arrival of his first son had indicated to him that it was time to grow up. The truth was that it was starting to thin out a little bit, and he didn't want to get anywhere near being balding ponytail guy. He wasn't, by a long shot, but he called it a preventative measure. I'm a little different now too. The days of size eight on a good day are gone. I'm a ten, or a twelve, now. Two children on, I don't think my boobs could fairly be called perky anymore. Eric is still their number one fan, though. We stay healthy and active, but neither one of us works out as much we used to. We're a slightly softer version of us. We're okay with it. He's still really strong, just not as cut and rippled.
I'd done the summer program for three years after I started at Peterson, but after that I handed off the reins to someone else. I'd truly enjoyed it for the time I did it, but Eric travels a lot in the summers and I wanted to be able to go with him. He makes a point of visiting all the hotels during the busy season, even if it's only for an overnight. He doesn't tell them when we are coming. The Northman Group has increased by two since Eric took it over, and yes, I'm referring to the hotels, not our little brood, though I suppose it's true in both cases. He did end up hiring that architect to build in Hawaii about a year after he purchased it. He'd said he honestly hadn't intended to, but he kept coming back to the design and he had really wanted to see it come to be.
He'd also gotten one in Budapest of all places. They're very big into the spa culture there, the thermal mineral baths and all of that. It's Pam's new favourite. Inge has been there too. Of course she is still around, and yes, she's sharp as ever. She definitely does not move like she did. Stairs are almost completely out at this point. She can still do the front ones, if she's on the railing and has someone to steady her other arm. She insists on keeping this up out of sheer stubbornness. We use the wheelchair for all outings anymore and lately she's been using it in the house and to get out on the patio. Greta is still with her. She's really more of a companion at this point than anything else. It's been an interesting transition. Greta is just at retirement age, but we've had the blunt discussion, and she intends to stay on with Inge, 'til the end, or at least so long as she is able. "Inge will outlive us all," is the lie we cheerfully refrain. The fact of the matter is that it's coming, and it's going to hit all of us very hard when it does. They have another girl coming in the mornings to help with the cleaning, but Greta still cooks. We've had a registered nurse coming thrice a week for the last few years. Inge had a nasty bout with the flu one winter and, well, the woman's nearly a hundred. There are lots of minor health problems and we want to be sure she's well looked after. Once we found a nurse that she liked, which had taken a few tries, we just kept her on.
When I became pregnant with Gunnar, and after speaking with Eric about it, she made some alterations to her estate that include her remaining part ownership of the Northman Group coming to me, after her death. It was the last hurrah for her plotting and planning. It took a while for Eric with Inge, but we got there in the end. It may have been her age finally starting to catch up to her that did it, or perhaps a few years of Eric walking in Sten's shoes that changed his perspective a bit. I think it's a bit of both but I give the most credit to Geir and Gunnar. Gunnar is the miniature version of Eric, and has just learned to identify his Fahma. Geir takes more after the Stackhouses. He greatly resembles both Jason and Calvin, though with hints of Eric. Gunnar is just the opposite, sharing features with Viktor and Eric with just the faintest traces of me. Both are tall for their respective ages. Having babies around the place seemed to take the rest of the guile out of Inge. I honestly cannot determine if she is merely too distracted by her great-grandbabies to exert her cunning anymore, or if the children have literally absorbed all of her mischief into themselves. I am leaning toward the latter. Geir is already becoming a master of the clever use of words. He no longer spills or breaks anything. These things just happen. He is merely an innocent and uninvolved observer in this harum-scarum universe.
He's also taken to complimenting me when I have to scold him, which I secretly (secret from Geir, anyway) find hilarious. He can only have picked that up from Eric, and it's highly amusing that even a four year old can lay him bare. Eric claims this is only possible because Geir is his four year old. Eric is a really good dad. Not that I have a lot to compare him to, but as far as I can tell, he's great at it. For starters, when he is home, not travelling that is, he is always home by six o'clock. Always. When he has to be away and we can't go, there is a standing appointment for video chat at six. Geir is going to be starting kindergarten soon, but both boys already go to a play group in the mornings. We have a nanny in the afternoons.
Yes, we have a nanny. Yes it was a bit of an argument, and yes, I lost. I really like Carmen. It was the idea of her I was unsure about in the beginning. She gets the boys from play and does their lunches and minds them for three hours every day until I get home. I wanted to keep working. Teaching makes me feel good. Not that mothering doesn't. It totally does, don't mistake me. But I also enjoy my work. I feel that, in a small way at least, it is important work, and I wanted to continue it. So I have. And the compromise is that instead of sticking our children in what Eric termed, 'indifferent daycare' all day, they go this very pricy developmental play centre in the mornings, and then come home with Carmen in the afternoons.
We have a maid, too. She's been with us since we were renting the little house from Madge Batiment. Incidentally, Madge's daughter Eloise did finally marry and through no help of her mother's at that. She married the owner of the good bakery here in the Garden District. He is an amazing pastry chef and even did a little demo on the food channel once. They have daughter Geir's age. She's in our same play group.
