Kat seems to get lost in the movie, her eyes wide with joy. Any urge to tease her during these movies seems to fall away as I watch her. Right now, I would rather watch that smile on her lips rise up as Scott Calvin commits Santa murder.
She needs this more than I need to touch her. She needs to feel that as long as she is here with me, this family is hers too. These moments, this happiness she feels, don’t necessarily have to end.
I continue watching her more than the screen for the next five hours, snacking on my candy and stealing some of her popcorn. None of her glances go unnoticed because I am already looking at her. But every time she looks my way, my heart flutters in my chest.
The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clauseends, and the credits begin rolling. Not one time during that marathon did Kat ever seem bored or tired. She enjoyed every second of it.
Have I always taken everything in my life for granted? This is a holiday tradition for us. It’s fun, and I like it, but I’ve never liked it as much as she just did. It makes me want to look at everything through her eyes.
My mom claps and stretches up in her seat. The door opens, and the light feels way too bright. Oliver walks through the threshold and lifts the bar on the light dimmer, filling the room with bright, warm light.
I wait for Oliver to look my way and give me a smile or a wink, something to indicate that everything is ready. He scans the room, and when his eyes meet mine, he smiles and holds my stare longer than anyone else’s.
“How were the movies?” Oliver asks us, and Kat and I walk toward him down the ramp.
Kat can’t contain her excitement as her words ramble out of her mouth. “It was so good. This was so much fun. I want to do it again. I’ve never marathoned any movies, and now, I feel like it’s the only way to watch any movie or series. I don’t know if I can ever go back.”
She is lost in the excitement in her mind as Oliver steps aside, and we walk through the door. It is way too easy to make her smile. Which might sound like a dumb thing to say. But no one in her life has put in any effort to do so, and everything we do together has her grinning from ear to ear. The bar has never been raised for her. She has just settled for the bare minimum. But that is all about to change.
Kat has me in a ball of nerves and butterflies as we ascend the staircase to our room. But when she reaches for the doorknob to our room, I grab her around the waist.
“Not yet. I have a little surprise for you,” I say to her as I guide her to the door to our left.
She spins her head, trying to look at me, with the most breathtaking smile I have ever seen. “Noelle, what did you do?”
When I squeeze her waist, she giggles, and all the breath leaves my fucking lungs.
“Put your hand on the doorknob. But don’t open it until I say so.”
I step around her, joining her at her side.
She wiggles her eyebrows at me, as if to say,What happens if I open it before you say so?
Squinting my eyes, I shake my head, smiling.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I thought you might be missing this right now. And that you might want a little time and space of your own while you’re here with me.” I nod to her hand wrapped around the knob.
She takes a deep breath with the biggest grin on her face, and her eyes light up like Christmas lights. Her focus moves to the door as she turns the knob and pushes it open.
Oliver deserves a gigantic bonus that I will personally cut myself. He couldn’t have done better.
This room was just a spare bedroom that is often forgotten about. I had Oliver move the bed out, put in a sofa, love seat, and some other furniture you would expect. All pieces we had in other rooms. A coffee table, end table, et cetera. In the center of the room, I had him set up my surprise for Kat.
“Do you like it?” I ask her as I walk her into the room with my fingers intertwined with hers.
Her bottom lip trembles, and mine does right along with her. I’m a total sympathy crier.
“H-how? W-why?” Her face scrunches up.
She’s quiet, and I hope it’s for a good reason.
Softly, she says, “It’s the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me.”
In the center of the room sits an array of canvases, every size she might want. I remember her saying acrylic and watercolor were her favorite mediums to use. So, I had Oliver go to our local art supply store and get anything and everything in the art section, brushes, paints, palettes, an apron, a clear sheet for the floor, cups, et cetera. I wanted him to get everything she could ever want. Along with the painting station, cookie dough bites sit on the coffee table.
“I thought you were probably missing painting, especially being away from work,” I say to her, my voice soft.
Her eyes leave the cornucopia of art supplies and meet mine. Tears wet her cheeks, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out and wiping them with my thumbs as I cup her head in my hands.
