Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“Don’t forget the artsy kids,” Elizabeth puts in, then shoots me a knowing look. “Right, Fable?”
I feel like a can of soda shook up, fizzy, and warm. I smile back at her. “Artsy gals have to stick together.”
“Don’t I know it.”
His mother and I head to the art supply section, picking out crafts and paintbrushes, chalk and sketch pads, and pen sets that would have made my younger self squeal if I’d opened these under the tree. Come to think of it I’d probably squeal now.
Bibi sweeps over to us, adjusting the pom-pom on her simple red-and-white Santa cap. “Don’t forget some kids just like to get up to all kinds of mischief.”
“Some things never change,” her sister says, “and I know exactly what to get for people like you.”
We pick Lego sets and construction toys, science kits for making volcanoes, as well as soccer balls, basketballs, and even kites to help burn off energy. All from the list.
We’re nearly done when Wilder points to a section with globes of all kinds—from historical to raised relief, some with topographic maps and others that light up. “We can’t forget a globe. The topographic one is fascinating.”
Mac rolls her eyes. “Dad, I assure you kids don’t want globes for Christmas.”
“I did. Besides, it’s just an extra gift. Why not, right?” He’s so earnest and straightforward and clearly thinks it’s a great gift. And maybe it is. We are all snowflakes, I suppose. No two are alike.
Before we’re done, the counter is stacked high with gifts that we’ll wrap and donate.
Wilder runs his gaze over the stacks like he’s doing a quick calculation, then turns to us, and shrugs. “We got everything on the list. What if we gave a little more? A little extra? It’s Christmas after all?”
This man. “Go for it,” I say, beaming.
He turns again to the woman behind the counter, who’s dressed in a snowman sweater with the name tag Maryam over the top hat. “Would it be possible if I bought three of everything you have in the store to donate to a local organization for the holiday? I would be happy to pay for delivery, too, Maryam.”
Her jaw falls to the carpeted floor, which is printed with a map of the world. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” There’s no joking in his tone. No argument either. This is a man putting his money where his mouth is.
“Yes, of course,” the woman says. The two of them work out the details of immediate delivery to the donation center. Then, she brings her hand to her chest. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“How about where’s your credit card?”
She laughs then says, “Where’s your credit card?”
He slaps down his card and buys out half the store. As they’re chatting about the final details, Wilder pulls the woman aside and says something I don’t hear.
When they’re done, we load some of the toys into his car. The store will deliver the rest this afternoon to the donation center.
The five of us head over there and start wrapping.
Finished wrapping a toy train in the community center basement, Bibi checks the big clock on the wall and frowns apologetically. “I hate to do this, but I need to go.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “Dates are very important.”
Wilder flashes me a knowing grin then presses a kiss to my cheek. “They sure are.” No need for the naughty and nice list to make sure we stay on message. We are on message.
We send Bibi on her way and wrap board games and craft kits for another hour, then it’s Mac’s turn to frown. “I have to go. I’m a gingerbread aficionado, and the kids’ event starts soon. I need to decorate the gingerbread house I made.”
Her grandmother tilts her head, seeming bemused. “You know the word aficionado? Wait. Of course you do. You use it?” But then she holds up a hand. “Don’t even answer me. Of course you use it. You are your father’s daughter.”
Wilder turns to his mother. “I believe you are a gingerbread aficionado, as well. Do you want to take her back?”
“I do. It’ll be a good chance for us to catch up some more.”
“And you can hang out with me while we decorate,” Mac says. “I enlisted Cousin Troy as my partner because I think he is secretly, weirdly creative.”
“I think you’re right,” I agree.
They head off for the competition, leaving Wilder and me in the basement with several volunteers, a mountain of gifts, rolls of wrapping paper, tape, and bows. For a moment, I stare at the gifts on the table, a little daunted by the towering pile. “We’d better work quickly. The gingerbread house-making competition is the last event, and then the awards ceremony is tonight. We’ve got about two hours before we have to go.”
I baked the gingerbread yesterday, but we’ll need to decorate it in the Sugar Plum Bakery, which is hosting the contest. But as I stare at the generous heap of toys and games and puzzles, I’m unsure if we can pull this off.