The maid thing had also been an argument that I had lost, on the grounds of it being Eric's contribution to the housekeeping. Initially, Stella had come in twice a week. Then when Eric bought the house that became three times a week and longer visits. Once I got big with Geir, we just hired her full time, so she's with us every weekday from nine until seven, though often enough I'll send her home early. Geir is getting old enough to help me with dinners and cleaning up afterwards, and he is responsible for keeping his toys and clothes off the floor. We might be able to afford servants, but I'm not raising my children to rely on them. I'd kind of thought it was a joke about Eric not being able to do his own laundry until he moved in. Yeah, not so much. I had taught him though. He or I do our underwear even though Stella does a lot of the rest. I just never really got comfortable with other people touching my intimates.
There are no servants at the Bon Temps house unless you count the very occasional babysitter, which I don't, or Terry, which I don't really. He's a local guy who knew our dad, once upon a time. He's a Vietnam Vet, and a little bit scarred from that. Jason hires him out from time to time for projects at the Loudermilk place and we have done the same where we could on some of the many renovations we've done at Gran's. He's something like our caretaker, I guess, since Jason and Crystal don't always have time to get over and check on the house. We ship all the Christmas presents ahead of time, otherwise we wouldn't have room in the car, so he's been over this week to make sure they got inside and will have done the airing out, since no one's been over there in a few weeks.
We are up there for the holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter) and for at least two weeks in the summers, and weekends as often as we can get away which unfortunately is not as much as any of us might like. Five hour car rides with two small children are hard. Lately Eric has been talking about getting his pilot's license and I'm pretty sure he isn't just kidding. I do not know if he actually intends to pursue that as a means of transportation, or if he's just looking for a new way to fuel his need for speed. I'm not sure how I feel about the former. It certainly would be convenient if we could fly from New Orleans into the little airfield about twenty minutes away from Gran's, but I'm not sure if that would be practical or cost effective. He flies a lot for work and it's possible he's hoping to be able to fly himself for those trips, too. I don't like the idea of that at all, since he's long been in the habit of using flight time to catch up on whatever sleep he's missed lately. I don't want him even attempting it if he's tired, and he's practically conditioned himself to be so when he gets on a plane. It's something we need to talk more about.
He still drives a flashy little Corvette, though it's been updated three times now. Geir loves riding in the 'dad car,' even though he's not supposed to. It has no back seat so his booster has to go in front which is technically a no-no. That's not my rule, that's a government advisement that has to do with Geir's safety in case the airbags deploy. This is one of my conflicts as a parent, when the rules and the advice do not always match up perfectly to our situation. I trust my husband implicitly behind the wheel, with his life and mine and with the lives of our children. Eric has not so much as backed into a curb in the entire time we've been together. He is an excellent driver. His insurance premiums are still ridiculously high, but that's because of the cars he drives, not his driving. So even though you're not supposed to, Geir is allowed to ride in the Corvette with him very occasionally. It is considered a big treat. Please don't report us to child services or anything.
The 'vette is far superior in my children's eyes to my 'mom car,' which is a rather boring four door sedan. It has very high safety ratings and Eric can tolerate driving it when he must. We have talked about getting a larger vehicle, and he's been looking at Range Rovers. It will become a necessity once the boys get a little bigger. I had the Rabbit for four years before the transmission spontaneously died and Eric had pushed me to get something new and by that he didn't mean a Kia. He had used the precious cargo argument and I had let him win that pretty easily.
The money thing has been an issue at various times. I didn't sign a prenuptial agreement when we married. I'd offered to. Actually, I'd simply assumed that I would and when I asked him about it he got well and truly angry with me and had gone off about how could I even be thinking about divorce and how I shouldn't have accepted his proposal if I was unsure. I'd been at a loss for what to say to that and had eventually dissolved into tears and confessed my whole slew of insecurities regarding his wealth for really the first time ever. The closest we'd ever come before had been the night when a hormonal Crystal had run her mouth but he'd been too annoyed with her at the time to let me get too far into my feelings on the subject. So I'd had my little breakdown, the result of which was me being able to explain my side of things to him. In response he'd explained that he had some similar feelings and that he didn't want to be judged or made to feel uncomfortable for coming from wealth any more than I did for not coming from it.
Viktor, on the other hand, had wanted me to sign a prenup and had gone so far as to have one drafted which he had approached me with, showing up at the Batiment house one day in the little window of time between me getting home from school and Eric getting home from the office. I had been so distraught over what to tell Eric that I forgot to even hide the papers so how to tell him became a moot point when he found them right there on the counter. I had to endure about sixty seconds of his fury before I screamed back that they were from his father. So that's why Viktor wasn't at our wedding, and why Eric didn't speak to him again for three years.
We basically agreed to just ignore the money thing most of the time. We had a joint checking account and joint savings accounts, and I had gritted my teeth until I could simply accept that the amounts that he added were just going to be hugely larger than the amounts I added. He didn't think about it and I shouldn't either. We deliberately kept the checking balance low, well, relatively. Compared to the savings and the IRAs that Eric had set up for us not to mention the investments, it was low. The point is, we're rich, but we try very hard to pretend that we're a lot less rich than we are, if that makes sense. Our extravagances are things for our family. Stella and Carmen. Our house in New Orleans. Our house in Bon Temps. My car. Our accompanying Eric on his trips so that we can be together.
