One Melody Monroe woke up facedown on the kitchen table, a snowman-shaped sugar cookie stuck to her forehead. She blinked a few times, bringing the room into focus. Sun streamed in through the window above the copper farmhouse sink, illuminating the crystalline frost that clung to the glass. Oh no. What time was it? Heart lurching her out of a sleep-induced haze, she lifted her head and found her twin ten-year-old boys staring at her from across the room, their dark, curly hair still askew from their pillows. Surprisingly, they were already dressed in their typical school-day uniform-sweatshirts and athletic pants. "Dude . what happened to you?" Tate eyed her the same way he did when she rocked out to Def Leppard in the car-with one half of his mouth grimacing in embarrassment while the other side rose in amusement.
Someday soon, she feared the embarrassment would totally win out. "Why''d you sleep on the kitchen table?" Finn asked, bulldozing past her to retrieve a Pop-Tart from the pantry, knocking into the chairs on his way. Why indeed. Melody peeled the cookie away from her forehead and tossed it into the nearby trash can before picking sprinkles out of her eyebrows. "You two were supposed to help me decorate the five dozen sugar cookies we signed up to bring in for the bake sale today. Remember?" But there''d been those two birthday parties they''d had to go to on Saturday and then they''d gone sledding with their friends on Sunday, not remembering until last night that they had book reports due today too. "I had to frost all of them myself." A cold splash of reality doused the irritation smoldering beneath her breastbone.
Not so long ago, Finn and Tate would''ve dropped everything to decorate sugar cookies with her. They wouldn''t have cared about birthday parties or sledding with friends. Cookie day had always been a big day-a day they wouldn''t have missed for anything. She and Thomas had started the tradition with the boys when they''d been old enough to sit in their high chairs, though back then they''d gotten more frosting on themselves than on the cookies. The memories descended the way they always did, like an echo-mostly in sounds. She and Thomas laughing, the boys screeching with excitement while they licked the frosting off their spoons. Christmas music had hummed in the background and her husband would circle his arms around her waist while they snapped pictures of the two boys they''d struggled to conceive for five years. I love you.
I love us, he''d always whisper. This year would mark their sixth Christmas without Thomas, but she hadn''t let any of their Christmas traditions die with him. Each holiday season, she and Finn and Tate still sat around the kitchen table together, slathering buttercream frosting onto the (slightly burnt) cookies they''d rolled and cut out into festive shapes. They always had a contest-because everything was a competition with her boys-to see who could create the most lifelike Santa and the most artistic snowflake. Then, when the sugar rush kicked in, Finn and Tate would chase each other around the house threatening to decorate their faces, while she half-heartedly scolded them. That was how things had been. Every holiday season. But this year, she felt the icy winds of change blowing in.
"Are we going to school today or what?" Finn sat across from her at the small round table chomping on the strawberry Pop-Tart. Various sprinkle canisters and bowls of frosting and bits of the cookies she''d ruined in her haste to finish the task still littered the entire surface, but she would have to clean up this mess later. "Of course you''re going to school." Melody couldn''t shake the gnawing heartache as easily as she shook the cookie crumbs from her lap when she stood. "I just have to get-" Her gaze landed on the oven clock. Eight o''clock? Eight o''clock! She spun and banged her knee on the table leg, gagging back a word that would put her in the hole with the swear jar yet again. So far, she''d had to pay out more than either of the boys. "Why didn''t you boys tell me we were late?" They couldn''t be late! She was already skating on thin ice with Mr.
Braxton. The principal had personally called her about the boys'' tardies last week, and she''d assured him they would be on time every day through the end of the year. Tate shrugged and calmly sat down next to his brother. "I thought you knew what time it was." "I didn''t know!" She flailed around the cramped kitchen, stumbling to get the rest of the cookies packed up in the box she''d set out on the counter last night before apparently passing out facedown in a pile of frosting. "Get your backpacks ready," she called on her way up the steep, narrow stairs. When she and Thomas had bought this old Victorian, the pitched roof and the wraparound front porch and the turrets had charmed her into believing it was a dream come true, but she''d lost count of how many times she''d tripped going up the ancient staircase. Inside her room, she quickly shed yesterday''s sweats and pulled on a pair of somewhat wrinkled jeans and an asymmetrical tunic sweater she''d designed for her boutique.
