Walsh Family Universe V2

Chapter 27
Christmas Morning

December arrived with a blanket of snow and Shannon's announcement that they'd be taking Noam to see Santa at the mall.

"Absolutely not," Ash said immediately.

"Honey, it's a Christmas tradition. All the kids do it." Shannon was already pulling out a nice outfit—a button-up shirt with a small tie and khaki pants. "We'll get a picture with Santa. It'll be special."

"I'm not sitting on some stranger's lap."

"You sit on Miss Amy's lap during swimming sometimes. And Coach Mike picks you up all the time at T-ball."

"That's different."

"How is it different?"

Ash didn't have a good answer for that. It just felt different. Those were activities he'd somehow made peace with. But Santa—that was pure performance. Pure childhood ritual that he'd have to participate in while fully aware of how ridiculous it was.

But he went anyway, because fighting it would just lead to consequences and he'd end up going regardless. Better to cooperate and get it over with.

The mall was packed. Christmas music played overhead. Decorations everywhere. The Santa area had a long line of parents and children, the air filled with excited squeals and some crying from overwhelmed toddlers.

When their turn came, Santa—a convincingly bearded man in a good costume—held out his arms. "Ho ho ho! And who do we have here?"

"This is Noam," Shannon said, lifting Ash onto Santa's lap. "He's been a very good boy this year."

Ash sat stiffly on Santa's knee, hyperaware of the cameras, the audience, the complete absurdity of this situation.

"Have you been good this year, Noam?" Santa asked in that jolly voice.

"Yeah."

"And what would you like for Christmas?"

Ash's mind went blank. What did he want? Nothing. He wanted his old life back. He wanted to be twenty-four. He wanted—

"He loves baseball," Shannon prompted. "And building toys."

"Ah! A little athlete and builder!" Santa chuckled. "I'll see what I can do. Merry Christmas, Noam!"

The photo captured Ash sitting on Santa's lap looking uncomfortable but not actively resistant. Shannon bought three copies—one for them, one to send to Claire, one for Patrick's office.

That night, Ash heard Shannon and Patrick talking in their bedroom, his door cracked open like always.

"Did you see his face with Santa? He looked so miserable," Shannon said.

"He cooperated though. That's progress from where we started."

"I know. I just wish... I wish he could enjoy it. Really enjoy it. The way other kids do."

"Give it time. This is his first Christmas as Noam. Next year will be easier."

Next year. The casual certainty that there would be a next year, and another after that, and another. Fifteen more Christmases as a child.

The weeks leading up to Christmas transformed the house. Shannon put up decorations—a tree in the living room that Ash was encouraged to help decorate, putting ornaments on the lower branches he could reach. Lights along the banister. A wreath on the door.

At T-ball's last practice before the holiday break, Coach Mike handed out small gifts—candy canes and jingle bell necklaces. Emma immediately put her bells on and rang them loudly.

"We sound like reindeer!" she declared, shaking them at Ash. "Ring yours!"

Ash put on his bells. Shook them half-heartedly. Emma grabbed his hand and made him shake harder.

"Like this! Loud!"

They ran around the field together, bells jingling, Emma laughing. Despite himself, Ash found his mouth quirking into something like a smile. The bells were silly. The running was fun. Emma's laughter was infectious.

At swimming's last class, Miss Amy gave everyone small floating toys as gifts. Ash got a small rubber boat that actually floated with a little figure inside.

"For bath time!" Miss Amy said. "Merry Christmas, Noam!"

That night's bath included the new boat. Ash floated it around the tub while Shannon washed his hair. Pushed it through the water, making small wave sounds without really thinking about it.

"You like your new toy," Shannon observed, pleased.

"It's okay."

But he played with it for the rest of bath time. And the next night. And the night after that.

Christmas Eve arrived with the whole family coming for dinner. Claire, hugely pregnant now—due in early January. Cathy with a boyfriend she'd been seeing, introducing him to everyone. Declan, more relaxed than usual. Eden, home from college for winter break.

Shannon had made a feast—ham, scalloped potatoes, green beans, rolls, salad. Ash sat in his high chair, eating cut-up ham and mashed potatoes that Shannon had prepared on his tray.

