Merrily Yours (The Bardot Siblings)

Chapter 7

“I’m only a morning person on December 25th.” — Unknown

“Merry Christmas, mon chou ,” Hugo whispers. I feel the bed dip, and my eyes crack open to see the very early dawn light streaming through the curtains.

I’ve never been one for early mornings, but, thankfully, I married a man who is the epitome of “morning person.” He’s sitting on the duvet next to me with a steaming mug of coffee, little Christmas trees hand painted around the perimeter. A soft smile graces his lips causing the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes to deepen.

“Merry Christmas, my favorite cabbage,” I croak, my voice gravelly from sleep. “Is that for me?” I ask hopefully, eyeing the mug.

“Of course, but—” He pulls the mug away when I reach for it. “It’s still too hot. You’ll burn your tongue.”

A small smile tugs at my lips, and I reach up, patting his cheek. “Always looking out for me,” I sigh.

“Over thirty years we’ve been together, and yet you still drink the coffee too soon and burn your tongue. Every damn time,” he mutters, leaning in to place a kiss on my forehead. He sets the mug just out of my reach, ignoring my protestations.

“Why did you even bring it up here if you weren’t going to let me have it?” I raise an eyebrow at him in question.

“To get you out of bed,” he declares. “Everyone is downstairs already, waiting for the sleeping beauty—our fearless Bardot matriarch.”

That information perks me up. While I do love to sleep in, I don’t want to keep everyone from the day’s festivities. With everyone under one roof last night, I did sleep more peacefully than I have in quite a long time. I feel as though my heart is whole when we are all together.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed as Hugo stands, offering me his hand. He gives me another peck on the nose once I’m standing before him and then one on the lips because the man can’t help himself. “You have five minutes,” he whispers against my lips. “Don’t touch the coffee yet. I’m heading downstairs—know that your eldest will riot if he can’t start passing out presents soon.”

“It’s never taken much to make Gabriel riot,” I challenge. Hugo’s laugh rumbles in his chest, the sweet smile still gracing his lips.

He walks toward the door, turning before he leaves. “Yes, well, I’ve always said he’s a lot like his mother in that sense.” He leaves before the pillow I lob hits him. It thwacks against the closed door instead and lands in a heap on the floor.

Four minutes and thirty seconds later, I’m walking down the stairs as Gabriel is coming up.

“There you are!” He throws his hands into the air, looking much more like the little boy that used to fuss at his siblings than the thirty-two year old man he’s supposed to be.

“Merry Christmas to you too, my cabbage.” I get to the stair step right above him and smooth his hair back off his forehead. “Patience has never been your strong suit.”

I bop him on his wrinkled nose and then take a sip of my coffee, now the perfect temperature.

He waves his hand in front of his face. “Don’t bop me! It’s been so long since I’ve been Santa! Let me have this!”

“Okay, darling,” I soothe. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

We continue down the stairs together until I see that everyone is lounging in the living room, not nearly as anxious to start our morning as I’d initially been led to believe. Everyone except Elodie, that is, who seems to be vibrating with excitement as her father tries to distract her from the giant pile of presents under the tree.

She spies me and her hands fly up above her head. “LaLa!” she screams, waddling toward me. “Peh-sants!”

“Yes, love. Lots of presents!” I reply as she barrels into my legs, wrapping her chubby arms around them. Her brown curls poke this way and that, hazel eyes shining up at me. “Do you want to open one?” I ask her. She runs and jumps back into Anders’ lap, clapping wildly.

Gabe looks around the room. “Can I start now?” His excitement matches Elodie’s, while everyone else seems just as tired as I am.

Ben smashes a couch cushion over his head, grumbling, “Why is everyone so loud?”

Jules is sitting next to him and replies, “It’s not our fault you finished the whiskey by yourself last night.”

Ben points his finger toward Gabe. “He helped. I don’t understand how he’s so cheery right now.”

“Enough out of you,” Gabe says, piling his arms with gifts to pass out. Elodie is first, of course, unwrapping a bag of goldfish crackers. We all laugh as she squeals in delight at the sight of her favorite snack.

Bex was explicitly clear that she did not want us to shower Elodie in gifts. First of all, because she is one and really has no need for a bunch of random things. And second of all, she said their New York apartment is entirely too small for lots of toddler items, especially with baby number two on the way. That meant that Jules and I spent much of last night wrapping up various snacks so El would have lots of presents to unwrap today.

We respect Bex and Anders’ parenting choices. However, that respect didn’t stop me from getting Elodie a doll house that will stay here for when she visits. And several dolls for her to play with. And a box of books. And some new puzzles. She is the first grandchild, after all.

