Obsessive Compulsion (28 page)

I love Ian, and I think that’s all that
should matter. Ian’s a good man, though, and a bit old-fashioned in
some ways. I’m not one hundred percent sure he’d go against my
father’s wishes if my daddy says Ian’s no longer good enough for
me. Which is just plain crazy. Ian’s one of the best damn things to
ever happen to me. I know it all the way down to my toes. I just
hope Ian knows it, too.

My fingers toy with the two pendants around
my neck. Heck, I
could
always just ask him first, but part
of me wants that proposal. I want the one-knee and diamond ring
question. I want to hear Ian’s voice asking me to marry him. I want
it so much that I’m afraid what will happen to my heart if it
doesn’t… happen.

“Look at my pretty girl,” Momma’s voice
soothes over my worries as she hugs my shoulders from behind. “Such
a beautiful woman you’ve become, Charlotte.”

“Thanks, Momma.” I lean back against her,
our heads meeting gently. I’m just wearing a simple green sweater
and black A-line skirt, something conservative enough for Midnight
Mass. I aint been to church in a long time, so I figure I might as
well try and dress nice when I reacquaint myself with the Lord.

“So beautiful,” she repeats and kisses my
cheek, “and tall. Would you mind hangin’ this last ornament for
me?”

I’m a few inches taller than Momma, taking
more after my daddy in that regard, so I take the ornament and
reach up to a barren spot close to the stained-glass lighted star
that tops the tree. My hand stops mid-raise as I refocus on the
ornament. It’s a little baby angle, cuddling a star which has a
year and ‘
Mary Lynn McLeod’
written on it.

“We bought that for Mary’s first, and only,
Christmas,” Momma sniffles into my shoulder. “I think after
twenty-five years, it’s time we put it back up on the tree. Don’t
you?”

“Yeah, Momma, I do.” Hanging it from a
branch, I stare at the cute cherub face.

The sadness I expected only lasts for a
second, then I feel happy to see the ornament there amongst all the
others we’ve collected, as a family, over the years. It feels right
to have Mary Lynn’s ornament on the tree and her memory in my
heart. Now I can carry that memory with me – not the dark day of
the crash, but of a sweet little baby dressed in a white frilly
dress who blessed our family for too short a time.

Emma appears next to us without a sound and
hangs a new ornament from the tree. It’s a small, silver picture
frame, and inside it is a newly printed picture of the instant-film
one that Daddy had shown me. It’s been fixed up, the degraded edges
and coloring repaired. It explains what she’d been playing around
with on the computer all morning.

“Merry Christmas, Mary,” Emma whispers as
she hangs the picture, then she disappears back upstairs without
even acknowledging Momma and I.

Momma and I share a look then a quiet laugh
at Emma’s unsurprising behavior. We know we’ll never get her all
the way figured out, and that’s part of what makes Emma so special
to us. My laughter chokes as the backdoor opens and the sound of
boots stomping off snow thunders through the kitchen. Momma kisses
my cheek and goes to tend to the boys while I try to swallow back
down butterflies.

Brandon appears first with a smile to me
then he heads to the stairs to call up for Emma. “Ready to go,
Em?”

“Minute!” Emma’s voice calls back down.

A pair of arms wraps around me from behind
and I startle, eliciting a snort into my ear. Ian’s cold nose
burrows against my neck before I can move away with a small gasp.
His rosy nose and cheeks are as adorable as his eyes and subtle
smile are handsome, and the way those eyes move over my body cause
me to shiver.

“You look beautiful, Charlotte.”

He leans in and kisses me once, twice, three
times and four. I lose count after six, enjoying the way his cold
skin is warming under my hands as I palm his cheeks. A throat
clears behind us, and I move away, but Ian gets in one last kiss
before letting me go. Peaking over Ian’s shoulder, I find my
daddy’s stern blue eyes on me. The butterflies take wing, but then
he winks at me.

“Oh, John,” Momma huffs with a smile,
swatting him on the shoulder as she walks by. “Quit giving the kids
a hard time and go get washed up. We don’t want to be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His hard gaze melts into
affectionate playfulness before he heads upstairs to get
changed.