After dinner, Patrick read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas from a big illustrated book. Everyone gathered in the living room, Ash sitting on the floor near the tree, listening to the familiar words.

"Should we let Noam open one present tonight?" Shannon suggested. "The Christmas Eve tradition?"

"Yes!" Claire said immediately. "I want to see his face."

Shannon retrieved a medium-sized box from under the tree, wrapped in shiny paper with cartoon snowmen. "This one's from Eden."

Eden looked nervous. "I wasn't sure what to get. I hope it's okay."

Ash tore the paper—he'd gotten good at unwrapping, his small hands knowing how to find tape and rip paper efficiently. Inside was a wooden train set. Not baby toys, but quality wooden pieces that connected together, with tracks and a little engine.

"I remember you liked building things," Eden said quietly. "And Miss Jessica told Mom you're good at construction play. So I thought... trains."

Ash pulled out a piece. The wood was smooth, well-made. The train pieces connected with magnets. It was actually a nice set. The kind that would be fun to build track layouts with, to create routes and structures.

"Thank you," he said.

"Want to set it up?" Eden came to sit on the floor beside him. "I'll help."

They spent the next twenty minutes building a track layout—a figure-eight with a bridge. Eden following Ash's lead, handing him pieces, suggesting connections. The train moved smoothly along the track when Ash pushed it.

"That's really cool," Declan admitted, watching. "Way better than the toys we had as kids."

"They make good stuff now," Cathy's boyfriend said. "My nephew has a set like that. Plays with it for hours."

After everyone left, Shannon carried Ash upstairs for bedtime. But instead of regular pajamas, she pulled out special Christmas pajamas—red with white snowflakes.

"Christmas Eve pajamas!" she said. "Isn't this fun?"

It should have felt infantilizing. Should have felt like another piece of childhood performance.

But the pajamas were soft. Warm. Kind of nice, actually.

"Santa comes tonight," Shannon said as she tucked him into the crib. "Are you excited?"

"I know Santa isn't real."

"Of course you do. But it's still fun to pretend, isn't it? To wake up and find presents?" Shannon kissed his forehead. "Try to sleep. Morning will come fast."

Ash lay in the dark, thinking about the train set downstairs. About presents under the tree with his name on them. About Christmas morning coming.

He shouldn't be excited. He was twenty-four years old. He knew how Christmas worked. He didn't believe in Santa. This was all performance, all ritual, all maintaining the fiction.

But his stomach had butterflies anyway. His body buzzing with anticipation. His mind wondering what would be under the tree in the morning.

Wondering if there might be more toys. More things to build with, to play with, to explore.

Despite himself, despite everything, he was excited for Christmas morning.

And that realization should have horrified him.

But he was too busy trying to fall asleep so morning would come faster.

Ash woke to whispers outside his door. Early morning light filtering through the curtains. Christmas music playing softly downstairs.

Shannon opened the door, already dressed, her face bright with excitement. "Merry Christmas, baby! Santa came!"

She carried him downstairs—Ash was awake enough to walk but Shannon wanted to carry him, wanted that moment—and into the living room.

The tree was surrounded by presents. Piles of wrapped boxes in different sizes, different paper. Way more than Ash expected.

"Santa brought a lot this year!" Shannon said, setting him down near the tree. "Should we see what you got?"

Patrick appeared with coffee, settling on the couch. He had his phone out, ready to take pictures. "Go ahead, buddy. Start opening!"

Ash reached for the nearest present. Ripped the paper. Inside was a large set of Duplo blocks—the bigger Legos designed for small hands. Hundreds of pieces in bright colors.

"For building!" Shannon said. "You can make anything you want with those."

Next present: A play kitchen set with plastic food and dishes. Ash stared at it. He'd just played kitchen with Emma last week. This was... actually something he might use.

Next: A small art set. Chunky crayons, washable markers, finger paints, a big pad of paper. "For when you want to draw," Patrick said. "We know you're creative."

Next: Toy cars—not just any cars, but good quality ones with details. A whole set with a carrying case.

Next: A stuffed dog, soft and huggable. Shannon smiled. "Every boy needs a special stuffed animal. What should we name him?"

