Hold on tight, you Northern Hemispherians. It's Christmas Aussie style.
Twenty-Two
No matter how old I get, I always wake up on Christmas morning excited. I'm woken by the butterflies in the pit of my stomach, and I'm kept awake as their buzz seeps deep into my gut, blossoming into excitement that zips through my veins.
The only time this doesn't happen, however, is at five o'clock in the bloody morning. Five o'clock in the morning is when, no matter how excited I am, I should be asleep. My brain knows that, my body knows that - but apparently Edward doesn't.
The third time he calls my name softly, I "accidentally" kick him in the shin under the sheets.
"Okay, now I know you're awake."
I groan, screwing my nose and mouth up as I scrunch my eyes shut tighter.
"God, you're attractive in the morning," he says. He doesn't see me reach for him under the doona, and yelps as I stab my fingers into his stomach roughly. "Ah, ouch! And violent!"
When I try to pull the sheet up over my head, he tugs it out of my hands and throws it off my body, leaving me exposed.
I open my sleep-weary eyes, watching as Edward looks down for a moment, blatantly checking me out. His hand slides across my bare stomach, coming to rest on my hip, and with a squeeze, he leans closer. "Put your bathers on, too."
Begrudgingly, I follow him out of bed and slip some shorts on over a bikini. Jasper's door is open, his light off. No doubt he's already suited-up and wading into the water somewhere. By the time I've found everything; my towel, my phone, that one thong that always seems to end up under my bed, Edward is already standing beside his idling van, two seconds away from laying on the horn.
"Alright, alright," I grumble, hopping up into the cab beside him.
We're quiet on the trip to Bird Rock, munching on muesli bars, watching the gray sky lighten ever so slightly. The streets are quiet as we rumble through town, the sidewalks empty, the shops closed up and dark. By the time we arrive, there are already people milling around on the beach, and the sun is beginning its ascent over the horizon, the sky lit dusty orange and pale grey-blue, not unlike the eyes of the boy beside me.
I wait beside the van as Edward pulls out his board and slips his suit on. "Looks like everyone's here."
He turns to look over his shoulder briefly, before turning to grab a towel. "Looks like."
Rose's laughter drifts up the quiet beach, and I can just see her, on the sand below, mucking around with Emmett, his wetsuit sticking out like a sore thumb all covered in sponsor logos. When I move to close the back doors, Edward stops me, a hand on my arm.
"Wait a sec. You're not dressed."
I look down at my bathers, the bright material peeking out from beneath an open hoodie. "I can't get any more dressed than this."
Grinning, Edward pokes his head back into the van, rooting around for a second before coming back out with a wetsuit in hand.
"I'm not wearing your wetsuit, Edward. I'll look ridiculous."
"It's not mine."
His smile seems to stretch from ear to ear as he shoves the wetsuit at me.
"So … who's is it?"
"Yours," he says like I'm the silly one. "Merry Christmas."
I look down at the black neoprene suit in his hands. The shoulders are light-grey, the legs knee-length, and the sleeves long. I hold it up beneath my chin, crushing it to my chest. "Oh my God! Edward! I love it!"
Edward looks sheepish, shrugging like it's nothing. "It'll be cold this morning, and I figured you can use it later in the year, too."
Giggling with excitement, I throw my arms around his neck and hug him fiercely, kissing thank yous all over his morning-stubble.
"Can you help me put it on?"
Edward rubs his hands together. "Of course!"
It's a bit of a wriggle; the material is brand new and I'm not used to wearing something so tight, but we get it on, and Edward zips it up, holding my hair out of the way.
"How do I look?" I ask, holding my arms out at my sides.
With two thumbs up, Edward smiles. "Perfect." As we make our way down to the water, he gives my ass a little slap for good measure, making some crude comment about the way it looks in the suit.
We're the last ones in the water, swimming out past the waves to a round of applause and catcalls. Rose sits on her deck, flanked by Emmett and Jacko, her smile the only thing to rival Edward's this morning.
