BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
It wasn’t snowing, it was sleeting, and it was coming down in sheets that were being driven by a wickedly sharp wind that made the sub-forty-degree chill feel dangerously arctic, and the whole street outside was just an icy nightmare and—
And Hopper was loving every frozen minute of it. Because inside their apartment, inside the Brooklyn brownstone, it was warm and light and he had his family around him.
And it was Christmas.
Hopper loved Christmas.
He sat back in the armchair and closed his eyes, and when he opened them a moment later he found Diane staring at him from her position on the floor, where she was wrangling wrapped gifts from under the tree with Sara’s able assistance. She had a large, flat, rectangular present in her hands now—ah, yes, that one next, excellent, Sara’s going to love it—but with one eyebrow raised and her lips pursed, Hopper wasn’t sure what the holdup was.
“Everything okay there, grandpa?” asked Diane.
Hopper opened his mouth, then closed it again. Sara laughed, and told Diane in no uncertain terms that Daddy was most certainly not Pops and to think otherwise made Mommy the silliest person in the street, if not the whole world.
“Grandpa?” Hopper finally managed. He glanced down at himself. “Is this your way of telling me this delightful sweater my delightful wife got me for Christmas makes me look mature and dignified?”
Diane laughed, their daughter joining in while attempting to reclothe her new doll, the first Christmas present she had opened. Beside her on the floor was gift number two, a large picture book, the cover proclaiming the wonders of outer space. Hopper was quite keen to take a look at that book himself, when he had a chance.
“No, it’s not the sweater,” said Diane. “But I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I love it!”
“Good. But no, it was more the contented sigh and the closed eyes. Maybe I should have gotten you a pipe and slippers, too.”
Hopper grinned. “If I sighed—and I’m not saying I did, hear me out here—but if I sighed, then it most certainly was contented.” At that, he sat back again and closed his eyes, then wiggled his behind in an exaggerated way and clasped his hands across his middle. He pretended to snore, eliciting another gale of giggles from Sara.
The whack of the heavy present in Diane’s hand brought Hopper back to life. He laughed and scooted forward, taking the gift and checking the card.
“Oh, hey, this is a special gift for Sara from her Mommy and Daddy! Come over here, kid. Come on!”
Sara bounced up from the floor and raced over to Hopper’s armchair, clambering onto his lap before reaching for the present. Diane stood and moved over to her husband’s side, settling down on the side of his chair and draping an arm around Hopper’s neck. Hopper glanced up and the couple exchanged a quick peck on the lips while Sara demolished the wrapping paper, revealing a large, hardcover book. On the front was an illustration of a young girl in a blue dress with blond hair peering into a mirror.
Sara turned to look up at her parents, her face a picture of delight. She recognized the girl on the front of the book, and immediately started flipping through the pages, searching out the other familiar illustrations she clearly knew were hidden within.
“Hey now, careful there, kid,” said Hopper, gently taking hold of Sara’s hands to guide her in a less frenzied pace. He adjusted the book in front of her and turned back to the title page.
“Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There,” he read, tracing the words with his finger.
“Alice!” Sara nearly shouted. “I love Alice so much, because she had tea with the queen and the cat and she fell down in that hole.”
Diane stroked Sara’s hair. “That’s right, honey! And she has a whole other story. Daddy can start reading it to you tonight.”
Sara twisted to look up at her dad. “Can I go to bed now so you can start reading?”
“You can’t go to bed now, or you’ll turn into a grandpa like your dad.”
Sara laughed.
Diane leaned into Hopper. “You know, I’m not sure I ever read this book.”
“Well, she loved the first one so much, didn’t she? Actually, you did too, now I recall.”
Diane squeezed Hopper’s shoulder. “Maybe I can come listen, too.”
Sara flipped the book over to show the back cover, then laid her arms across it and gripped the far edge with both hands.
“I think Daddy can start reading now. Because you can read books at any time of the day, not just bedtime.”
Hopper pursed his lips.
“She’s right, you know.”
“Actually, she is,” said Diane.
“Okay,” said Hopper, sitting himself upright and dragging Sara back into his lap. “Gather round, gather round, it’s time for a Christmas story.” He paused. “Well, a story told on Christmas, not a Christmas story—”
“Daddy, come on!”
“Oh, tough crowd,” said Hopper.
Then he opened the book, and with his child on his lap and his wife at his side, he began to read.