Merry Ex-Mas

MERRY EX-MAS

Victoria Christopher Murray

Copyright © 2013 by Victoria Christopher Murray

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Jacket design by Natanya Wheeler

For more information about Victoria Christopher Murray, please visit http://www.victoriachristophermurray.com

"Boy, do you know how many hours I labored just to give you life!" Although I had asked my son that question before, with what he was asking me to do, I needed to remind him. "I pushed and pulled and screamed for twenty-three hours, seven minutes, and sixty-three seconds."

Leaning against the dresser, my son, Christopher, laughed the way he always did when I went into this rant. "Ma, why do you say sixty-three seconds? Just add another minute
—
make it eight minutes and three seconds."

I waved my finger in Christopher's face. "My math is not the issue here. The issue is that you're asking me to go above and beyond being the wonderful mother that I already am."

"Yes, you are." Christopher slung his arm over my shoulder, and I knew that was another trick. "You have been the best mother ever," he said, laying the butter on thick. "But I just need you to take it up a notch. Just this one time. Just this one little thing."

"Trust me, what you're asking me to do is no little thing."

"But it's important to me," Christopher said.

"Why?" I whined. I knew I sounded like a child, so I figured I'd go all the way. I twisted away from Christopher, plopped down on the edge of my bed, folded my arms, and pouted.

Christopher laughed as he crossed the room, then gently eased down next to me. In a tone that was full of patience, he said, "I told you, Ma. I really want Evon's first Christmas with our family to be special." Then he softened his voice and added, "Don't you?"

Foul! I wanted to yell at him. This was emotional blackmail. I should know
—
I was a mother and used it often.

"That's what you want, right?" Christopher asked. "A special Christmas for me and my wife-to-be?"

With every word, my son was breaking me down just a little bit more
…
and he knew it!

"Evon and me." Christopher said his fianc
é
e's name again, knowing that I adored the young woman that he'd chosen to marry.

My lips betrayed me; I couldn't help it
—
I smiled. Of course I wanted this Christmas to be wonderful. This was the beginning of a whole new life for us. In six months, my baby boy, my son, my Christopher was going to be a husband. That, by itself, was hard enough to believe. And that meant I was going to be a mother-in-law. And I was going to be a wonderful one because Christopher had chosen well.

Suddenly, Kem's voice filled my bedroom.
"If it's love, it'll last a lifetime
…
."
Christopher unhooked his cell from his holster, but he was grinning before he even looked down at the screen. "Ma, I gotta take this," he said, trotting out of the room.

He didn't even give me a chance to tell him that it was okay and that I was glad that Evon had chosen this very minute to call. Maybe by the time he hung up, he would've forgotten what he was asking me to do.

I couldn't believe Christopher actually wanted me to invite his father to Christmas dinner.

His father, my ex-husband, who in 2004 had sent our entire family into turmoil and, at the same time, had almost ruined Christopher's life. Losing Quentin, the man I'd been married to for seventeen years, the man who was the love of my life, was bad enough; but what that breakup did to our sixteen-year-old son? It was crazy.

It all started the day that Quentin had announced to the world that he'd been playing for the wrong team
—
that he was gay. From that day, Christopher had done everything in his power to prove that he was nothing like his father. My son had searched far outside his Jack and Jill circle and found Deja, the first girl that he'd ever brought home for me to meet.

Deja Blue, the youngest of seven girls, was raised by a single father who'd taught his daughters that more important than education was finding boys who could take care of them. Thank God, Deja had been nothing more than a high school, first-lust, first-sex, get-back-at-my-father fling.

Deja may have been the first, but Evon LaCroix was the last and she was the real deal. I just loved that young woman, whose face always shone brighter than the sun. I'm telling you, I would bet that not a tear had ever been shed out of her twinkling brown eyes. Just being around her made me happy.

All of that alone would have been good enough for me, but the bonus was that Evon was sharp, mentally and physically. She was a Harvard grad who was born with a strong fashion sense, and she planned to put her education to use as a fashion entrepreneur with her LaCroix Designs. So yes, I wanted her to have a great Christmas with us, but did having Quentin here have to be part of the deal?

"So, Ma," Christopher said, strutting back into the bedroom.

Just the way he said that, I knew he wanted to pick the conversation up right where we'd left off.

He continued, "All I'm trying to do is show Evon how we do it. I want her to see the wonderful Christmases that we have and how it's gonna be for her when she becomes a Hart."

"I agree. And she'll see all of that. It's not necessary to bring your father into this. You haven't spent Christmas with him in what? Over eight years?" I shook my head. "No, we don't need him here for Christmas."

Then Christopher lowered his eyes and glanced up at me through his eyelashes. "Please," he whispered.

I used to think that was so cute, and it would've helped him
—
if this were eight years ago. Because Christopher looking at me like that
—
that was all Quentin. And looking and sounding like his father right now was not a winning strategy.

"No, Christopher. I'm not inviting your father."

"Come on, Ma!"