My questioning glance refocuses on Ian for
explanation. He nods once with that special smile, kisses me twice
more then takes my hand. Relief warms over me, two-days’ worth of
anxious energy collapsing and threatening to take my knees out with
it. I need air.

Squeezing his hand tight, I grab my jacket
and pull him outside to the front porch, seeking a few moments
alone while everyone finishes getting ready. Marching him down the
stairs and into the seclusion of the side yard, I take in a deep
inhale of crisp winter frost, tall evergreens and cut wheat hay
then let it out as a laugh.

“Feel better?” he asks while helping me put
on my coat.

“Depends,” I pull him in close after he zips
me up. “What did my daddy say?”

“Sorry, but that’s not something I’m at
liberty to discuss. Man-code and all that.”

“Man-code?” I slap his shoulder then go
silent, lost in his watercolor eyes as they catch the muted light
from the porch. My heart waits on pins and needles, wondering if
this is the moment and subconsciously giving him a window of
opportunity to ask me.

It’s silly to do that, isn’t it? That tiny
voice of Christmas-past whispers that I might just be setting
myself up for disappointed heartache again, but the look Ian gives
me tells me he’s simply waiting for the right time to ask me. That
perfect moment he needs may not be tonight or even before this year
ends, but I have this belief that it’s going to happen eventually.
That faith, along with our love, is enough for me to hold onto and
give him all the time he needs.

Luckily, I’ve got no such hang-ups. Reaching
into my sweater, I pull out the two chains around my neck while he
watches me curiously. I check to make sure I’ve got the right one,
then I unclasp it from my neck before clasping it around his.
“Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

My cheeks warm despite the cold as he
inspects the silver heart shaped charm. The front reads
‘
Charlotte’s’
, and he glances up at me with a raised
eyebrow. I bite my bottom lip and motion for him to turn it around.
He does then promptly snorts. The other side says
‘
Mine’
.

“Charlotte’s mine?” he teases then palms the
pendant that’s around my neck and reads the front side then the
back. “Ian’s… mine.”

“You better remember that,” I wink then let
out a girly giggle as he tugs me closer by the chain. “You
like?”

“I love,” he corrects then proceeds to kiss
my lips until they’re good and chapped. “I love you,
Charlotte.”

I smile, ignoring my cracking lips and
leaning in to kiss him some more. A flash of light stops me and we
glance at the porch to see my momma trying to hide her camera. She
shrugs innocently at me while ushering us towards the driveway.
Embarrassed but understanding, I let her have her fun.

The Midnight Mass at St. Francis is as
beautiful as I remember, full of hushed reverence and hope for
things to come. I don’t agree with everything the church says, but
I can appreciate the love behind the message. With Ian’s hand
holding mine tightly throughout the hour-long service, the feeling
of love surrounding me is stronger than it’s ever been.

The drive home is quiet, with Emma already
falling asleep against Brandon’s shoulder. He carries her up to bed
while my parents say their goodnights to Ian and I. He leads me to
my bedroom, but then kisses me goodnight and gathers some things
from his suitcase before heading to the guest room down the
hall.

I miss him before I hear the guest room door
shut. It feels wrong not sharing a bed with Ian, even though my
little double mattress might have been a bit tight. I know he’s
trying to respect my parents, but I want more than anything to wake
up in his arms again.

At some point during the night, I guess he
gets the same idea, because I’m suddenly surrounded by warmth
preceding a snort as my cold feet welcome his arrival. I try not to
snicker when he reaches behind my nightstand to unplug my tulip
lamp. “I tried to stay away,” he whispers into my hair and we both
fall asleep smiling at his failure.

As tradition dictates, it’s eight a.m. on
the dot when Emma bounces onto my bed without paying any mind to a
shirtless Ian nestled in my arms. “Merry Christmas! Get up,
sleepy-heads. Brandon’s making blueberry and banana pancakes!”

Well, not quite tradition, but I’m sure
Momma appreciates the help. Emma leaves the room just as over
abundantly full of energy as she entered it, shutting the door that
was left open long enough to allow the scent of coffee in. The
promise of caffeine gets me moving and I nudge Ian who reluctantly
disengages. The man is a damn spider monkey when he sleeps, his
arms and legs wrapping around me like I’m a stuffed animal. Not
complaining, mind you, but God forbid I ever need to get up and use
the bathroom in the middle of the night.

