“And yet you are drinking it,” Kellan lightly laughs while handing Killian over to his grandpa.

  “Good fathers are supportive of their son’s terrible life experiments,” Uncle Fredrick proudly states.

  “I can attest that,” Father mirthfully mumbles.

  “Tell me that is in reference to Kellan,” Brie enthusiastically commands.

  “Both of my sons, have gone through their fair stretch of less than brilliant ideas.” Father steals Killian’s beanie to make him gasp and laugh. “There was the hot cocoa stand in the parking lot in mid July at a charity baseball game-”

  “Not really the right season for that,” Guy points out.

  “There were the tie dye sock pockets,” he playfully wiggles the hat back on just to take it off again, “that did not survive their trips to the beach.”

  “That was most certainly Kristopher,” my wife giggles.

  “And how I could ever forget the infamous science fair fiasco.” Father lets the corners of his lips curl up. “I had no choice but to pray you both lost so that I could continue to have faith in our education system.”

  Guy laughs loudest; however, the rest of us aren’t that much quieter.

  I love how many memories of us he has.

  I hate how most are from when Mum was still alive or from the past few years.

  I loathe how there is a giant gap.

  I refuse to have that with my children.

  Even once the third is born, I will do everything possible to still make memories and share my focus with the others.

  Thoughts of our newest baking lead to me turning to face my wife, “Do you need anything, sweetheart? A blanket? Better mittens? More cocoa? Perhaps tea with a bit of ginger? Another plate of the cranberry blue brie bites?”

  “What is with this family and blue brie cheese?!” gripes the woman who shares a name with the food.

  “That is all your husband,” I sell out with a smirk. “He has had an obsession with brie all of his life.”

  “Hear that, love?” He teasingly winks. “You have always been mine.”

  “Gross,” she playfully jabs back. “Like that cheese.”

  “When are you due?” Father nonchalantly inquires, pulling my attention over him.

  “Pardon?” airily leaves me.

  “You only fawn over Soph this much when she’s expecting.” He doesn’t bother hiding his bright beam. “So, how far along is she?”

  “That’s not…” my head struggles to shake, “true…”

  Collective murmurs and arguments come from everyone including Killian – who has no clue!

  “About seven weeks,” discloses the woman I married, “however, due to the rather early stage, we were waiting to make the announcement.”

  “You might want to warn my brother that his behaviors always give it away,” Kellan laughs prior to reaching for his wife’s mug.

  “Like a neon flashing red arrow,” Brie adds.

  “That you can see from a plane,” Uncle Fredrick tacks on.

  “Space,” Father corrects.

  Redness coats my cheeks, yet I don’t apologize.

  I won’t.

  Perhaps I am a little…too…nesty when I discover the love of life is carrying our child and…while she carries it…and for a bit post when depression lands…but that does not make me some sort of freak.

  I think it makes me a good husband.

  Partner.

  More men should learn from me.

  Which Kellan certainly has.

  He took many, many tips during his first hike into pregnant hood.

  “Congratulations,” Brie says first, leading the charge for everyone else to echo the sentiment.

  Post us accepting their warm affections regarding the news, I ask again, “Do you need anything before we go sweetheart?”

  “Oh, no, we are coming too,” she enthusiastically declares. “I am certainly not about to miss you and Kellan losing spectacularly to your father.”

  “We are not going to lose,” my brother and I rebut in tandem.

  “That is the spirit boys,” Uncle Fredrick juvenilely goads. “Best to keep your chins up in defeat.”

  “We are not going to lose,” we declare a second time much louder.

  Father simply chuckles, adjusts Killian, and heads in the direction of the sledding activity.

  Getting from the seating area near the rose garden to where some other family and guests have been making snow angels, snowmen, and snow volcanoes – under the scrutiny of Aunt Elizabeth and Stephen – isn’t difficult; however, herding the children, on the other hand?

  A bloody nightmare.