I still catch myself being uneasy about making large purchases. At one point my laptop had died. I was going without for a week until Eric noticed the amount of attention I was paying to my phone, since I was using it as my substitute for all my email and internet stuff for school. I'd gotten a nice long lecture about necessities for that one, and he had dragged me out at ten o'clock at night to go to one of these tech stores and buy a replacement. He'd used the emergency credit card, the one with no limit, just to make a point about what he considered important. Necessities for our day to day lives and respective work fell into that category. There'd been similar issues with all manner of things. The fact that there is money to freely spend if we so need or choose is something I'll just never be accustomed to. I don't particularly want to, either, but I'm trying to strike the balance. Now, when it comes to things that fall into the realm of essentials (albeit by the standards of our privileged life), I try my best not to hesitate. When it comes to the boys, I don't.
By contrast, some of his spending has also left me appalled. About a year after we were married he updated his Corvette. He just came home one day with the new one, which he had bought without telling me. He had only mentioned it once, and I hadn't really picked up on the fact that he was actually serious about getting a new car, since the blue one he'd had at the time was perfectly fine. So that had been an argument, and one that I had won, sort of. He'd acknowledged the fact that if I had to treat the money as our money, then he was beholden to same standard, and as such decisions on very expensive non-necessities need to be discussed. He'd offered to get rid of it, but that would have been a stupid solution, because of course he wouldn't get back the price he had paid for it, so he kept it.
Eric's old cars have all been donated to charity. Despite his general interest in automotive things, Eric does not watch a lot of motor sports. When he does, he prefers FIA (which is what his beloved Prince of Thurn and Taxis used to race in) to Nascar. Jason has tried over the years to get him into it but it's never really taken but for one exception. For Jason's birthday one year, Eric and he had gone to meet and spend a day at the track with Jeff Gordon, who's apparently a pretty famous driver. (That had definitely been an extravagance, but he'd gotten my okay before he'd done it. It still amazes me sometimes how well he and Jason get along.) Anyway, that driver and Eric had totally bonded over their mutual Corvette love. He did a charity raffle every time he replaced his, and so Eric has donated his cars to the same cause, three so far. We also make annual donations to his foundation now, which serves children suffering from cancer. They're not actually friends or anything, more of acquaintances. I've met him and his wife at a couple of charity events since then, and they seem like good people. Jason still has the picture of the three of them from that day hanging up in his den. It's kind of funny because the driver is really short, only an inch taller than me. Standing between Eric and Jason he looked positively dwarfed. I'd giggled the first time I saw it and then either of them had looked at me and basically said, "Uh, and what do you think you look like standing between us?"
Jason had taken some of the old pictures from Gran's house over to their place when they moved in. They supplemented what he had lost in the fire. Their den was full of pictures of our family. One of my favourite sets was in a four square frame. It contained one of Crystal and Jason's wedding pictures, which had been shot under the verdant oak arbour in what was now their driveway. There'd been one taken in the same spot the day that Jason had "finished" the house and Crystal was huge with Calvin, and one taken a couple of years later when Calvin was a toddler and Crystal was huge with Sassafras. Then the last was the four of them. There were a lot of other good ones. Sassafras and Pamela holding hands and noses and caught mid-jump last summer when the pool had first been opened. Eric with Sassa in his lap and baby Geir in the crook of his arm, all three of them passed out in Jason's comfy chair. Calvin holding Gunnar for the first time. The picture of Jason in Eric's lap trying to recreate the exact same pose, right next to it.
Eric is still pretty bad about his casual spending when it comes to his gadgets. He still comes home with a new phone practically every other month, let alone some of the tablets, cameras, and other devices. He loves cool little toys and his study is full of things that he doesn't really utilize despite the fact that every year he gets given a box to go in there and load it up for donations. And the problem now is that he's shopping for three. Or seven, if you count the cousins, which is a whole other issue. It was just great when Crystal had been telling Calvin no new video game system for two months straight, all the while saving to be able to give it to him for Christmas - and then have Uncle Eric show up with the thing one weekend out of the blue. He honestly had not seen the harm in the situation. Calvin had wanted it, Crystal had not been fundamentally opposed to him having it, so Eric provided it. He had read an article about it and wanted to play with it anyway. And of course Jason was no help. He just plonked down and played with them. The fact that Calvin now had evidence that Eric would give him things when his mother had said no had completely passed him by. Not to mention how Crystal felt being reminded that she couldn't do this for him even if she would have been inclined.
That had been a fight. Not between Crystal and Eric. This only happened a couple of months ago, and by now she knows him well enough to see he hadn't meant to do harm. No, the fight was between Eric and I, because Eric spoils the children. They're getting old enough now to actually notice. I know that he does this in part because his parents were assholes (sorry) and instead of loving him they pushed money and things at him, and in part because he does love them and wants them to have all the things that they want. He does this with me as well. He always has. I still get lots of flowers, bath things, and even jewellery. It's always accompanied by sentiments I know he means, "I love you, I miss you," and every once in a while, "I'm sorry." It's almost like the gifts are meant to back up the statements though, instead of just accompanying them. I miss you, and these lilies are proof!
Lest I come off sounding ungrateful, I need to clarify that I know that having a husband who gives too much is a really petty concern in the scheme of things. I am lucky, we are lucky, that we're in a position where things like this even crop up as "problems." There's a lot I could just let go. But I don't. Because I am stubborn, and so is he. I also need to clarify that in spite of my complaining, things with Eric and I are really good. He remains as sweet as ever, in his own, "I thought the fact that I'm madly in love with you was very obvious," kind of way. Thinking of him makes me smile. I feel like that's the benchmark, simple as that.
