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Lisa and Carla had been dozing on the sofa for hours, both too lazy to bother moving upstairs. Lisa didn’t mind, though. Carla’s head was in her lap, and though her breathing was soft and slow, Lisa couldn’t quite tell if she was asleep or awake, having only just stirred from her own ill-advised nap. The gentle twinkle of the lights on the Christmas tree and the terrible romcom playing on the TV, the volume turned down so low it was little more than a quiet hum now, had made her drowsy and gently lulled her to sleep. She’d pay for napping this late once she was in bed, but right now she couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d dreamed of quiet, peaceful evenings like these for years, wrapped up in blankets and snuggled up close to the love of her life.
This year, Christmas was looking very different for the Swains. Lisa and Betsy had a new family and a new home, and most importantly they were happy, and closer than they had been in years. Sometimes, Lisa could barely believe it, often reaching out and touching Carla just to make sure she was real, checking she wasn’t just a dream. She did this again while Carla lay peacefully across her lap, running a hand through her hair, confirming that yes, she really was this lucky. She really had been blessed with the love of this beautiful woman. She was hers.
The movement caused Carla to stir, a contented hum escaping her lips as Lisa’s finger tips trailed over her scalp. Her eyes fluttered open and she shifted her head so she could gaze up at Lisa, heavy lidded and very sleepy, a yawn coming out instead of words when she tried to speak.
“What time is it?” Carla asked.
Lisa checked her watch. “Nearly midnight.”
Carla sighed and sat up, rubbing her eyes as they adjusted to the room. “The tree looks nice with all the lights out, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it does,” Lisa agreed.
“Where did that come from?” Carla asked suddenly, confusion dawning on her face as her eyes landed on something across the room.
“What?” Lisa asked. She followed her gaze, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“That gnome thing,” Carla explained, pointing at the festive gonk sitting atop the mantle piece.
“That gnome thing? That’s Father Gonkmas.”
That didn’t clear up Carla’s confusion at all. “It has a name?”
“Don’t let Bets hear you calling him an it. Put some respect on Father Gonkmas’ name, please,” Lisa warned, fixing Carla with a stern look.
Carla rolled her eyes. “Sorry, who is he?”
“We bought him when Betsy was little. We used to tell her he was a spy sent by Santa to watch over her, you know, to make her behave in December. This was before the Elf on a Shelf thing got so popular. She got very attached to him and he comes out every year. She says he’s the closest thing to a father she’s ever had.”
Carla tilted her head, clearly still a little baffled. “That last part was a joke, right?”
“Yes,” Lisa laughed. “But she is very attached to him. And so am I. He’s part of the family. It’s just one of our Swain family traditions.”
“Right, well, good to know. He is creeping me out a bit, though,” Carla said, casting an unimpressed look back over at him.
“He can hear you.”
“Oh shut up,” Carla shot back, elbowing Lisa playfully.
Lisa chuckled, elbowing her right back. “Don’t you have any silly family traditions? What about when you were a kid?”
Lisa realised a second too late that given Carla didn’t have a whole lot of happy childhood memories, the answer to that question was probably a resounding no.
“Well, my mum used to be passed out by lunchtime. That was a fun tradition. Though not really a Christmas one,” Carla said, injecting a faux cheeriness into her voice that she always did when recalling her childhood, though Lisa knew her well enough now to see the flicker of pain behind her eyes. “After she passed out, me and Rob could stick whatever we wanted on the TV.”
“Carla,” Lisa said softly, reaching for her hand.
As always, Carla quickly and decisively brushed off any potential sympathy, and deftly moved the conversation along as though she’d never said anything at all. “What other traditions do you and Betsy have?”
Lisa knew not to push further, so started with a tradition she knew Carla would find funny. “Well, I used to dress up as Father Christmas to put the presents under the tree.”
Carla barked out a laugh. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” Lisa confirmed. “Betsy had a habit of trying to stay awake on Christmas Eve to catch Father Christmas, so we decided it would be safer for me to dress up, just in case she caught us. Becky used to have to stand guard at the bottom of the stairs to make sure she didn’t sneak down while I was putting all the presents under the tree. She was a very crafty kid.”
“Oh, please tell me you still have the costume. Was there a beard as well?”
Lisa nodded. “And I used to stuff a pillow up my top too.”
Carla’s eyes lit up, and she fixed Lisa with a pleading look. “Will you dress up for me this year?”
Lisa sighed. “Fine. But you cannot defile the Santa costume. It’s sacred.”
“How would I defile it?
Lisa shrugged. “By trying to have sex with me in it.”
Carla scoffed. “Your arrogance is staggering. As if I’d be attracted to you wearing a white beard,” she teased.
“Well, you did used to date men, so…”
“Oh shut it you,” Carla grumbled, reaching out and tickling Lisa’s sides. “Not one of my ex husbands looked like Santa Claus.”
“If you say so,” Lisa laughed, squirming away from her. “Anyway, do you know what the best thing about us celebrating Christmas together in our new house is?”
Carla raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“We get to make whole new traditions that are just ours. Just think - this time next year, you’ll be my wife. And then we’ll get to spend every Christmas together until we die, our way.”
“Did you have to mention death?”
“Sorry,” Lisa chuckled. “But you know what I mean.”
Carla nodded and smiled softly. “Yeah, I do.”
Lisa leant in and captured Carla’s lips in a slow, gentle kiss. This Christmas was going to be a good one, of that she was sure.