Work Text:
Tim Bradford
Point of View
If anyone had told me five years ago that my main Christmas skill would be closing suitcases using my own body weight like a hydraulic press, I would have laughed. But there I was, on Christmas Eve eve, kneeling on top of a navy blue suitcase, trying to get the zipper all the way around without swallowing the ears of a stuffed reindeer.
The living room looked like the post-credits scene of an action movie. Between half-wrapped gift boxes, rolls of tape, crumpled wrapping paper, and the Christmas tree lights blinking at a mesmerizing pace in the background, Lucy and I were trying to organize "Operation: Road Trip to Grandma’s House."
Lucy was sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of clothes, her hair up in a perfectly messy bun and a pen tucked behind her ear. She was checking a list that seemed to have no end.
"Tim, did you pack Liv’s sunscreen? And the colic medicine? And that pink cloud-print blanket she can only sleep with if it’s touching her nose?" she shot out, her eyes wide with that classic look of someone who is absolutely sure they forgot their passport, even though she knew we were traveling by car to the countryside.
"I got everything, babe. It’s all in the smaller suitcase. I swear," I lied a little, knowing that the pink blanket was still drying on the rack in the laundry area, but I needed to keep troop morale high.
Year-end stress is real for any human being, but ours came with a four-year-old twist. Exactly four days ago, our oldest son, Liam, had decided he wasn't Liam anymore. He was, officially and full-time, Spider-Man. He wouldn't take off the spandex suit even to eat spaghetti (which resulted in a black spider on his chest slightly stained with tomato sauce), let alone to take a bath. The negotiation for the previous night's bath was a humiliating defeat for Lucy and me; we ended up with Liam taking a shower with the suit on and the two of us trying to dry him with a hair dryer on the cool setting for almost an hour.
"Alright..." Lucy sighed, crossing something off the list. "If we leave at six in the morning, we'll hit less traffic and Olivia will sleep through the first part of the trip..."
Suddenly, it clicked in my mind. The suitcase zipper finally gave way, but the sound that followed was the scariest one for any parent: absolute silence.
Our house, which until five minutes ago sounded like a loud branch of a toy factory, had gone completely mute. No sound of quick slipper-clad footsteps in the hallway, no sound of toys banging on the floor, no high-pitched babbling from Olivia, our nine-month-old baby.
I looked at Lucy. She was already looking at me, her pen frozen mid-air.
In a house with a baby who is learning to crawl and a highly energetic four-year-old superhero, silence is never a good sign. It either means someone figured out how to open the pots and pans drawer, or the living room wall just got a new textured makeover in crayon.
"Where is Liam?" Lucy whispered, as if any loud noise might trigger a trap.
"I thought he was with you in the bedroom," I replied, feeling a slight chill. "And Olivia?"
"She was in the playpen right next to me until I started folding these coats!"
We got up in slow motion, leaving the suitcases behind. I tiptoed down the hallway, checking the bathroom (empty) and their bedroom (a mess of building blocks, but empty). Lucy headed toward the kitchen, inspecting under the table. Nothing.
My mind was already projecting the worst-case scenarios: Liam trying to climb the bookshelf using his "spider powers" or Olivia chewing on a piece of wrapping paper left on the floor.
We returned to the living room at the same time, just on the verge of a mild panic, when Lucy touched my arm and pointed to the other side of the couch, which was facing away from our suitcase "war zone."
I peeked over the beige fabric backrest, and all the adrenaline, the year-end exhaustion, and the highway traffic worries simply evaporated.
There, under the soft, warm glow of the Christmas tree lights, was the most perfect picture I had ever seen.
Liam was sitting awkwardly on the couch, still wearing his Spider-Man mask covering his entire face, except for his little eyes peeking intently through the white lenses. In his lap, perfectly cradled between her big brother's legs, was Olivia, wearing her pink cotton onesie.
Liam was holding her bottle with both red-gloved hands, with a level of care I didn't even know a four-year-old boy possessed. When their mom got distracted and his little sister started fussing from hunger in the playpen, the little hero didn't hesitate. He rescued the forgotten milk from the counter, took Olivia out of the playpen, and took over the mission of feeding her. He kept the bottle at the exact right angle, without shaking. Olivia, with those chubby cheeks and wide blue eyes, stared intently at her brother’s mask while drinking her milk, holding his gloved fingers with her tiny hands. She looked completely safe, as if she knew she was under the protection of the most powerful hero in the world.
"Shh..." Liam whispered very softly when he saw us, without taking his eyes off his sister. "Don't make noise, Daddy. Baby-Spider is having dinner. I saw she was sad and I got the milk Mommy forgot. I'm taking care of her so you guys can finish working."
Lucy put her hand over her mouth, and I saw her eyes instantly well up with tears. I swallowed hard myself, feeling a lump in my throat.
All that rushing around, the stress to make everything perfect, the endless lists... it all felt so insignificant in front of that scene. Christmas wasn't in perfectly packed suitcases or the planned departure time. It was right there, on that couch.
I took my phone out of my pocket with the utmost care, holding my breath, and snapped a photo. The click was almost silent, capturing the Spider-Boy of Los Angeles feeding his biggest fan in the middle of a messy Christmas living room.
I put the device away, walked around the couch, and sat down very quietly on the floor next to them, followed by Lucy, who rested her head on my shoulder.
"Good job, hero," I whispered to Liam, gently patting his costumed head.
"Spider-Boy never lets his team go hungry, Daddy," he replied, his voice muffled by the spandex but full of pride.
The four of us stayed there in silence, leaving the suitcases for later. After all, traffic could wait, clothes could wrinkle, but that moment was more important than anything else.