Cortland looked around. “What people?”

“The party people. Where is everyone you invited to your party?”

“They're all here.”

“They're all… wait a minute. You threw a party and invited one person?”

“That's right.”

“So it's not a party at all, but more like a date.”

Cortland shook his head, playing innocent. “Nope. This has all the ingredients for a party: music, food, drinks. I think even you can't refute that this is a party.”

“A party of two.”

“Does it really matter what we call it?”

“Of course it matters. Terminology matters very much.”

“Well, I, for one, think whatever it is we're doing here is going pretty well.” He leaned closer, then noticed the snow falling outside. “Thank you, Jesus.” Cortland bounced off the seat.

“Did you just thank the Lord for the snow?”

“Yep. It's the one party ingredient I couldn't pick up at the store. I needed it to snow so I could show you this.” He grabbed my hand and led me outside, down the path, the snowflakes tickling our faces as we walked hand in hand to the swing. He'd placed little red scarves on the duck statues in the garden.

“Nice touch,” I had to admit.

We held hands and swung back and forth, watching the flakes fall onto the trees, the oak, the evergreen, the tops of the ducks' heads. I rested my head on his shoulder. “You do know how to throw a good party,” I said finally.

“If you like this, just wait and see what I'm like on a date.”

“Dating is for the birds. I feel too old to date.”

“We could probably find a word you liked better. Mating?”

I turned up my nose. “Eww. No.”

“I've always liked the word ‘rendezvous.‘ It's fun to say: ron-daaaaaayvooooo.”

“I suppose we could rendezvous, though I'll need clarification on your definition.”

“Why don't we make it up as we go along?”

He leaned in again to kiss me, and I backed away. “I make it a habit not to kiss on my first party. And I better get back and finish wrapping some gifts for the boys.”

Cortland snapped his fingers. “I'm glad you reminded me. I have a gift for you. Nope. Scratch that. It's not a gift at all, but a party favor.”

Back inside, he grabbed my present from under the white vintage Christmas tree and handed it to me, wrapped in pages from the New York Times crossword. All puzzles he had completed, no less. I may have met my match in more ways than one.

Inside the box lay oversized Scrabble pieces, 8-inch squares, nine pieces total. I lay them out on the carpet: F, R, O, A, D, R, E, K, W. Within a few seconds, I had assembled them in order: WORD FREAK.

“For your new office,” he said.

“I love it. It's the nicest party favor I've ever received.” I kissed him on the cheek, tempted to kiss him through the night, but it felt good to show restraint, to take things slowly. “Thank you.”

“Thanks for coming. It wouldn't have been much of a party without you.”

“You can say that again.”

“It wouldn't have been much of a party without you.”

Some traditions remain the same After, and some die along with the deceased. While so many couples and young families struggle to please everyone at Christmas, Joel and I had set the stage early on that Christmas Eve was our private holiday. We would go where we wanted to go and do what we wanted to do. When the boys came along, our parents complained they wanted to see us Christmas Eve, but we insisted Christmas Eve be our day. We tried different things on Christmas Eve, ice skating at a local ice rink (too cold), visiting friends who didn't have relatives in town (too exhausting), until we finally settled into the tradition of attending Jesús and Gabriella's church for holiday mass, followed by Panchal's annual holiday dinner (celebrating multiple religions in one), kettle popcorn, and a game of holiday Scrabble.

As we walked out of the church on Christmas Eve with “Joy to the World” on our lips and in our hearts, I spotted Deacon Friar near the fountain. I had tucked the pennies he'd given me in my pocket and gave the boys each one to make a wish.

“Do you think it's too late to wish for something for Santa to bring you since his elves have probably already loaded up the sleigh?” William asked his big brother.

Bradley no longer believed in Santa Claus, but kept up the charade for his brother. “I'd wish on something else,” Bradley said. “Mom, do you think a wish is more powerful if it's at church?”

“I think a wish is as powerful as the intent of the wisher.”

Bradley paused, considering it and nodded. “Okay. So wish hard, then.”

Deacon Friar saw us and joined us at the fountain. “I see you've put your lucky pennies to good use,” he said as we watched the boys close their eyes and toss their coins into the water.

“I didn't need them,” I said. “It turns out my wishes had been granted all along.”

Deacon Friar folded his arms and motioned to the remaining coin in my hand. “What's that one for, then?”

I shrugged. “Insurance.”

The Panchal Center was alive with the sounds of broken English and the warmth of dozens of hearts filled with gratitude. I wondered what had become of Maria and her new baby-if, like Mary and her baby Jesus, they had found a safe haven. Panchal was such a place, and I knew I could never leave this home away from home. I would teach there until I could no longer form words at all. Panchal and Dr. Roberts were both right. It was about more than teaching a language; it was about succeeding in life. I could never abandon the hundreds of immigrants that would need the sword to find their way, the torch of knowledge to guide their path. Three days at U T, one day at Panchal's and three days for home. I would be busy, engaged, plugged in like never before. Happy, even.

Da Vinci found us, his arm wrapped around his Italian beauty with luscious curves Americans would consider plus sized. I was amazed at how much I'd grown. I wasn't jealous of her at all. I was happy for them. They clearly belonged together.

After the dinner, Bradley stood on a chair and popped the kettle corn in the microwave while William set out the Scrabble board. “Too bad we don't have four players,” he said, and Bradley looked at his brother and then at me, as if this would hurt my feelings.

“I didn't mean…” William said.

“It's okay, son. You're right. Scrabble is more fun with four players. Maybe we should invite someone to come play with us.”

“But who?” The boys asked at the same time.

Fifteen minutes later William explained the rules of the game to Cortland, who had been reading at home when we'd called him. He wouldn't have his daughter until the next morning, and was thrilled at the invitation. “Every word you spell must be a holiday word,” William said seriously. “It can be a person, place or thing, but it must have to do with winter or holidays, period. Daddy used to like to bend the rules, but now that Bradley and I are big enough, we don't need to do that, so don't try any funny stuff.”

“Gotcha,” Cortland said, setting up his Scrabble pieces. “No funny stuff.”

I smiled at how at ease Cortland was with the boys, how at home it all seemed, how grown up and real. Like a real thing relationship. I don't know what you called it. Certainly not dating, but certainly more than friends because of the chemistry. Perhaps it was just a relationship, pure and simple, and how that relationship would evolve would depend on us.

The game went on:

William: SLEIGH, 12 points

Bradley: SANTA, 8 points

Me: NOEL, 6 points

Cortland: LOVE, 16 points

“I don't know about that one,” Bradley said. “It's borderline.”

“Not exactly holiday,” William considered. “But God gave us Jesus at Christmas because he so loved the world.”