As the clock brought the evening before Christmas ever closer, Buffy had some last minute preparations to make. She was sitting on the floor of her bed, wrapping paper, scissors, tape, and ribbons spread over the room. She wasn’t really the present wrapping type – usually the gift bags route worked just fine – but this year she wanted everything to look perfect. That included herself – she had spent an amazing amount of time trying to figure out what to wear this evening.
Finally everything was as Buffy wanted. The presents she had bought were wrapped perfectly and she was as ready as she could ever be. She gathered up the presents and went downstairs to join her mother and wait.
The entire downstairs was filled with the delectable scents of the cooking dinner. The Christmas tree filled a good corner of the family room. The mantel over the fireplace had been beautifully decorated, though Buffy had convinced her mother not to start a fire this year. Though it was cooler this year; it might have been welcome. Ah, well, too late now. Buffy arranged her gifts under the tree, joining the ones from her mother and a couple her father and other family members had sent. That done, Buffy went to check on her mother in the kitchen.
Buffy smiled as she saw the food her mother had spent much of the day preparing. “Mmm,” she said appreciatively, “this looks wonderful, Mom.”
Joyce looked up from the food to smile at her daughter. “Thanks,” she said. “Are you all ready?”
“Oh, yeah. Presents wrapped, table set. . . . And you?”
Mrs. Summers had just been finishing the main course when Buffy had come in. She looked over the side dishes set aside to cool a bit, and the turkey staying warm in the oven, and nodded. “Dinner is ready. All we need now is the dinner guest.”
Buffy stayed in the kitchen to help her mother put some finishing touches on the meal. After lingering there for several minutes, the doorbell rang. Buffy sprang up with a cry of “I’ll get it!” and rushed from the room.
She slowed when she reached the door, straightening her skirt, then smiling opened the door. Angel stood there on the porch, smiling in the light from the door. Smiling, he held out a pair of wrapped packages. “Merry Christmas,” he said.
Buffy took the presents from him, smiling widely as she stepped aside to allow him in. Years on the hellmouth stopped her from saying “come in” but once he was there she kissed him briefly. “Merry Christmas,” she said as she pulled away, then pointed above the doorway. “Mistletoe,” she said with a grin.
Angel laughed lightly, and Buffy took the presents and placed them under the tree. “Thank you,” she said softly as she did so, then called out, “Mom! Angel’s here!”
As the two of them sat together on the couch, Mrs. Summers peaked around the kitchen door. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “Dinner will be on the table in moments.”
Angel stood again quickly. “Merry Christmas, Joyce,” he said. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Mrs. Summers just smiled. “Come on,”
she said. “Dinner’s ready.”
“That was delicious, Mom,” Buffy said.
Following the meal they had moved back into the family room. Angel insisted
on cleaning up, leaving Buffy and her mother to talk on their own.
Joyce smiled. “Thanks,” she said, “but that’s not what you wanted to talk about. I can tell.”
“Well,” Buffy hesitated, “I guess I’m wondering why you’re being so nice.”
Mrs. Summers hesitated and looked towards the kitchen door. “When I first received those pictures from your father, the ones of you and Angel in L.A., I thought a lot of things that weren’t so nice. It took a lot not to run and demand what was going on from you at that moment. Instead, I thought about it for quite a while. I thought back to the couple of times that I met Angel, and came to the realization that maybe if he hadn’t been a vampire I might have liked him.”
Buffy laughed slightly at that. “I don’t know. You would have still panicked at the older boyfriend. But you probably would have really met him sooner. That would have helped.”
Mrs. Summers nodded. “I’m trying to give him a second chance,” she explained finally. She looked again towards the kitchen, where Angel was finishing washing up. “He seems very nice, actually.”
“It’s those old fashioned manners,” Buffy said with another laugh.
Joyce joined in at that. “They certainly help.”
At that point Angel emerged from the kitchen. When Buffy looked at him and started laughing again, he looked confused. “What?”
Mrs. Summers shook her head. “Thanks for helping,” she said, still smiling.
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Come on,” Buffy said, scooting over for Angel to sit next to her on the couch. “I believe we have presents to exchange.”
Angel nodded and got his presents from under the tree before sitting. Mrs. Summers stood and got a couple more, including those Buffy had placed there earlier. Once the pile was placed on the table, Buffy leaned forward. “Who’s going first?” she asked.
“I will,” Angel said softly, taking one of the gifts he had brought and passing it to Mrs. Summers. She looked at him in a bit of surprise as she opened it. It was a sculpture, small and quite old. That began the round of gift giving. He gave Buffy an enlarged copy of one of the beach photographs of the two of them in a lovely wooden frame.
Mrs. Summers gave Buffy a gift certificate to her favorite clothing store, and Angel a cookbook. “I was going with practical gifts this year,” she explained.
Buffy was last to give her gifts. For her mother she had a beautiful wool wrap – “For the couple of cool nights a year” – and for Angel, in a replay of the first gift he ever gave her, a small cross to wear. Angel laughed at his initial reluctance to touch it. Very old habits are hard to break.
The evening was a success.
Buffy awoke when it was still dark
outside. Glancing at her clock and seeing that it was five o’clock in the
morning, she climbed from the bed and walked quietly into the hall. She
was surprised to see that the door to the guestroom was open and Angel
was nowhere to be seen, so she crept silently down the stairs.
Angel was sitting in the living room, the Christmas tree lights providing the only illumination. He sat on the couch, looking at his hands and apparently lost in thought. He noticed Buffy only when she came close and sat on the couch beside him.
“When I was very little,” she whispered, “I used to come here before the sun rose and stare at all the presents under the tree. I used to think about all sorts of things, like whether I had been a good girl this year and how Santa could know that . . . or for that matter how Santa could ever fit down the chimney.”
Angel chuckled very slightly at that.
“So, I’m wondering,” Buffy continued, “what are you thinking about this morning?”
Angel smiled briefly, not revealing his thoughts. When Buffy just regarded him seriously, he replied in a whisper, “I was . . . just thinking. I had a second present to give you, but I didn’t want to in front of your mother.”
Buffy looked at him oddly but eagerly. “Oh?”
Without another word, Angel held out his hand, and the object he had apparently been looking at before Buffy came down. “I found it when I was . . . moving out of the mansion,” Angel said as the dim light fell on Buffy’s claddagh ring. “I held on to it hoping I could return it to you someday.”
Buffy felt herself get choked up as she took the ring from him and returned it to its place on her left hand. She laughed slightly. “I guess we were thinking the same thing this morning, then, because I have something for you, too,” she whispered and handed him a small wrapped box.
Angel opened the wrapping as quietly as he could and then the box beneath. The ring inside was a match for Buffy’s own, and Angel looked at her with wide eyes as he placed the ring where another had once been worn. He smiled. “We both lost them over time, didn’t we? Only appropriate that we return them like we’ve returned to each other.”
Buffy smiled. “Gosh, Angel,” she teased, “that was poetic.”
Angel held her close, and the two of them curled up on the couch, content in each other’s presence. They said nothing for a long time. Finally, as the sun began to light the sky, Angel spoke again. “There is only one thing I remember from Christmas when I was little. I remember waking up well before the sun has risen, like we did this morning, and watching as the new day began.”
“Would you like to?” Buffy asked softly. “Go outside and watch the sunrise?”
Angel smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that very much.”
The two of them, together forever, stepped outside into the dawning light of the new day.
“Merry Christmas, Angel.”
“Merry Christmas, love.”