"I don't know."

"Think about it. You'll come up with something."

Next: A shape-sorting toy that was actually more complex than it looked—different geometric shapes, multiple solutions. Challenging even for him.

Next: Play-doh with tons of accessories—molds, cutters, tools. Way more than the simple set Shannon had given him before.

Next: A small baseball glove—a real one, not just a toy. Leather, soft, his size. "From Coach Mike," Patrick said. "He wanted you to have your own."

Next: A puzzle set—wooden puzzles with increasing difficulty.

Next: Clothes—new shirts, pants, pajamas. Some with cartoon characters, some more plain. All his size.

Next: A small bookshelf unit for his nursery, already assembled. "For all your toys and books," Shannon explained. "So you can organize them."

The pile kept going. Books—picture books, board books, some more advanced. Bath toys beyond the rubber duck. A small basketball hoop that would hang on a door. Sidewalk chalk. A bubble machine for outside.

"This last one is from all your siblings together," Shannon said, handing him a large flat box.

Inside was an art easel. Small enough for his height, but well-made. With a chalkboard on one side, whiteboard on the other, paper clips to hold drawing paper, and a storage tray for supplies.

"We know you like to create things," the card read, signed by all four siblings. "Love, Claire, Cathy, Declan, and Eden."

Ash stared at the easel. At the supplies. At the implicit understanding that he was creative, that he needed outlets, that art mattered even in this form.

"Do you like it?" Shannon asked, her voice soft.

"Yeah."

"There's one more." Patrick produced a small box from behind the couch. "This is from me and Mommy."

Inside was a silver necklace with a small pendant. A baseball on one side, a wave on the other—representing T-ball and swimming.

"For our little athlete," Patrick said. "We're so proud of you."

Shannon fastened it around his neck. It sat light against his chest, visible above his Christmas pajamas.

Ash looked at the pile of presents surrounding him. The toys and art supplies and clothes and books. Everything chosen thoughtfully. Everything appropriate. Everything actually things he might enjoy.

Way more than he'd ever gotten as Ash. Way more than he'd received in Christmases since he'd become an adult and everyone just gave gift cards or nothing at all.

This was a real Christmas. A child's Christmas. Abundant and thoughtful and full of possibility.

And despite himself, despite knowing what it meant, despite understanding that this was reinforcement and conditioning and making him attached to this life—

He was happy.

"What do you say?" Shannon prompted gently.

"Thank you."

"Want to play with something? You can pick anything."

Ash looked at his options. The Duplos caught his eye—the construction possibilities were endless. He opened the box and started building.

Patrick took pictures. Shannon made Christmas breakfast—cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate. Christmas music played. The house smelled like pine and cinnamon.

And Ash built with Duplos on the living room floor, surrounded by more presents than he'd ever received, wearing a necklace that declared him an athlete, planning what he'd draw on his new easel later.

Having, undeniably, a good Christmas morning.

The family arrived around noon. Everyone oohed and ahhed over the pile of toys. Claire took pictures of Ash with his presents. Eden asked to see what he'd built with the Duplos—a garage for his new cars, actually pretty complex.

"This is amazing!" Eden said. "Look at the design. You even made parking spaces."

Cathy's boyfriend seemed impressed too. "He's got real spatial reasoning. That's advanced for two."

"He's always been smart," Shannon said proudly. "Even with everything, he's so creative."

Lunch was casual—sandwiches and soup, easy food while everyone played with Ash's new toys. Declan actually got down on the floor and built Duplos with him, creating a whole town that connected to Ash's garage.

Claire couldn't sit on the floor anymore but directed from the couch. "Make a hospital! My baby needs a hospital nearby!"

They built a hospital. And a fire station. And a store. The Duplo town grew across the living room floor.

After lunch came family presents. Ash had gifts for everyone—Shannon and Patrick had helped him "choose" them, which really meant they'd bought things and let him wrap them. Gift cards mostly, practical stuff.

But when Eden opened hers—a photo frame with a picture from Thanksgiving, him and her playing blocks—she got teary. "This is perfect. Thank you, Noam."

