Alien Holiday by Tracy Lauren

Epilogue

Lo

“Careful with those ornaments!” I warn, wagging my finger at my son. “I’ve had those since my second Christmas on Elysia and they mean a lot to me.”

“Yes, Mamí, we know,” Tony groans. “You say that every year.”

“I just don’t want you to forget. Es muy especial para mi, baby.”

“We know,” Resa says. “That’s why we only play catch with them when you are not looking.”

“Lies, I’d kill you if you ever put my ornaments in jeopardy.”

“We better not tease Mamí at Christmas, Tony, or she will turn into the Grinch.”

“Me? The Grinch?” Hah! I shake my head at my grinning husband and return my attention to the girls. They’ve taken over tamale making this year—determined to make sure the whole village gets some. Sharing tradition is important to them, they say. And nothing could make me prouder.

“Look at how good you girls are at this. Your bisabuela would be so proud.” My heart is full and I look over at Tony—our oldest. He’s digging through the box of ornaments searching for his favorites. “Tony, baby, why don’t you get the other box out?”

His eyes light up. “I thought you said you burned them?”

Resa laughs out loud, hell, we all laugh at the memory of the first time I tried knitting Christmas sweaters for us all. “Your mother could never burn those atrocities. She is too proud of them.”

Resa and Tony dig through the cabinet together and pull out the box. Tony finds his sweater amongst the bunch, holding it up proudly. I wince. “You can tell it’s supposed to be a reindeer, right?”

“To be fair, none of us have ever seen a reindeer before,” Resa reminds me.

I purse my lips, staring at the clownish brown blob on the green and red sweater. “At least he looks happy.” I shrug and the kids all laugh—surely thinking of the angry Grinch character I tried to knit into Resa’s sweater. It looks like Picasso had a hand in it.

“Why do you always call Papí a Grinch anyway?” our daughter, Gabrielle, questions.

“Yeah? You’re the sour one.” Resa says, teasing me.

“Yeah, Papí’s not a Grinch. Papí’s silly.”

“I know Carmencita. Your daddy’s a sweetie.”

“Thanks to you,” Resa tells me, hugging me from behind as I try to help Tony shake out everyone’s sweaters. “You know Mamí made my heart grow three sizes once?”

“That’s not medically possible,” Gabrielle informs us seriously.

“Who’s to say what is possible? The universe is a big place.” Resa shrugs.

I’m still caught up in my old Christmas sweaters. I can see why my auntie did this every year. Part of the fun is the process. “Come on, let’s put these on before we start decorating.” I turn the sweater every which way, trying to figure out how it goes. Resa helps. “You know making wing holes complicates this whole knitting thing to a completely different level.”

“I’m sure it does.”

I look closely at the uneven gaps in my stich work. I don’t know how Tía Lucia did it. She might not have had taste, but the woman had skills. I probably should have asked her to teach me when I had the chance. Still, I won’t let the tradiciones die. I’ll just keep practicing and eventually I’ll get better.

“I think I’ll make new ones this year,” I tell my family.

The kids cheer.

“I didn’t know you’d be so enthusiastic about sweaters.”

“Don’t be crazy, Mamí! I’m sure they’ll be just as hilarious as the last ones.”

I narrow my eyes at my daughter. “Gracias, Gabrielle. I’m glad to hear my sweaters bring you joy.”

“Oh Mamí, we love them.”

“Just not the way you initially intended,” Resa points out—clearly teasing me.

“Let’s see your handiwork, smarty pants.”

“Oh, you’ll see my handiwork—after these kids go to bed.” Resa winks at me.

“Ew, gross, Papí!”

“There’s nothing gross about me loving your mother,” he assures the kids. “You’ll understand one day.”

The kids all wrinkle their noses like they don’t believe him. “Anyway, you have to be all mushy like that,” Carmencita points out. “Because it’s your anniversary.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Resa tells her.

“Yeah, Papí is always mushy.” Tony pokes his father’s belly. “Especially here.”

“Blame your Mamí’s cooking,” he says, patting his stomach.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I tell Resa, giving him a hug and looking up into his eyes.

They rest of the day is filled with nonstop cooking and it comes to a close after we decorate our tree. Once in a while my mind goes to my family on Earth, but I have grown less sad as the years have passed. My only regret is my kids will never meet their cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles. But we have each other and we have the family we’ve created here. Hell, the kids have got nearly thirty kids they call their cousins. It’s a big family. A happy one. Resa links his fingers with mine and I look over at him. Carmencita is asleep against his chest and Tony and Gabrielle are asleep under the tree.

“They look like little gifts under there, with their sweaters on.”

I chuckle. They really do. “Should we move them?”

Resa shakes his head. “Not yet, let’s enjoy the view a little longer.” I scoot closer and he wraps an arm around me. “This is my favorite time of year, you know.”

“You’ve mentioned that once or twice.” Or a hundred. “Why, baby? Is it the decorations?”

Resa shakes his head. “It just reminds me of how we started—and how far we’ve come.”

“Mmm,” I agree.

“You know, if it weren’t for you, Lo, I’d still be up on that mountain—cold and bitter. Look at all you’ve given me.” We both smile at our little family and I blink away a few happy tears.

“Look at what we’ve given each other.”

“There’s no better gift in life…”

“Than family?”

“Than happily ever after.”

I grin up at my alien man, shaking my head at him. “You used to be such a Grinch.”

“A long time ago perhaps, but not since you.”

I snuggle against Resa and admire the tree. This is just the start of the holiday season. There is going to be long days of cooking and gift making, visiting friends and hosting dinners, and perhaps a night or two of carrying exhausted children to their beds then staying up late to snuggle with Resa by the fire. The thought brings me more happiness than I could have imagined at a different stage of my life. “You know, this is my favorite time of year too.”

Resa presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Si, mi amor. I know.”