She pulls me up onto her board, laughing as it wobbles wildly.
We hug, dripping wet and floating in the middle of the dark pre-morning water.
There are rounds of handshakes and fist bumps from the boys and a wobbly hug from Uncle Mick after he paddles over. It looks like half of Clearwater is here. Young and old all sit on boards, bobbing around in the cold water; even Ben, who still has that new baby smile plastered on his face. Embry and Carlisle complete the Masen family contingent, and then there's Jasper and the boys, quieter than usual – peaceful. But there's an air of anticipation humming around everyone, like looming excitement. There's talk of lunch feasts and crazy family dinners, and of nights spent building kids play equipment in secret.
As the sun rises over the cliffs, the quiet of the morning subsides and it's like a starter gun has gone off. There's a race for the first wave of the morning, and even though Emmett and Edward are fast in the water, Embry has a head start, and drops in on a massive wave, earning a round of cheers from the crowd behind him. But it's Carlisle that scores the bomb of the day, his long, lean legs still muscled and strong, carrying him over a huge barrel, carving through its centre and out the other end. I even get to join in on my first ever yewwww!
Edward and I ride in a few times, and for about two and a half seconds I actually stand up on the board. I get an ear full of water and a good gulp of the stuff, but I'm so happy I couldn't give a shit.
Rosie, Jacko, and even Emmett take it in turns to ride with me while Edward does his own thing, but even then, he paddles right back to me, never leaving my side for more than fifteen minutes. Today I don't care that everyone watches me kiss him. Today I just let myself be, let us be.
It's barely nine o'clock when we make our way back up the beach, and instead of feeling tired and bedraggled, the water has left me energized.
With more smiles and back slaps and hugs, everyone begins to go their separate ways. Carlisle and the boys have to be back before the twins wake up since Carlisle fell asleep before eating the Tim Tams they left out for Santa. Ben has to be back to help Ange out with the baby, and I have some Christmas food to stuff myself with.
"Call me later?" I ask, reaching up to kiss Edward's salty lips, his skin cold to the touch.
He nods. "After lunch sometime, yeah?"
"Uh-huh. I gotta give you your present."
He gives my wet ponytail a tug, and with a final kiss, leaves me on the beach with Rosie, Jasper, and my Uncle Mick.
"Come on, love," says Mick, tearing my eyes away from Edward's retreating form. "Your Mum's been up since the ass crack cooking. Better get home before she does her lid, and I lose the first bowl of trifle to your dad."
Mum's trifle is something of legend in our family, and only comes out at Christmas. She makes the custard and the sponge from scratch, and there's enough brandy in it to keep Uncle Mick and Dad quiet for a while. There's always an argument over who gets the first bowl; apparently Mick has the inside line this year.
After Rosie peels me out of my new wetsuit, showing me how to wash it, I rinse off in the shower, depositing a metric tonne of salt and sand into the basin. I slip on my new dress, the one I bought especially for the day, smoothing the pretty floral pattern over my hips. Rosie and I exchange presents quickly; she gives me my very own pair of white ballet flats like hers, and a beautiful gauzy kaftan.
Forgoing the car, I walk to Mick and Jessie's, letting my damp hair dry in the warm breeze. Kids on brand news bikes and skateboards whizz down the beach front. On the sand there's remote control cars and kids using their shiny new beach toys and bright beach towels. Eskies and umbrellas are already making their appearance, and the lifeguards are already set up at their station, ready for a busy day on the sand.
It's ten o'clock and already twenty-seven degrees - it's going to be a scorcher of a Christmas day.
When I arrive at Aunt Jessie's, I'm greeted by her and Mum in the kitchen, the two of them standing at the bench peeling cooked prawns.
"Hey, sweetie," says Mum, offering her cheek for a kiss. I pinch a prawn and kiss her loudly.
"Hey, Ma. Jessie." She gets a kiss too.
