I wake up to a soft sizzle. There are still stars outside my window, and I don’t want to break out of my warm cacoon.
I can hear my mom humming Jingle Bell Rock in the kitchen, and the cheddar aroma wafts its way into my room. I take a deep breath in through my nostrils, and prepare to brace the cold.
In one motion I throw off my blanket and speed into the kitchen, propping myself up at the counter.
My mother turns in her fuzzy slippers, smile on her face, and plate in hand. There upon that plate sits the delicacy for which I wait all year.
Orange gooeyness squeezing out from between two perfectly browned slices of sourdough.
I touch it and the sandwich warms my fingertips with its steam.
Dad rolls over on the couch with a snore.
“We’ll just leave him be,” mom whispers, pulling her own sandwich off the griddle. She stands across from me and looks me in the eye. “On three. One, two…”
We bite into our grilled-cheeses simultaneously. Eyes closing in bliss as it oozes over my tongue. Unbelievable the way two ingredients can be manipulated into something so heavenly.
One slow bite at a time, I make sure not to let a single crumb go unsavored.
My belly sits content, warm and full to burst. I sit back in the wood chair and grin. Mother reaches over the counter and wipes the grease from my face with a napkin.
She starts to clean up, and I amble my way over to the living room. Sprawling out on the carpet I stare up at the tree, twinkles of blue and white illuminating the red and green packages underneath the lowest needles. A smiling angel sits at the peak.
The presents draw my curiosity, most certainly, but I won’t do anything to ruin this moment. Happy and peaceful. My eyelids droop. I struggle to keep them open.
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