Vignette #2
Cradled in the heart of a home, where the air is warm with cardamom and vanilla from the cookies cooling on the stove top, sat a family fresh and new. Music, gentle and merry, met and mingled with the aroma in the air, leading the two in a dance. Two lovebirds embosomed the newborn love of their lives in the glow of their shakily nurturing arms. She cooed and pursed her spit glossed lips urging to smile as her parents gushed down at her. Fingers tracing the bridge of her button nose and palms brushed the velvety fuzz of her head. Intertwined on the maroon plush of the hand-me-down sofa from her parents’ basement, there was no brighter feeling than the one nursing in their chests. They were framed in the colourful string lights they tacked to the corners of the walls pooling around the room with a nostalgic film. It was Christmas Eve. The tree was twinkling in the corner, a white circle of cement imprinted with a small handprint tied onto one of its arms with ribbon. First Christmas. Paper stars hung from the ceiling, coaxing to sparkle a festive twirl. A plush reindeer lay on the ground by their feet. Their noses and cheeks, still flushed pink from the chilled air earlier, welcomely ached from smiling all night. Experiencing Christmas through the lens of their little one made the edges of their life glow brighter. Tomorrow, their home would buzz with the excitement and revelry of Christmas. There would be mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, daughters and sons. A constant hum of voices singing and chatting, bustling in the kitchen, ham and potatoes on clinking china. But right now it was only them. Their tongues, tinted with warm cranberry cider, talked about traditions and wishes.
Walks to admire the Christmas lights. Portraits under the tree. Paper stars on the ceiling. Homemade cookies painted into snowmen and ornaments. A prayer manifested through enclasped, connected hands. They didn’t have much this Christmas – materially – as they were young, and new parents. But they felt and knew that they had just enough, and it was all on this sofa.
In the glowing warmth of their living room and entwined bodies, an unwelcome pang struck her in the chest. The bundle in their arms was impressionable, fragile. If she really thought about it, it had only been 2 decades since this had been them. Could they raise one of their own? What if they messed it up?
“It’s snowing.” He said in a soft voice, laced with childlike joy. Looking up to the bay window, the world outside glittered. Flecks of white whirled down from the deepened blue sky, dancing a sweet waltz as they landed against the windowsill. It never snows in San Francisco. And in that moment, she took the first snow as a sign of hope that caressed her cheek and promised that it will be alright. Leaning down, she pressed her lips to the little forehead in her lap, and her smile shone with unadulterated cheer.