Christmas this year is going to be difficult. I've got the kids packed up, and Amelia will be here any minute. She and Bob are going to take them up to Jason and Crystal, because Eric and I are going to France tonight. I am hoping we will be able to be back in time to meet them for Christmas morning, but if we don't, we will be there on video, and then we will celebrate with them back down here in January when we do Little Christmas with Inge. That's how we do it. We tried Fahma in Bon Temps one year and it just didn't work for anyone. We smiled through it, but we're a little too down-home for her, and she's a little too uptown for us. So we leave her to be entertained at home by her nieces and nephews and all their children, and we get together to celebrate with her after we get home from Bon Temps.
Eric's mother is dying. Alone. At Christmas. So we're going. Eric flat out refused to ruin the holiday for our children, whom she has never met, by dragging them out of the country to fidget in a hospital waiting room. They're going to stay with their aunt and uncle, cousins, and "Auntie A and Mister Bob." Eric's mother has never been a part of our lives. We did not know that she was sick. Eric and I have seen her exactly twice in the last ten years; once just after we were married, and once when I was pregnant with Geir. On neither occasion did she express any particular interest in being a part of our lives.
Viktor, in his screwed up fashion, has been coming around by inches. After the long estrangement, he came to see us at the hospital when Geir was born. He demanded Geir's social security number so that he could set up a trust for him. He has done the same for Gunnar. He adds funds to these on their birthdays and holidays and sends cards informing them of this. Geir prefers even clothes to these gifts. Clothes rank below books, which rank below toys, on the scale of preferable presents. Viktor is known to Geir simply as "Grandfather," but he has at least seen him enough that Viktor is known by anything at all. Gunnar is still stumbling over a word that long, but he gets close to it when we show him the one picture we have of Viktor in the house. It's one that Pam took of Eric and him standing side by side at the little window that looks in on all the babies in the nursery at the hospital. Eric is pointing to Geir while Viktor stands all stiff and impassive, but there's awe in his eyes, which is why I kept the picture. He is no longer married to Ana. Anyway, the point is, even his limited involvement with us has been more than Claire's.
She is dying of lung cancer, apparently. We had not known until two days ago that she was sick. She had not called us. It had been a nurse at the hospital who did. Michelle's English wasn't great so we'd spoken in French, and she explained that she had been looking over Claire for two weeks now. When prompted, Claire had apparently confessed that she had not been a part of her son's life for many years, and so felt it would be inappropriate to call him now. Michelle had decided that the best she could do from the standpoint of providing quality end of life care, was to contact Eric. He'd still been at work when the European calling code came up on the house phone, and I'd just gone ahead and answered it, because why would someone from Europe be calling us in the middle of the afternoon? Note to self: It's probably not good news.
Eric had told me the story of the time that his mother and father had left him to lie alone in the hospital at Christmas years ago, and while a teeny tiny part of me worried that he'd see this as some sort of poetic justice, rationally I know that the man I love is not so cruel. There's a lot of anger there. It's not just from Eric, but from me as well. How she could ever throw this man away, be indifferent to him, was beyond me. It's a little different with Viktor. He's always wanted Eric, at least in the sense that he's always wanted Eric to be what he wants Eric to be. That makes for tension and resentment, and staying away out of frustration. With Claire it's just cold and heartless. She sent him away as a child, left him alone when he needed her, and never concerned herself with returning to see if all was well. The only redeeming thing I can say to her credit is that at least she knew she had no right to call him to her side in this hour.
We're not going for her. We're going for Eric. If the call had come five or six years ago, maybe we wouldn't be going at all. But Eric's a father now, and he feels differently about a lot of things concerning family. I like to think I've helped him with that too, not just by giving him children, but by showing him love. Maybe I'm taking too much credit there. I don't know, my head is all over the place today.
Three things happen almost simultaneously. The doorbell rings, my phone chirps, and Geir comes in the room. I scoop him up with a groan and fish my phone out of my pocket with my other hand.
"Stella? That's going to be Amelia, could you please let her in?" I call out, stepping into the hall with Geir on my hip. He's already more than half the length of me, and heavy. In the past year or so we've been consciously trying to pick him up like this less often. He's getting a bit old for it. He's not "the baby" any more, and we need to show we're not treating him like one. Also like I said, the kid is getting heavy. Eric still picks him up and throws him around a bit, into the pool or onto the bed or the couch, or to catch him again. They love those games. I love that game too, in a very different context. Tonight is special though, because we're going to be apart for a few days. I put my phone up so he can read the message along with me.
"It's from dad!" he says, recognizing Eric's name.
"What does he say?" I ask.
"On...my...why," Geir reads.
"Way," I correct.
"On my way," he states. "He is coming?" he asks excitedly.
The message says that he is on his way home from the office and asks me not to let Amelia and the kids leave before he gets here.
"Sounds like it," I smile. "Where did you leave your brother?" I ask. Gunnar is in the room next door in his play pen. The baby monitor is on in there and the other end is clipped to my front pocket.
"In the cage," he answers.
"Is he sleeping?" I ask. I hope not. I kept him up through his normal naptime today so he'll sleep in the care with Amelia and Bob.
"No, he's chewing," he says. Geir doesn't really get the concept of teething, and why Gunnar is constantly putting things in his mouth. He is sounding sulky. He also missed naptime today.
"Everything okay, Geir?" I ask. He buries his face in my chest. That's a "No."
"Are you sleepy? You can sleep in the car on the way to see Calvin and Uncle Jas if you want." He's got his favourites.