I think we’re both still a little bit
surprised that my touch no longer sends his mind into overdrive.
Well, not the negative kind of overdrive, at least. He’s grinning
at me as we dress, and he even wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as
I change panties. After a night of cuddling, his cute, sexual
innuendoes are asking for trouble. I shake my butt in revenge. It
earns me a little spanking which demands retaliation. I’m two
seconds away from dragging Ian back to bed when Daddy knocks softly
on the door.

“You two kids up?”

“Yes, sir,” Ian answers. “Emma made sure we
didn’t miss out on the pancakes.”

Daddy laughs on the other side of the door.
“See you downstairs, then.”

I eye Ian as he pulls on a pair of khaki
Dockers. “Don’t think you’ve gotten outta that punishment I
promised you, Mr. Rider.”

Looping his belt through, he continues to
grin smugly. “A promise is a promise, and I will hold you to
it.”

As we finish dressing with a continued
banter between us, it hits me just how right it all feels. I want
to wake up every morning like this. It’s this little piece of
normal, our normal, that makes any trouble we may face worth every
single bump.

That thought follows me through breakfast,
clouding over my mind so much that I barely catch the snuck glances
from my momma and Emma. Those two are up to something, but I decide
to just pretend I don’t notice it as I dig into Brandon’s amazing
pancakes. Damn, the boy can cook.

After the traditional Christmas morning
breakfast, we three girls clean up the dishes while the boys go
check on the goats. I’m sure Daddy is just as happy to have the
help in the barn as Momma was to have Brandon helping in the
kitchen. Despite her attempts, neither Emma nor I have ever gotten
the knack for cooking anything that requires more than boiled water
or a microwave.

Brandon’s been trying to teach Emma, but she
just ends up with more flour in her hair and on her face than in
the bowl. It’s adorable, and it’s probably why Brandon insists on
her continued help. He handles all her quirks like they are
incredibly special and priceless pieces of her, and I know I love
the man for it.

Yeah, I think I’m ready to admit that
Brandon has come to feel like the brother I always wanted, and I’m
so glad Emma has him in her life. It’s good to let myself
feel
connections like that again, and knowing why I couldn’t
before is like seeing the world around me for the first time all
over again. Glancing at Ian as the boys come back into the kitchen,
I’m almost overwhelmed by just how much I do feel for him. I think
he sees it, and he gives me the smile that’s only for me as he
takes my hand and leads me into the living room.

With Mary Lynn’s memory remembered and these
new feelings and traditions taking root in our family, I feel like
this is the first Christmas of what I hope is a promise of more
Christmases just like this one in the future. I’m ready for new
promises and making plans beyond tomorrow. I’m ready to shed my
cocoon, spread my wings and fly as far as they will take me, as
long as they always take me back to Ian’s heart.

Sitting with him on the couch, the look in
his watercolor eyes promises me without words needed that he’ll
always chase after me if my wings take me too far. I promise him
right back that I’ll always wait for him, no matter how many times
he has to start the chase over. This is our dance. Our steps. Our
normal, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

The way Charlotte’s looking at me almost has
me at the end of my patience. I’m actually thankful for my OCD,
because it’s the only thing keeping me from getting on one knee
right now and blurting out the question. My OCD, however, is
demanding I stick to the plan so carefully orchestrated and
reevaluated over and over and over and…

“Presents!” Emma’s cheery announcement saves
me.

God, I love that girl, and I love Brandon’s
goofy grin, too. The man has been trying to keep it under wraps,
but I can tell he’s just as excited as I am. Looking around the
living room as John and Carol join us, I almost lose it. It’s all
just so… perfect.

A decorated house, a huge Christmas tree and
a family gathering together. It’s like a Norman Rockwell painting
and I can’t believe it’s all real. The only thing that’s missing is
the wide-eyed kids and a puppy that Rockwell always includes.
Glancing at Charlotte, I think maybe by next Christmas we could
help complete that picture.