  Or it is until Guy – whose real name is likely Gary Poppins – manages to take control of the situation and march us all up the hill – to a Christmas song, might I add.

  Once we’re all properly lined up – some individuals solo while others of us are with our children or beside them – or in mine and Kellan’s case both – he announces, “We are going to go one by one to minimize accidents. Safety is a good call because it means…”

  “Fun for all!” the young ones gathered finish for him.

  I swear, if he weren’t already Headmaster at Hannah’s Hope, he would have been recruited to be our manny.

  One by one guests glide down the snow filled hill towards those at the bottom waiting and cheering.

  Cliff – like the good brother he is – rides with Kendall so that Kellan only has to manage the twins.

  The three of them go next and woos and screams and laughs are all joyfully left in their wake.

  “Are you ready?” I gingerly ask Livy who has impatiently been pounding for us to get moving.

  “Ya!!!!” More pounds on the front are given. “Go, Daddy! Go!”

  Tossing a curious look at my son is done next. “Are you ready, Little K?”

  “I am gonna beat you so bad, Dad!” he trash talks, small body practically vibrating in place, ready to begin.

  “Very well then.” My attention darts over to Guy who is offered a nod to wordlessly confirm we’re all set.

  “Go!” shouts the man that somehow got roped into supervising the event.

  After giving my son a beat to get a small head start, I propel us forward, immediately greeted by thrilled noises from my wiggling, almost three-year-old.

  Snow flies wildly around us as the frigid air mercilessly scrapes our cheeks, a sensation that sparks additional warmth to spread throughout my system as I realize these are memories which will matter the most when we all get older and responsibilities do their best to get the better of us.

  My children need these moments with me.

  And I know without a single doubt, I need these moments with them.

  Stock It to Me

  (Starring Kellan Kenningston & Brie Kenningston)

  Brie

  Christmas Eve in the states means last minute grocery store runs for Mom, rewrapping gifts for Dad – the man tapes like my toddlers – and crooning to classics like Stevie Wonders’ “Some Day at Christmas” into glass beer bottles that have been made festive by the koozies hiding their labels. Here in Doctenn? It usually means rearranging gifts to be more “photogenic”, posing near ice sculptures in downtown Fayeweather where we pretend to be shopping, and gagging on figgy pudding because the ring on my finger says I have to participate in disgusting food quests. And that so is. Usually Christmas Eve in this country is one more day filled with cameras flashing and the media team posting our perfect looks and perfect families and how fortunate we are to be trusted with their love and support this time of year. I say usually because that’s not the case this year. This year…we’re actually doing something I feel we should all be doing more often. Volunteering.

  “That looks beautiful, Kendall,” I coo from the opposite side of the crafting table at St. Cecila’s Children’s Hospital, making her Santa themed dress sporting frame wiggle. “Very Mondrian.”

  “Total Victory Boogie Woogie,” echoes Guy from his position beside her.

  Nodding is accompanied by me grabbing the glue bottle. “But with more pink.”

  “I love pink,” my little artist proclaims.

  “Pink is so pretty,” Srija Hardstock, a sienna skin toned seven-year-old battling non-Hodgkin lymphoma, adds on an offering of another jewel.

  “That is not a real thing, is it?” my husband quietly questions from the other side of the twins. “He is making that up, yes?”

  “Pink?” playfully pokes Cliff as he passes Marcial Eckford, a tiramisu tanned ten-year-old waiting for a kidney transplant, a button. “Pretty sure you know that color is a real thing, Dad.”

  “You – like your Mum – certainly seem to want coal to fill that stocking you are making.”

  “Daddy, Viggory Boogie Woogie is super famous!” Kendall exclaims at the same time she frantically wiggles her hand to get a large gemstone off of it. “Even Kings like Grandpa have seen it!”

  “Victory,” escapes in a gentle correction, “and you are absolutely right. Your grandpa has seen it.”

  “Oh, so it is simply me who is the uncultured one?”