"Why aren't you coming?" he asks.
I sigh. "Honey we talked about this last night. Do you remember what we said?"
"But why can't you just see Fahma another time?" he complains.
I can hear that Stella has let Amelia and Bob into the foyer so I go back into Geir's room and sit us down on the bed.
"We're not going to see Fahma, Geir. Fahma is Grandfather's mother, yes?" He nods. It had been tough getting this explained, because we've got a whopping one grandparent and one great-grandparent between the two of us. "We're going to see Claire. That's your Dad's mother."
"But why doesn't she just come to us?"
I sigh. We have definitely already had this conversation. "Because she is too sick to get out of bed and she lives far away. Do you remember where Claire lives?" And how we discussed this all last night?
"France."
"Mmhmm. And what's in France?"
"Claire."
"Very funny, wise guy," I say, tickling his ribs. "What else? Any other thing from France."
"Cheese?" he asks after a moment.
I laugh. He'd tried brie for the first time the other day. "Okay, true enough." I'd been hoping to slightly distract him, but it hasn't really worked.
"I want you and Dad to come with us to Christmas," he says.
"We want to come too, Geir, and hopefully we will get there in time. But just in case we don't, we will see you on the computer, just like when Dad has to go on a business trip."
"Then I'll miss you," he says, and wraps his arms around my neck. It is the saddest and sweetest thing I have heard all day. Amelia saves me from tears when she appears at the door.
"Hey Top Geir!" she chirps. "Ready to go?" Like many people, Amelia says Geir's name wrong. It's like Gee-yearr, but fast. Gear is pretty close, but she misses the very soft y sound and the extra bit of r. It could be worse, she could be saying it like Gay-er, as people sometimes do until they are corrected. We settled on this name for three reasons. First, all the men in his family have names that reflect their heritage. Eric had gotten the 'c' in favour of the more correct spelling with a 'k' because Viktor had disliked the un-Americanized version of his own name, and had insisted. Second, because it means spear, and Eric felt that was badass. Third, because having an unusual name gives you character. I, Sookie, will attest to that personally. Gunnar is named in the same vein. His means warrior, basically.
Geir just hugs me tighter so I rub his back and give Amelia a little smile before I pry his arms free and set him down on the floor.
"Geir, will you take your backpack downstairs please and wait for Dad?"
Without another word he does so, only giving Amelia a pat on the leg as he walks by her, not a proper greeting. Normally I would correct his manners, but we're just making exceptions all over the place today.
"He's mad, huh?" she asks.
"Sad and confused," I say. "I think he'll be okay once they get up there with the cousins. He's just weirded out that we're not leaving with you. Thank you again for driving them up, by the way."
"Well it's on our way," she shrugs with a grin. "Thanks for inviting Bob."
"So listen, I'll call you first thing in the morning, your time tomorrow, at Gran's. You have the keys, right?"
"I have the keys."
"And you know the alarm code?" Eric had insisted, when we found out I was pregnant the first time.
"Three Eight Two Four," she recites. Our anniversary, with a three in front, like a heart. Yeah, I know it's corny, but it's easy to remember. We'd gotten married in Anguilla, with just our very close friends-and-family in attendance.
"Alright, let me go get Gunnar."
She follows me into Gunnar's room, where he is indeed chewing on the tail of a plush dinosaur. I scoop him up and take him over to the changing table so he leaves fresh. We do a mix of cloth diapers and the disposable ones. Disposable ones at play group and whenever he's in the care of anyone besides Carmen or I, which is not often. We've got a supply up there in the nursery, which is what became of the other first floor bedroom, the one that had once been mine. I've also got his bag packed full of them. I'm not subjecting Amelia and Crystal to the ordeal of the cloth ones. Eric and I have a thing about throwing away plastics. As in, we try not to as much as possible, but this is a special situation. Over my shoulder I chat idly about the fact that Geir is wearing training pants just in case he has an accident. He's been potty trained for over a year now, but he still has the occasional accident, and he's upset today, and there's a car ride... I explain all this to Amelia and she just nods, accepting the airing of my worries. She'd more or less resigned herself to not having children of her own, a decision she was comfortable with, until she met Bob. Now, though she hasn't said so formally, I think that door might have cracked open again. We'll see how it goes.
I click off the monitor and unclasp the other side from my belt and tuck both components into the baby bag. I hand it off to Amelia and we head downstairs. Everything else is packed and ready in the foyer. Actually it's probably been loaded into their car by now, since I've heard Bob and Geir come in and out a couple times with my supersonic mom-hearing. I'd once thought old-lady superpowers were a joke, but I'm coming into them myself now, slowly but surely. That, or I'm just hyperaware of my children. I prefer the superpower theory. I'm also stronger on whole than I ever was, and I have the ability to instantly fall asleep during the first sign of an uninterrupted half hour's time now, too.
"I talked to Arlene today, she said to tell you Merry Christmas," Amelia says.
"Oh! How are Coby and Lisa?"
"Driving their mother up the wall, but that's nothing new," she grins.
Arlene and Whit divorced right after Lisa was born, about seven years ago now. He'd cheated, and left her for the mistress. That had been another hard time. She'd gone back to live with her parents for about six months, but now she and the kids have a nice little house of their own and she works as a curator in the Capital Park Museum up there. It's not a very high-paying job, but Arlene's father had ensured that she receives what was termed a "hearty" amount of alimony and child support. I hadn't pushed for details there, but she also has a nanny, so let's assume she's okay in that respect.