Mum keeps peeling, looking me up and down, her gaudy Christmas angel earrings swooping around her ears as she shakes her head, smiling.
"What?" Chewing the sweet-fleshed prawn, I pop a piece of bread in the toaster, ravenous from the morning in the water.
"Nothing. I like your dress is all," she says, and I can tell she's lying. I sit on the other side of the bench, watching her and Jessie prepare lunch; cutting ham off the bone, chopping veggies, whipping cream.
"What are you grinning at?" asks Mum, plopping my toast in front of me, a thick slice of ham and some cheese on top.
I didn't even realise I was smiling. "Nothing."
She clucks her tongue at me as I speak around a mouthful of toast.
"She's mooning over her boy," teases Jess, snickering as Mum's mouth falls open.
"What boy?"
Groaning, I shoot Jessie a bitch face. "Just a guy, Mum. And mooning, Jessie?"
Aunt Jessie's giggling so hard her boobs are giggling under her red singlet top, her weathered décolletage heaving. "He's not just a boy, Renee. He's the boy around here. Bella's snagged herself a keeper."
"Oh my, God, Jessie!" I slip off my stool, and her laughter follows me out the sliding door into the backyard where Dad and Mick are sitting finishing their breakfast. I lean in to Dad, kissing his whiskery cheek good morning. His face crinkles, the lines appearing at the corners of his eyes as he smiles. His skin smells for the shaving cream he uses mixed with his cheap, chemist-bought aftershave.
We spend the rest of the morning opening presents and preparing lunch, listening to Mum's crappy Carols in the Domain album over and over until I threaten to eject the CD and slash my wrists with it.
Lunch is a feast of fresh seafood and cold meats. Mum makes a big salad, and Dad picks out the avocado and passes it to me, as usual. We pop the crackers and Mum insists that I wear the stupid paper crown, and Uncle Mick laughs way too loud at the crappy joke hidden inside. For dessert there's pavlova and cream, and trifle with chocolate on top, and the lone dish I managed to put together – a fruit salad. Dad keeps commenting on how good the fruit is, saying I must have put something in it to make it taste so good. I throw a cherry at him, but smile anyway.
The afternoon is hot, the air heavy and sticky, making my hair curl at the nape of my neck. The outdoor ceiling fan does nothing but move hot air around, and the flies buzz around my face; the same one coming back a dozen times, irritating the ever-loving fuck out of me. With full stomachs, we retreat inside to the air-conditioned comfort.
As full as I am, I still sit with a bowl of cherries in my lap, watching the kids' Christmas movies on TV, listening to my family chatter in the kitchen behind me.
Mid-afternoon, my phone buzzes on the arm rest beside me, and my heart gets the jitters.
Ben: Xmas drinks at Mint. Bring the fam.
I look up at Mum, her cheeks pink from an afternoon in the sun and two bottles of champagne. Dad and Mick are not much better, loud and glass-eyed from all the beer.
Rosie and Edward text me at the same time.
You going to the pub?
Knowing I can't escape having to take my tipsy-drunk mother and Aunt, I reply in the affirmative. If it means spending time with my friends over sitting in the heat with nothing to do, I'll take it.
- Doona: Comforter
- Muesli Bars: Kind if like granola bars, I guess. Except you can get them with chocolate chips in them.
- Tim Tams: Only the best biscuits ever. Chocolate biscuits, with chocolate ganache sandwiched between them, dipped in chocolate. The "Aussie" thing to do is to nibble off two opposite corners and suck hot coffee/tea through them. Or just eat the fuck out of them.
- "Doing Your Lid": getting angry. A very Aussie term.
- 28degrees - 82F. At ten am.
- Prawns - Shrimp
A little look into Christmas in summer time. What do you think? Wanna join me?
Tiff is the best beta. The best. Thimbles is better than the smell of tinsel at Christmas, I swear. And Ink is sweeter than cherries, even the ones you dangle from your ears.
Thank you for all of the lovely reviews. Each and every one makes my day, and makes me smile. xxxx Wink