Cathy got a similar frame with a picture from his T-ball game. Claire got one of all the siblings together from Thanksgiving. Declan got a sports-themed one with him and Ash from T-ball practice.

"Mom really went all out helping you pick these," Cathy said, but she was smiling. "They're really thoughtful."

Dinner was prime rib and all the sides. Ash in his high chair again, but positioned with the family, included in everything. He was getting full—too much food today, too much sugar from cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate and the cookies everyone kept eating.

After dinner, Eden asked if she could give him a bath and put him to bed. "If that's okay? I'd like to help with the bedtime routine."

Shannon looked surprised but pleased. "Of course! That would be wonderful."

Eden ran the bath, helped Ash out of his Christmas outfit and into the tub. She was gentle, careful, talking about college and her classes while she washed his hair.

"I think about you a lot at school," she said quietly. "Wonder how you're doing. Mom sends pictures, but it's not the same as being here."

"I'm okay."

"I can tell. You seem happy today. With all your presents and everyone here."

"I am happy. Kind of."

"Kind of happy is still happy." Eden rinsed the soap from his hair. "I'm glad you had a good Christmas."

She got him into pajamas—back to the regular ones now, the Christmas pajamas would be washed—and carried him to the nursery. The room was different now, the new bookshelf installed against one wall, already stacked with some of his new toys and books.

The easel stood in the corner, waiting.

Eden tucked him into the crib. "I'm proud of you. I know I said that at Thanksgiving, but I mean it even more now. You're doing really well."

"Thanks."

"Merry Christmas, little brother." She kissed his forehead, something she'd never done before. "I love you."

After she left, Ash lay in the dark, the necklace still around his neck. The bookshelf visible in the dim light from the hallway. The easel waiting in the corner.

Downstairs he could hear his family talking, laughing. Happy sounds. Normal sounds.

The sounds of a good Christmas.

His good Christmas.

He'd received more presents than he could count. Toys and art supplies and thoughtful gifts from siblings who understood who he was now. A necklace celebrating his achievements. An easel acknowledging his creativity.

He'd built Duplos with Declan and planned his Duplo town expansion and eaten too much good food and been part of his family.

Had been happy. Genuinely, undeniably happy.

And the horror wasn't that they'd forced it. The horror was that they hadn't needed to.

He'd just been happy. Naturally. Automatically.

Because he'd gotten good presents and played with family and it was Christmas and he was two years old and two-year-olds were happy on Christmas when they got lots of toys.

"My name is Ash," he whispered into the dark. But the words had no weight tonight. Not after building a Duplo town. Not after receiving an easel from his siblings. Not after Eden kissed his forehead and called him little brother with genuine affection.

"I'm twenty-four years old." But he was wearing a necklace with a baseball on it. Had a pile of toddler toys downstairs waiting to be played with. Had crayons and markers and finger paints.

Had been happy today.

Really happy.

The kind of uncomplicated, simple happiness that came from getting presents and playing and being with family who loved him.

Five thousand seven hundred and twenty-nine days to go.

But today hadn't been about counting. Today had been about opening presents and building with Duplos and eating too much and laughing with his siblings.

Today had been Christmas.

A good Christmas.

Maybe the best Christmas he'd ever had.

And tomorrow he'd wake up and play with his new toys. Build with his Duplos. Maybe try the easel. Push his new train around its track.

Would just be Noam playing with his Christmas presents.

Because that's who he was now.

A two-year-old who'd had a really good Christmas.

Who'd been happy.

Who'd been loved.

Who'd been exactly where he belonged.

The thought didn't even scare him anymore.

It just felt true.

He closed his eyes, the silver necklace cool against his chest, and dreamed of Duplo towns and art easels and Christmases that would come every year for the next fifteen years.

Each one with presents and family and happiness.

Each one making Ash a little more distant.

Making Noam a little more real.

Until one day, maybe not soon but eventually, he wouldn't need to whisper the mantra at all.

Wouldn't need to remind himself who he used to be.

Would just be Noam.

Happy, loved, two-year-old Noam.

Who'd had a really good Christmas.

And was already excited to play with his presents tomorrow.

Merry Christmas.