"Gotta love school vacations," I quip. Since my kids are not in school yet anyway, and since I am a teacher, I actually do love school vacations.
Geir and Bob are nowhere to be seen downstairs so I shift Gunnar to my other hip and pull open the front door. Eric's home and he's got Geir hanging off him while he talks to Bob in the driveway. I wave to them and just leave the door flung open. I'm not trying to rush him despite the fact that I'm sure Amelia and Bob would like to get on the road. He takes the hint immediately though and shakes Bob's hand before coming along inside.
"Ah, where is my second son?" he asks coming in the house. "Where is Gunnar?" he asks loudly, as though Gunnar's eyes have not been fixed on him since he spotted him through the door. Gunnar starts to pull away from me waving his arms out. "Oh there he is," Eric smiles, and leans over to take Gunnar from me, kissing me as he does.
He hefts a boy in either arm and asks me pointedly what I have been feeding them before settling down on the bench in the foyer. I take this as my cue to go and put the car seats into Amelia's SUV. She follows me out, and I show her how each of the two have to be situated. Amelia tactfully goes over to help Bob check the contents of the trunk while I go back in to fetch the kids.
Geir is standing between Eric's legs looking, dare I say, a bit more confident, as he nods in response to whatever fatherly message has been conveyed in my absence. They look up as I come in and Eric gives Geir a quick one armed hug and then nudges him toward me.
"Go to your mother," he tells him. Geir comes over and hugs my legs and then takes my hand to lead us all outside. We pack the boys into the car and Amelia and I hug and I promise again to call them first thing in the morning and then they are gone and we wave them away, Bob giving the horn a little beep-beep as a final goodbye. I wrap my arms around Eric, feeling sad, and he pulls me to him and kisses the top of my head.
"They'll be fine," he assures me.
"I know," I agree. We stand for another moment until I sigh remembering that we sent them away for a reason, and we have a plane to catch tonight. "You need to get in the shower," I tell him.
"Are we all packed?"
"Yes, and the car is coming in an hour."
"Do you have time to join me?" he asks, turning us toward the house. I take a second to think that over before deciding it's probably going to be our last chance to have anything resembling a nice time alone for a few days and nod. His hand drops from my waist to my hip to my ass and he squeezes, giving a low rumble that never fails to make me feel sexy. He goes ahead upstairs and I say goodbye to Stella, pressing her holiday bonus into her hands as she leaves and telling her we'll see her next month. She won't be back until a day before we are, almost two weeks.
With my back against the wall standing on the low step that rings our shower basin, my other leg raised on the marble bench, I cling to Eric as he thrusts into me. He covers my mouth with his, silencing my moans as he pulls my hand from around his neck and leads it down between us. He is close and wants to be sure I come as well. I arch further into him, feeling confident in the firm grip he's got on my hips as I bring myself up to speed and I feel his pace quicken. I scrabble at his shoulders, whimpering into his mouth as I quickly feel myself cross the point of no return and shudder around him as my pleasure overtakes me. He is right behind me, finishing with a low groan. I still cling to him for another moment but I relax my fingers so my nails are no longer digging into his back.
He leans to kiss me once he's done riding his high. "I love you," he reminds me.
"I love you," I reply, meeting his eyes.
Yes, our shower was literally designed around our desire to have sex in it. We had spent about ten minutes being coy with the contractor before Eric blurted out that he wanted a way to make our heights match up. At that point I, mortified, had left the room, and Eric had taken over that part of the planning process. The end result is that we have a shower that is even better than the ones in any of Eric's hotels, with added features like reinforced towel racks and non-slip flooring and the bench. We used the same guy to redo the master bath in Bon Temps, paying a premium to have him stay up there to do the work, because I wasn't going to go through that a second time with a different person.
We finish our shower and quickly change into the outfits I left out for us earlier. We're pressed for time now, so I do what I can about my hair. Eric is basically wash-and-go now. He had bragged about this until I threatened to cut all mine off if it was so great having short hair. He likes my long hair, so he never fusses me about the time it still takes for me to style it.
The proximity to Christmas means that while I was able to get us two first class seats to Paris, they weren't together, so I leave it to Eric to flirt the stewardesses into handling that for us while we wait around to board. I'm well over feeling threatened by them and their casual admiration of my husband means that I enjoy the benefits of extra pillows and cookies and such.
Eric is unhappy with our room, which, owing to our last minute booking, had been nothing very nice. He doesn't like this hotel. He doesn't like this suite. The bellhop is rude and doesn't call him by name. He should have bought the Paris property he looked at last year. "Yes, clearly you should buy a hotel in every city we may ever happen to need to visit," I say under my breath. I am indifferent to whether or not he heard me. He's being a pill. I break open the mini-bar and empty a miniature bottle of scotch into one of the glass tumblers they have set out by the ice bucket. There's only one of these, so I hope it does the trick. We're still not big drinkers but this may take the edge off. It's eleven in the morning here, four a.m. back in Louisiana. I slept on the plane, and hope he managed to as well. I encourage him to nap for an hour, and though he does lay down the whole time, he only sleeps for about twenty minutes.
There are no set visiting hours for the hospice ward where Claire is dying. I'd checked with Michelle. At the front desk, Eric asks after Claire Northman. I know she's been married two other times since she was married to Viktor, but she hadn't changed her name again. Claire is sleeping when we arrive and Eric is ready to leave and come back later, but her nurse intervenes and gently coaxes the withered old woman awake.
