Page 87 of Lift Me Up

"It's okay." Giving her a small smile, I hope she'll continue her thought.

She looks on at the photo of Noah at his high school graduation, his smile that never quite reaches his eyes to create his smile lines, the way the light doesn't shine in them. "Noah was always very bright. He was good at everything. It was infuriating for Sienna." She laughs at the memory. "I always thought he would make a fine surgeon, or doctor. We wanted the best for him. But we pushed too far. He went behind our backs and applied to business school instead of medicine. He graduated but never went on to work in a business field. That infuriated me, in the beginning, to see his education and talent go to waste."

She wells up, looking away for a moment, emotions clear on her face, in the tremble of her hand, "But all I want is for my children to be happy. For my son to be happy. I think you make him happy."

"He makes me happy every day, Susan." I turn to her and notice that she's looking at the photo on my home screen of my phone in my hand lighting up.

Franny took it one night when the three of us were playing board games, and Noah and I were laughing at some joke only we knew about and found funny. Noah's laugh is contagious, and his face goes pink when he gets giggling. It's my favourite thing about him, the way his emotions are always on display, worn on his sleeve like a badge of honour.

"Your son is kind, sweet, and caring. He's gentle and proud and strong. He is a perfectionist, he is annoying sometimes…" We both chuckle. "But he is one of the best people I have ever met in my life. And I, of all people, know that Noah can be very forgiving. I think Noah could benefit from hearing you say these words to him directly. I think they both would."

We both look over to the scene playing out in the entranceway of the living room, where Sienna stands, bouncing Aelia on her hip and singing a song about sharks. Noah is performing an interpretive dance to the song, and Ricardo is recording the whole thing with a grin on his face. When I glance at Susan, there's a twinge at the corner of her pressed lips, like the hint of a smile peeking through. Her hand squeezes mine as she looks on at her children, and her grandchild develops a core memory as we witness the very first laugh from Aelia.

Sienna stills, shock on her face, and Ricardo sits forward on the couch. Noah points, "Did she just⁠—"

"She just had her first laugh!" Sienna says with joy, tears streaming down her face as she holds her baby close and kisses her chubby little face.

"I think you should go celebrate this little victory with them."

"They don't want me there."

"I think they do. They just don't know how to show that. Go to them." I nudge her with a smile.

Susan hesitates for only a moment to look back at me and gives a nod. "You know, you're exactly what this family needs, Georgie.”

With that, she heads into the living room with her children, grandchildren, repairing the cracks she never intentionally tried to create, one moment at a time.

I don't know how to take Susan's words. Does she really mean it? That I fit into the family, that I am what they need? I can't dwell on it too much, I simply slip past their family moment to find my mom, Franny, and Ricardo's parents. Dinner is five courses. I wish I was joking. I have never been so grateful that I decided to wear a flowy dress instead of pants because if I had, the button would not close after this meal. The dress is one of my favourites, and I only get to wear it one month out of the year so I go all out.

It's a black top, long sleeves with a scalloped neckline that dips just low enough to show off the girls modestly and the faded pink scars I no longer worry about people seeing. It fits tight and cinches my waist just enough, but not enough that it will dig in after I eat all the food I am about to devour. The skirt is A-line, bright Christmas red with little embroidered Christmas lights looping all around. I curled my hair and did my makeup just to make myself feel good, and when I exited my bathroom this morning, Noah whispered 'it's perfect' as he kissed me, so I take that as a good sign.

First up in the never-ending dinner: salad. Really fancy salads with homemade dressings and croutons and a variety of fresh veggies. Following salad is soup, a choice of either garlic tomato or French onion, made overnight in slow cookers to develop maximum flavours. I opt for the onion soup, knowing tomato is a trigger for me, and my HS has been relatively decent lately.

The medications can take up to 6 months before seeing any progress, and maybe it's placebo, but in the days following the monthly injections, I feel really good. There are only flares toward the tail end of the fourth week, and they're manageable. I know I can't count on this forever, but this reprieve has been what I needed. I glimpse into a new normal for however long I can have it.

Our third course was appetizers. Little finger foods like crostini with things I've never even heard of, spreads and jams both warm and cold, passed around on a silver serving tray. I hardly touch them, taking one to try before passing on the plate to Noah, trying to save room for the turkey that has been calling my name since I walked into the house and smelled the savoury masterpiece wafting through the air. Finally, we get to the entrée, where Noah's dad has carved the turkey with a large knife, not that he needs it. The turkey falls apart, golden on the outside, juicy and perfect on the inside. There are potatoes and turnips and carrots and brussel sprouts and rolls and so much food it never ends.

Just when I think we're done, there's dessert. Pies of all kinds that I can't imagine being cooked in this kitchen, because they're too delicate and pretty and delicious. But Noah talks of Susan's homemade crust like it's a work of art, talking about how he's missed this. Sierra echoes the sentiment. It's then I realize that this is the first family dinner they have shared with their parents in years. I wonder how many holidays they've spent alone because of the divide between their parents and them.

When I feel like I am about to positively burst, everyone helps clear the table and dish leftovers into take home containers for the entire family. Michael dishes out spiked eggnog to anyone who wants some. I don't partake, neither does Noah, and Sienna can't while she's nursing Aelia, so Ricardo withholds, but everyone else sips theirs with hums of appreciation. The others sip non-spiked eggnog, while I opt for water.

We all relax and share stories of Christmases past, some of us take up residence on the floor while others fill the couches, and I feel my body growing heavy from the comfort of the nearby fireplace crackling. My head rests on Noah's thigh who sits behind me on the couch beside his mother after I insisted the floor was a perfectly fine place for me to settle. We sit by the light of the Christmas tree, one bedazzled with far too many bobbles and bows for my taste, and it's nice to feel this content.

I feel my eyes slipping shut when I hear, "Well then. Should we get our coats on?" It's Susan who says it with a clap, a smile on her face.

"Coats? Where are we going?" I say, blinking through a yawn. Noah chuckles, touching my cheek.

"It's always a tradition in our house to do the local light walk on Christmas night. We always play a game and take turns rating the house displays." Sienna answers my question, smiling and preparing Aelia for the weather in a big baby snowsuit.

"Well, that sounds fun! Count me in."

Noah helps me into my red wool pea coat. I do up the black buttons and put on my matching red earmuffs with the 1940s style tie in the center of the band. Noah dresses Birdie in her winter coat and booties, and perfectly straightens her Christmas bow on her head. I pull on my white mittens and let Noah take my hand, and the whole family is off on the final adventure of the evening to see the Christmas lights.

The walk is nice; the wind died off earlier, and the light snowfall sprinkling down meant the weather was actually quite warm, falling in tiny little puffs of perfect shimmers in the light grey night sky from the snow clouds. Sienna rates a house an eight out of ten for its candy cane roof and a snowman spectacular on their front lawn, and her mother gives a nine to the house with a single string of lights with a single figure of that classic green menace who hates Christmas pulling the lights away from the house in an attempt to steal them.

We walk up and around the block, looping through the local park that has jazzed up its bare trees with Christmas lights too. Franny takes Bennie and Birdie to chase squirrels, my mother follows behind her with a camera on her fur-grandchildren. Noah’s family takes a trip down memory lane. Noah and I break away from the crowd, my hand in his, my other hand holding his arm casually. I lean against him, sighing in content as the white glow of whimsy lights up the night sky and the snow falling around us. A little line of luminary lanterns light the path for us, each with its own Christmas wish written on it.

"This is beautiful. Thank you for sharing this with me," I say softly, looking up at Noah, who I realize is beaming back at me.