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It's been years since Kathryn held a tiny sleeping child in her arms.
Freja's hair is fire red and sweaty with sleep. Her mouth makes a tiny little moue and one curled fist flexes, like she's seeking something in her sleep. Kathryn's hand still covers her entire back when she splays wide, feeling the warmth of her through the thin onesie.
These feel like precious moments. She doesn't get them often, and just this is enough to make her regret the waters between her home and where this child is growing up. They visit plenty, but it still isn’t enough.
Dan stands in the doorway. "She asleep?" he whispers, mouth moving in a slightly too quiet whisper.
Kathryn nods. "But it's alright, she's like her father and her uncle. Heavy sleeper."
Dan walks into the room and sits in the chair opposite Kathryn. Everyone else is outside on the rooftop garden, drinks and cheer by the pool as they look at the London city lights.
Kathryn volunteered to sit in here with the napping child. She'd been asleep in her little temporary cot to begin with, but woke up crying. She'd let Kathryn soothe her back to sleep and Kath hates how she was almost surprised at that.
This is her grandchild. Her only one, maybe, though she looks contemplatively over at Dan. He's checking something on his phone, though when he sees her staring at him he sits up a bit straighter.
"Are they causing chaos out there?" She asks, hand still moving in slow circles over Freja's back.
"Always," Dan says. "At least when Phil's around. I'm afraid he's literally going to trip and fall face first in the fire."
Kathryn laughs. It's not that unrealistic a fear. "Now imagine that for eighteen years on, while he was still learning how to walk and talk and not lick from the mixer while it's still plugged in.
Dan's expression is exaggerated horror. "He owes you so many flower bouquets."
She just laughs. "It's alright," she says. "Your responsibility now, mostly."
It's an offhand comment but once it's out in the air between them it feels sticky and strange. It's true, though, in a way. Dan was still a child himself when they first met but she's seen him grow and Phil alongside him. Not enough, not over recent years anyway, but that impression of Dan as bold and scared and looking at them with quiet defiance has always lingered in the back of her mind.
She knows from quiet conversations with Phil over the years that Dan had feared the worst. That they'd judge him not a good enough boyfriend for Phil. He'd been afraid that Phil's parents would turn his back on him and Phil would lose the family he cared so much about, all because of Dan's place in his life.
And Kathryn can't really claim that it was always easy. She said goodbye to twenty odd years of thinking one day he'd just come home with a nice girl and within a few years they'd have little uncoordinated grandchildren running around their feet.
Her hand stills on Freja's back. The toddler makes a sleepy noise of protest, so Kath starts rubbing again.
"He gives me a heart attack every time he hops down stairs in his socks," Dan says. He's looking at his phone again, oblivious to the quiet contemplation Kath has found herself in.
"You'll have to get him some of those socks with the little rubber grips on," Kathryn says.
Dan snorts. "Granddad socks."
"Exactly," Kathryn says. "Maybe I'll do that. Imagine his face if he wakes up to find his stocking filled with no sweets, just socks."
"You're evil," Dan says, appreciative.
“He’d think Father Christmas had just up and abandoned him,” Kathryn says.
“He’d protest Christmas entirely,” Dan adds. “He’d refuse to eat a bite of his roast dinner until there was something chocolate in that stocking.”
“His loss,” Kathryn says. “Oh, did I tell you, I’ve found a vegan roast to try?”
She thinks it’ll taste like absolute cardboard, but Dan and Cornelia both refrain from eating whatever the main feature of Christmas dinner usually is, on those years that they’re all together.
She may have shed her desire to have her home be the center of all things holiday, but she won’t let go of wanting her family all in one place. It’s been nice to be here, where she doesn’t have to worry about tidying the rooms (though she still does), and they have all the groceries delivered (though she still insists on going to get a few more bits herself) or having neighbors all nosy their way inside giving her the extra hosting obligation.
But she’s still cooking most of the food, and while she knows she can’t have all of them every year, that doesn’t mean she won’t resort to petty food based bribery in an attempt to try.
“I’m sure it’ll be amazing,” Dan says, smiling at her so politely.
She feels a wave of fondness for him. “Your kitchen is lovely,” is what comes out of her mouth. “And I’ll be making a mess of it tomorrow.”
“We’ll help you clean up,” Dan promises. “Phil just isn’t allowed to touch any glassware if he’s had mulled wine.”
“Ah, yes, understood,” Kath says, nodding. “And yes, I’ll be putting you boys to work.”
Dan grins, his cheeks a little pink. He always got so bashful and proud when she’d rope him into chores just the same as her sons. The relationship they’ve had has always been so different from the one she has with Cornelia. Cornelia came into their lives not needing anything - loving her son, ready to be a good partner. Dan has been shaped by the world around him and, she thinks, a little bit by their whole family. She doesn’t ask what goes on between him and his own parents, but Phil has told her enough over time.
She’s glad if she could provide some warmth during the colder years of his life. She would get up and hug him if her arms weren’t still full.
Instead she just sends him her warmest smile and says, “I’m going to try to move her now. I’ll be out in a few minutes. I’ll bring those biscuits we made earlier up.”
Dan gets to his feet, fingers drumming against one of his thighs. “Sure, sounds good. Um - thanks.”
She just smiles again, unsure what she’s being thanked for but touched all the same. Once he’s gone she stands with Freja, gently pressing a kiss to the baby soft skin of her forehead before laying her down to sleep.