We take turns opening the rest of the presents, Gabriel, unsurprisingly, making his brothers wait until the very end before he passes anything out to them. To his utter dismay, they don’t much mind, all of us entranced by the littlest Bardot-Olsson.

I find my way next to Bex on the other couch, rubbing her back as she watches her daughter open snack after snack with childish joy. She leans her head on my shoulder and whispers, “I’m nervous.”

Not an easy admission for her to make, I know. I move her head down to my lap so I can braid her hair as we talk. “What are you nervous about, ma petite chou ?”

She sighs, rubbing her hand mindlessly up and down her stomach. “Two girls,” she finally says. “I don’t know what to do with sisters! I don’t have any of those. What if I’m a bad girl mom?”

I tut, letting her words hang. She thinks a bit more. “I miss it here,” she says moments later. “I didn’t know that having kids would make me need my mom, but I do. I need all of you guys. It’s lonely doing this in the city, just the three of us.”

“Oh, darling. I can come down more often,” I reply. “You’ve always been so independent. I never wanted to squash that in you.”

“You haven’t!” Her reply is quick and emphatic. “I… I don’t know. You are a great mom and we”—she gestures around the room—“are all so lucky. It feels like a high bar that you’ve set.”

Her sincerity makes my eyes sting. “I love all of you. Your father and I have four amazing children. You and Anders have built a beautiful life and family together, as well. You, my cabbage, are an amazing mother. Don’t try to be me—be you . That is exactly what Elodie and her sister will need.”

Bex nods, turning her head to give me a small smile. “We are going to try to move back soon, I think. I always wanted to get away, and now I feel that same desperation to return,” she laughs.

I shrug, continuing to twirl her curls around my finger. “Things change. People change. That’s a good thing, Rebecca.”

She tucks her hands under her chin and murmurs, “Thank you, Mom.”

Hugo catches my eye from his spot across the room, a question on his face. She’s fine , I mouth. He seems satisfied by that answer, standing when the oven timer dings.

“That’ll be the breakfast casserole,” he says to a room that is not really paying attention to him. I see Jules notice his dad walking into the kitchen. He gets up to follow, and I frown at his retreating form.

Bex and her family will be fine, I truly do believe that. The rest of these boys, however, are worrying me.

Christmas day has been utterly perfect. We’ve eaten entirely too much, Elodie has played with all of the toys we were not supposed to get her, and the weather was nice enough to bundle up and take a quick walk around town.

Now, Hugo and I are snuggled together on the loveseat, everyone more or less in the same position they were when I came downstairs this morning except Elodie, who has already gone to sleep, and Bex, who doesn’t look like she’s far behind her.

I sip on another mug of spiked hot chocolate and consider my children. I heard whisperings today of Ben coming home, and Bex also seems ready to return. My hopes are up, whether I want them to be or not. Now I just need to figure out how to make sure they follow through.

“You have your scheming face on,” Hugo whispers. “Should I be scared?”

I think about my answer before I reply. “I don’t think so…”

Hugo hums, seemingly unconvinced. “Well, just don’t make anyone too angry.”

“Anger can be a good thing, darling. It fuels.” I smirk. “But the boys need a shake-up, I think. They are all unhappy.”

He frowns. “I don’t know that you’re wrong… what are you planning to do about it?”

“They need a little meddling. It will be good for them. Partners, job shifts, location shifts… something,” I contemplate.

“Having those things won’t necessarily make them happy. They need to do some inner work, first,” Hugo adds.

“I agree.” I watch all three of my boys—study them as they lounge and talk to each other, no one paying us much attention. They are so different from each other, but they all have their father’s capacity for love. And my sense of humor, even when it’s in a quiet way.

I tap my chin with my index finger. “Who should I start with? That’s the real question,” I whisper conspiratorially. My husband’s huff makes me giggle, which draws the attention of our children.

“Oh no,” Bex groans. “Whatever you two are planning, stop it right now!”

Hugo looks at her, his expression serious. “Whatever are you talking about, mon chou ?” I see the dimple threatening to pop as he holds back his smile.

“The last time she meddled, I think it worked out pretty well,” Anders chimes in, his eyebrows bouncing up and down.

“Leave me out of it,” Jules says, staring straight at me.

And I think I found my target.

“Of course.” I smile, rising from the couch. “Your father and I are going to bed. Merry Christmas, my cabbages.”

I walk around the room and give each of them a kiss on the top of their head. Jules is last and when I get to him he murmurs, “I’m serious, Mom.”

He’s always serious. “I know, darling.”

“Why doesn’t that make me feel better?” he asks.

“It shouldn’t.” I grin. Then Hugo and I go upstairs and enjoy the rest of our evening—alone.