There''d be no helping her hair now, though, so she left her messy bun intact and practically skied back down the steps, gripping the railing so she didn''t crash. Finn and Tate had gotten their backpacks on but were currently playing Frisbee with one of the cookies. Melody intercepted the confection midair and slam-dunked it into the trash can. "Get in the car, you two." Swiping the box of cookies off the counter, she managed to snatch her purse off the hook by the door and followed them into the garage, nearly tripping over Finn''s bike, which lay right in her path to the driver''s side. "Sorry, Mom." He aimed his repentant smile at her, batting his thick dark eyelashes for good measure, and wisely moved the bike before a word could escape her lips, the little angel. "Buckle up," Melody advised before easing the car out of their garage.
A new layer of snow blanketed the driveway, so she''d better take it slow. Don''t look at the clock . But it was too late. They were officially thirteen minutes behind schedule. The bell had already rung and the rest of the kids would be sitting in class when Finn and Tate ambled in. Again. "Are we gonna have to go to Mr. Braxton''s office?" Tate uttered a heavy sigh.
"We were already in there four times last week." "Yes, I''m aware." Melody paused at the stop sign and waited for their neighbor, Mr. Munson, to cross the street. Even with her blood pressure spiking, she buzzed down the window and called, "Good morning!" because the poor man had lost his wife two months ago. "Nice to see ya, Melody." He waved. "And you too, boys.
Drive safe. It''s real slick out this morning." "Will do. Have a good day." She buzzed the window back up and blasted the heat. "I still don''t see why we had to go to the principal''s office for trying to set the ants from Mrs. Altman''s ant farm free," Finn mumbled. "They shouldn''t be stuck in one dirt tunnel.
They should be able to live their lives outside of captivity." That was the thing about her boys. They didn''t mean to get into trouble. It was like she''d told Mr. Braxton on more than one occasion: they were spirited. And curious. And busy. But they were also respectful kids and they listened to authority.
For the most part anyway. "The ants belong to your science teacher, though, so you can''t set them free without permission." She shot a stern glance into the rearview mirror. "And can we make a pact? How about we refrain from any more visits to the principal''s office for the rest of the year?" After today, that was. That would be the best Christmas gift she''d ever gotten. Lately, she''d spent entirely too much time with Mr. Braxton. Seriously.
She hadn''t received this many lectures since she''d been ten years old. She and the principal were roughly the same age-so she''d heard-but every time she sat in that overstuffed chair across from his desk, she regressed. "It''s not our fault Mr. Braxton is so strict," Tate complained. "He''s no fun at all. I don''t think he even knows how to smile." He tended to be long-winded too. During a lot of their "talks" she smiled and nodded but then found herself analyzing his taste in books from the crowded shelf behind him.
He appeared to like mysteries and suspense novels, so maybe they could give him the benefit of the doubt. "There could be more to Mr. Braxton than we can see." "I doubt it," Tate mumbled. "Well, let''s keep an open mind." She''d do her best, even while she endured another one of the principal''s sermons on the importance of punctuality today. "And I''d like you to do your best to stay out of trouble. You wouldn''t want to be on Santa''s naughty list this year, would you?" Speaking of .
"You two still haven''t written your letters to the North Pole yet." She watched for their reaction in the rearview mirror and, sure enough, the boys exchanged a pitying look. Melody braced herself. She''d known this was coming, after all. Tate and Finn had spent most of last December asking questions about Santa, which she''d expertly deflected. In an effort to keep them believing, she''d also gone to great lengths to make their elf Barney extra convincing. She''d even snuck into their rooms after they''d fallen asleep to take selfies with Barney and them on her phone.