  “Typically,” I tease prior to offering Trinity Mooney, the blonde haired, green-eyed six-year-old on oxygen beside me a snowman sticker.

  “I wish Grandpa were here,” our daughter interjects while accepting a glitter felt pen to doodle with on the fabric. “He loves art time!”

  “Such an odd thing to hear,” murmurs her dad under his breath.

  Not really. Kenneth actually has a special place in his heart for art because Hannah did. It’s why the collection at the palace is so special and was only handled with the best care possible from Eden Lawson who – on a separate note – may be my favorite person next to Guy in this country to get into art debates with. Aside from his personal collection appreciation, he adores doing anything with his grandchildren. Whether we are making macaroni jewelry – ask to see his earrings one of these days – or Playdough sculptures or looking through art books, if he is around, if he is given the chance to participate, he does. He loves watching them learn and grow and I think it also reminds him of moments from when Kris and Kellan were little and his wife was still here. He said as much this morning over family breakfast after I handed out hospital assignments. Apparently, Hannah loved to visit the shelters during the changing of the seasons to bring clothing and food to shelters, so me sending out the family to different areas in nearby territories to do crafts or help serve meals or deliver donations touched him in ways he hadn’t been touched in decades. Ew. I heard it. But you know that’s not what I meant! Sadly, he couldn’t be here due to country decrees regarding where which royals can be and when. It’s also why Soph and Kris are not out participating. It’s only totally fine if those not in the direct line of the throne recipient get kidnapped or whatever.

  “Brah,” Chen calls to Cliff, “toss me some of that brown skin stuff. I think I could make a sic’ twig on mine.”

  “Why would you want a stick to be ill?” questions Kellan while checking his watch for the third time in the past half an hour.

  Yeah, I’m suspicious too. Extra considering this is where he called dibs for us visiting.

  “He means a cool hockey stick,” our oldest translates.

  “Forgoodnesssake,” the love of my love sighs in mirthful exasperation, “Chen, have you given proper English a go?”

  “Don’t eveeennnnnnn start on the hockey monkey about ‘proper English’ when you say weird ish like playing ditchy and smashed in traffic.”

  “You really shouldn’t drink and driveskies, Mr. K.”

  My opportunity to openly laugh at Chen’s rebuttal is unexpectedly interrupted by a tiny pressure suddenly appearing near my thumb. Glancing down to see Killian’s teeth clamped onto my hand leads me to internally screaming.

  Not because of pain. Lets be real. I’ve been bit harder during sex. The issue is his action! Why is he biting?! Why is it he is determined to always be a little naughty when everyone else is being nice?!

  Recalling what Guy mentioned on our snow-day is what leads to me doing what some would call unthinkable.

  Unacceptable.

  But like fuck them because I have to try something!

  I lean over and gently sink my teeth into his green and black, plaid shirt bearing shoulder. While it’s not hard enough to hurt – after all I am not a total monster – it’s hard enough to make a point. Killian gasps in surprise over the action prompting me to firmly state, “Mummy bites too.”

  His beautiful blue eyes widen during his marker waving in objection. “No food!”

  “I no food either!”

  “No bite!”

  “You bite. I bite.” My hand plops down onto my hip to reiterate my seriousness. “You bite. They,” tipping my head towards those on the other side of the table occurs, “bite.”

  Killian’s little jaw cracks open in disbelief.

  Okay so maybe this doesn’t feel like the most mature thing we could’ve done but whatever. Sometimes you just gotta stoop down to their level and let ‘em know what’s up. Isn’t that what Guy said? You know. In more elegant phrasing.

  “No bite,” Killian grumbles and scoots closer to Kalum. His next sentence is attached to him signing the words, “No, tank you.”

  “And no thank you to you biting.”

  As if the words are finally beginning to resonate, he unhappily nods and returns to scribbling on the white part of the felt.

  Kalum gives him a gentle pat on the back while Kellan and I momentarily lock eyes in what we are wordlessly labeling victory.