"And think about it
…
what would Brock say?"

"What would Brock say about what?" my husband said as he stepped into our bedroom.

I jumped up and wrapped my arms around the finest man that I knew. "Hey, honey, I didn't hear you come in."

"That's because you were too busy saying no to me," Christopher said.

My husband looked at me and then switched to Christopher. "What's going on?"

"Christopher is
trying
to talk me into something, and I'm not having it."

Brock turned to Christopher. "You haven't convinced her about your father?"

That made me blink over and over. "You know what Christopher wants me to do?"

Brock nodded, but it was Christopher who spoke up. "Yeah, Ma. I talked to him last night. I wasn't going to disrespect Brock by going to you first."

"Oh, so just disrespect me."

"You know that's not what I meant." Then he shrugged. "It's just that Brock's the man of the house, and I understand these man things. I wanted to give him his props, his due respect. And I knew you'd understand that."

I started grinning hard. How could I be mad at that? But then I remembered what Christopher wanted me to do, and I snatched my smile back. "So you guys talked and
…
"

Brock put his arms around me like he thought he'd better be holding me when he said, "I told him I thought it was a good idea."

I wiggled away from him. "Traitor!"

He laughed. "Ah, come on; we're all grown up now," Brock said as he pulled me back to him. "First of all, I won; you're my bride."

I loved when he said that, when he called me his bride, even though we'd been married for six years.

He added, "So I don't have any beef with Quentin. Plus, Christopher wants to show off his family to Evon. He wants her to really see that he comes from good stock."

"She knows that already. She's met me and you."

"And she's met Dad, too, obviously," Christopher piped in, "but now, she'll get to see all of us together."

"Yeah," Brock said, "she'll get to see the cohesive blended family that we are."

I rolled my eyes. It sounded good, but the reality of it
—
sitting down with Quentin and whatever man he was with
…
I shuddered. Looking up at Brock, I said, "I've known you for nine years, and now you turn on me?"

He laughed, but I didn't find a single thing funny.

"You know I love me some you," he said. "But baby, this isn't about us. This is about our children, this family, and this Christmas."

Game over! Because Brock had me whenever he referred to Christopher and Tori as his children. That's how he'd always been. From the moment when I'd finally introduced my son and daughter to him, Brock had thought of Christopher and Tori as his own.

I still remembered the conversation he had when we told the kids that we were getting married. "You two already have a father, and I'm not trying to replace him. But I want you to know that I love you because I love your mother. And I'll always be here for you in whatever way that you need me."

Right after that, he'd asked their permission to marry me, and it had been a love fest all around since then.

Brock said, "So, we're all having Christmas dinner
…
here
…
together
…
as a family?"

I was almost ready to say yes, but I still had to give it one more try. Glancing at Christopher, I said, "I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with your father?"

Christopher frowned as if he was trying to figure out what I was talking about. "Are you talking about when I was sixteen?"

I nodded. "Can't we go back to those days?"

"Ma!"

"Sheridan!"

Brock and Christopher shouted at me at the same time. Then Brock added, "Can't we just do this for our son?"

There it was again. Our son. The way he had pulled my children into his heart, how could I say no?

I nodded, though I barely moved my head. I didn't want either one of them to think that they'd totally won me over. I didn't want them to think that I totally agreed because I knew something they didn't know. I couldn't explain it, but it was in my gut
—
eating turkey with Quentin and his man on Christmas was sure to be a disaster.

"Yes!" Christopher pumped his fist in the air. "Thank you!" He kissed my cheek and then bumped fists with Brock. "Thanks, dude!"

"You got it 'cause I'm just trying to help you out; I'm just making sure that Evon doesn't give you back that big ole ring that she's rockin'."

Christopher laughed one more time before he kissed me again, and then he strutted out of the room like he'd just won the current forty-million-dollar Powerball.

Brock followed him to the door, then closed it behind him. When he turned back to me, I shook my head. "What was up with that? I thought you didn't like my ex?"

"I told you
—
I don't have a problem with Quentin. Once I put that ring on your finger, he became my best friend. Because of him, I have you. How can I hate on that?"

He kissed my neck, and inside I moaned. But I wasn't ready to give in totally
…
yet. "You're just trying to butter me up so that I'll do this."

He laughed. "No, 'cause you already agreed. It's a done deal, and we're gonna have fun doing it."

"Dinner with Quentin and whatever man he's seeing now? Yeah, it's gonna be a real Christmas day at the beach." I sighed. "Do you really think I can do this?"

He nodded. "Yes, 'cause you're my beautiful, wonderful, amazing wife and you can do anything." Then when he pressed his plump lips against mine, that tingling began in the soles of my feet and began rising, rising.

But even when he pushed me back onto the bed and lay on top of me, I couldn't stop the thoughts in my head. I was really going to have Christmas dinner with Quentin Hart. Christmas with my ex. This was going to take a lot of prayer.

Oh joy, joy, joy!

Joy to the world!