"Eric," she identifies, fixing her eyes on her son.
"Mother," Eric acknowledges.
Her eyes shift to me. "Sookie," she says, after only a moment.
It's my time to be here for Eric, so I do what he can't and cross to her and take her hands as though she's not practically a stranger. "Hello Missus Northman," I say. "How are you feeling today?"
"Tired," she rasps out.
"Michelle, your nurse called us, Missus Northman. I wish you'd called us sooner," I say.
"Eric... does not wish to see me," she says.
"Eric is right here, ma'am," I tell her firmly. I take his hand. I don't try to put it in hers, I just hold it in mine, being the connection between them.
We stay like that for a moment, and neither of them moves to speak, so I start to. It's mostly just noise. I tell her which hotel we are staying at, and I tell her how the boys have gone to their cousins' for the holidays. I tell her I have pictures if she would like to see them later. I tell her about my work. I tell her about Eric's work, and how busy he is, and how proud I am of him, and what a perfectionist he is, and what a sly negotiator, and about the deals he's made, and about the people he employs, and what a great father he is, and a great husband, and how much I love him. At some point during my uninterrupted speech I start crying and I feel Eric rubbing across my shoulders and my back. I tell her how sorry I am that she doesn't know him, and how sad it makes me that she didn't want to. I tell her how happy the boys make him. How I know he doesn't really want to wait to try for another, even though he hasn't brought it up. How we both hope that the next one will be a girl. How he spoils the boys, and me. How he loves us so unconditionally.
I talk for almost an hour before I can't anymore, and at that point I give Claire Northman's hand a small squeeze and hug Eric, and go out to find the salle de bain so I can freshen up. My phone rings while I'm in there and it's Amelia calling so I answer quickly, worried that something's gone wrong, but instead it's Geir on the line who must have woken them up very early because it's still before eight, there, I quickly tabulate.
I switch on the camera and he notices right away that I've been crying, and he asks me what's wrong, and I remind him that Claire is very sick, and that makes me sad. He tells me that he is glad, and when I ask why, he tells me that it is because he thought we were leaving him to go have fun without him, which broke my heart.
"Don't cry mom," he says.
"I'm sorry Geir. I just miss you guys very much," I tell him.
"I know mom," he says, dismissing me. He's already over it.
"Honey, why did you think we were here having fun?" I ask him, because I thought we have explained pretty well why we were going, and I hate the idea that he thinks we were lying about that. Maybe standing in the bathroom of French hospital two days before Christmas via video chat is not the ideal time and place to have a heart to heart with your four year old, but this is happening.
"Because you're on the screen," he explains, and I see him tap the screen of Amelia's phone.
"What do you mean, Geir?" I ask.
"Dad is always smiling when he calls on the screen," my son explains. "He has fun."
"Geir, Dad is always smiling on the screen because he gets to talk to us," I say, and very quickly I pull myself together.
"Is Dad there?" he asks.
"He's still talking to Claire, honey. He will call you in a little while."
"Are you coming back today?" he asks.
"Not today honey. Is Gunnar awake yet?"
"No."
"What did you have for breakfast?" I ask.
"Auntie A is making pancakes," he tells me, and I hear that he's now walking with the phone toward the kitchen. I get a view of his chest as he does so. He's still in his pyjamas. He's holding the phone out, like you need to, but he's focusing on walking now, so it's tilted down. The view swings around and focuses on Amelia's midsection, and the griddle.
"Morning Sook," I hear her say. "Geir, are you done talking to your mom?"
"Yeah," he says. Suddenly the screen is full of Geir again.
"I'm going to have pancakes now," he tells me.
"Okay honey, we'll call you a little later. I love you."
"Okay mom. I love you."
"Give Gunnar a kiss for me and your dad when he wakes up please."
"Okay mom. Bye."
My phone goes black. I spend another couple of minutes in the bathroom, re-re-fixing my face. When I look halfway presentable I make my way back to Claire's room. From the doorway I see that Eric has sat down beside her and they are talking. He looks up and nods to me, so I simply point down the hall and leave them to talk. He's another hour or so, and I take the time to arrange a couple of picture galleries on my tablet. It's pretty great to be able to walk around with thousands of photos in my purse. Not all of Eric's little technical gadgets are useless.
He finds me and tells me Claire has gone to sleep for now, so we go back to the hotel to do the same for another couple of hours, taking time to call the kids first. Calvin and Jason are over, and Geir is happily following his cousin and idol around the place. After we hang up with them, I tell Eric about Geir's earlier worries, and suggest that he take Geir with him alone on the next trip. That way Geir can see first hand that Eric isn't leaving us to go play and have fun. We eat and return to the hospital in the evening, and spend a couple of hours presenting "Sookie and Eric: the Early Years," in photo form. She nods off before we can get to the kids, which leaves us some ground to cover tomorrow. Eric told me that what he and Claire had talked about while I'd been out of the room before was mostly me and us. After today, I guess she's got a real clear picture about our life together.
The next day is Christmas Eve. Eric decides to go to the hospital alone in the morning. Because I cannot restrain myself, I go out and buy, in addition to little gifts for the children and the rest of the family, a useless but decorative musical snowglobe for Claire's room. She has no holiday decorations in there. That is not the case throughout the hospital, so it may have been her preference, but I don't really care, because I feel compelled to do something for her. I also get a box of chocolates and a pretty winter-themed bouquet with dark roses and holly and black calla lilies. It's not your typical bright hospital floral arrangement, but Claire is not going to, "Get well soon," and one of the very few things I know about her is that she was a woman of style and taste, and the bouquet is certainly elegant.