  Unprecedented times lead to unprecedent measures.

  Guy warmly chuckles to himself prior to asking, “Does anyone need snowflakes? I cut out a few too many.”

  “Yooooooo a twig with snowflakes would so look like some 3P shiz!” Chen enthusiastically declares. “Toss me a couple!”

  “I would like one,” Amiko Sweeney, an eleven-year-old recovering from a liver transplant surgery, waves her ivory hand around. “I am making a Frozen movie one. We watch it every Christmas.”

  It’s impossible not to exchange another glance with Kellan whose entire frame sags.

  I swear it feels like we lost Amelia just the other day. The fact that it’s been as long as it has is mind blowing. We still think about her often. Really. Her drawings hang in our respective offices and our home’s craft area along with a copy of the picture we all treasured so much. Kendall is aware of where her middle name comes from but doesn’t understand it to its true depths just yet. We don’t see Amelia’s family like we used to; however, we continue to make a habit to reach out. Try. I think the last time we got to see them was for brunch in the spring.

  “That was my little sister’s favorite movie,” a soft, feminine voice unexpectedly states, summoning our attention to the very end of the table. “We watch it every year too.”

  The sight of Aliza Rourke – Amelia’s older sibling – sends my jaw to the toes of my black boots.

  Holy shit! I was so not expecting her here!

  “Is it all right if I help with the crafts?” she shrugs off her floor length coat. “I would have been here sooner; however, the traffic from New Grenchdoul was atrocious even for the holiday.”

  Can you believe it? The girl is old enough to fucking drive now! How has this much time passed since we first met her? Where does the time actually go? And how come the ache of losing someone so special hasn’t really dulled despite the years that have come and gone? Is that just the way things are when it comes to a tragedy?

  “That would be delightful,” Kellan warmly states.

  “I can’t believe you came!” escapes during my rush over to hug the full-grown teenager.

  “Of course, I would come,” she insists while embracing me in return. “Art with you was one of Amelia’s favorite things.” Post a tight squeeze, Aliza pulls back to say, “I still have quite a number of them framed in my room.”

  Tears threaten my eyes yet stay unseen.

  “You and Kellan had a way of making her life in here more about living and less about waiting to die,” quietly informs the blonde-haired beauty. “Our family can never thank you enough for it.”

  My husband waits until she’s successfully released me to take his turn in greeting hugs. “And how are your parents?”

  “A bit at odds,” Aliza announces on a casual shrug. “Mum wants another child and would like them to consider adoption. Dad is content with just me given that he has already adopted two children since Amelia and I’s birth father died during his time in service.” She pauses to scrunch her face, clearly debating whether to continue the confession. “They are doing their best not to have these discussions when I am in the house; however, they are epically failing.”

  Gahhhhhh…I cannot even imagine the wet paint scenario they are trying to navigate. Here I am a little bummed that I don’t get to celebrate the season the way I prefer when people I know are dealing with much bigger issues. I’m sad I don’t get to see my family in person but at least they’re still alive to see. At least our conversations don’t have to include dealing with an immense loss or whether that means us never expanding our family again.

  “That is a difficult situation for you all to be in,” Kellan compassionately comments. “I am not certain we can be of any service; however, please let them know that if we can, do not hesitate to reach out.”

  “I will.”

  “In the meantime…” he checks his watch once more, “how about you slip in right there,” a gesture to the opposite spot is made, “into my place?”

  “Can do!” Aliza joyously claps.

  “Shouldn’t do,” I scold, glare narrowing at him. “Because you should be doing it.”

  “I did do it, love.” My husband points to the stocking I swear he gave to Ki to finish. “However, now I have to go do something else.”

  “Kellan!” is expelled in a hiss along with a sharp tug away from the table of clamoring children. “It’s effing Christmas Eve! We’re supposed to be together as a family. Giving back to the community! What the hell is more important than that?!”