I meet Eric at the hospital and I can see that he's been crying when I walk in the room. I try to ignore it as I present Claire with her Christmas presents, but I do kiss him on the forehead as I pass behind them to put the flowers and the snowglobe up on the little table beside her bed. Michelle comes in with Claire's lunch then, and helps to feed her while we tell her about Geir and Gunnar. When she leaves, Eric feeds her a couple of chocolates. She thanks me for them and tells me they are the best she has ever had, which I accept graciously despite knowing she is likely exaggerating.
She dies in the evening, so abruptly that we thought she had fallen asleep again, until Michelle appears with a doctor to do the required tests. Eric begins to weep and as there's no better way to be near him, I unselfconsciously climb into his lap and hold him to me. They look to me for instruction, asking if they should take her away or leave her here. I tell them they can take her, and it's a matter of moments before they have pulled her sheet up and wheeled her narrow bed away, leaving us alone. We will call back later or tomorrow to make further arrangements. We stay for another twenty minutes before I lead him out and back to the hotel, pausing only to thank Michelle as we depart.
He goes to shower and I call Bon Temps to check in. I get Crystal, who is cooking, and tells me that everyone else is out in the yard playing ball. I tell her about Claire so she can pass the news along to the adults. She asks me when we're going to be back, and since I don't have an answer for her I hang up and get on the internet to see about flights. No amount of money can put us on a plane tonight. We are forced to settle for six in the morning. With the time difference, we'll arrive at about eight, their time. We'll be in Bon Temps for Christmas dinner, but we'll miss the presents opening while driving, unless we go back to the house and watch it on video, but that will delay our arrival. I leave the choice to Eric. He chooses to drive as soon as we land.
I make what arrangements we can, for the car to pick us up here and take us to Aéroport Paris-Charles De Gaulle, and another to take us back to the house. We will be paying both holiday and short-notice premiums for both of these, but this is one of the times when we simply nod and be thankful we have the money to willingly hand over. We call the boys and hear about their morning, and tell them we will see them tomorrow afternoon. We call room service and eat terrible food washed down with ample amounts of a wine that somewhat redeems the meal and gets us good and properly sleepy, as was our goal. It's incredibly early to go to sleep, but we're going to lose seven hours and have to drive and be expected to be up and 'on' for Christmas, so we go to bed by seven in the evening, having very quick sex beforehand.
Over dinner Eric confessed that the greatest emotion he feels in regards to his mother's death is relief. When I probe at that he explains that what the visit had done for him most of all, was finally convince him that he wasn't his parents, nor was he spontaneously going to turn into them. He wasn't going to die alone, at odds with our children. They weren't going to grow up resenting him. He has them and me, and the rest of our family, and he will always have us. She had apologized to him that morning, and he had been able to tell her that while he appreciated the sentiment, he didn't need to hear it. He is happy, and he thanked her, and then he had changed the subject, and told her about our little extended family and friends. Our lives are full in ways that hers had never been. He didn't tell her to rub that in, he said. He had just talked about them because he missed them.
He wakes me in the morning, at three. That makes it eight o'clock last night, in Louisiana. So we are able to call our sons and say goodnight on Christmas Eve. We wash and dress and go to the airport and wait and wait and fly and land and drive and get back to our house in time to freshen up and eat and then we get in the mom-car and head north at an average speed of ninety-five miles per hour, excluding one stop for gas and restroom use. We don't bother going to Gran's because they are all at Crystal and Jason's. Calvin and Jason lead the charge out of the house as we pull up in the driveway. Geir is right behind them, followed by Sassafras and Amelia with Gunnar. Crystal and Bob bring up the rear.
"Now can we open presents?" pleads Calvin. They'd waited. Four children under ten years old in one house and they'd managed to wait to open presents until almost one in the afternoon. Talk about your Christmas miracles.
"Go get my Santa hat," Jason relents. He is the present giver-outer.
Calvin tears off into the house with Sassafras on his heels and Geir looks torn for a moment but ultimately chooses us. Well, me first. Eric takes Gunnar from Amelia and kisses his boy, then comes over to Geir and I and does the same. I hand him his larger child as well and he takes them inside while Amelia and Bob help me clear the car of the extra presents from France. They're not wrapped, so we'll just hand them out as everyone goes.
Eric receives one pearl inlaid cufflink from each of the boys, a very nice new watch from me, and some flight simulation software and a solar powered charger from Santa. I get one ruby earring from each of the boys, a matching necklace from Eric, and a diamond and ruby tennis bracelet from Santa. Little bit over the top there, Santa.
"Santa can hardly be held accountable if you were very good this year, Missus Northman," Eric says, in response to the look I give him, which was mostly amusement with only a touch of incredulity.
"Yes, I suppose that's true," I say, showing my high-mindedness. I give him a brilliant smile.
"That's it?" he asks, obviously expecting more objection.
"That's it," I agree. "Merry Christmas, baby," I coo.
"Merry Christmas, lover," he smirks.
It's a nice little moment until Geir flings himself into Eric's lap, kneeing him in groin. Oofph. Merry Christmas indeed.