By The kids came home December 26. Our Christmas was the 26th, same as two years ago — the delayed celebration that is somehow sweeter for the waiting. Mason opened the telescope and made a sound I've never heard him make — a gasp that turned into a laugh that turned into a hug so fierce I almost fell over. He said, "Is this REAL?" I said, "It's real." He said, "Can we use it TONIGHT?" I said, "It's cloudy." He said, "TOMORROW?" and I said, "Tomorrow," and he held the telescope box for the rest of the day like it might disappear if he set it down.
Lily opened the plush horse. She screamed (expected). She hugged it (expected). She named it "Storm" (unexpected — all previous horses have had gentle names; Storm represents an evolution). She opened the riding boots and put them on immediately over her pajamas. She opened the riding crop and swung it with the authority of a six-year-old who has found her power symbol. She is formidable. She has always been formidable. The riding crop just made it official.
I made our Christmas dinner: roast beef (the Dawson tradition), mashed potatoes (Mason's), and apple pie (mine). We ate at the table, the three of us plus Hank, and it was small and warm and exactly right. After dinner, Mason set up the telescope by the back window (still cloudy — "COME ON, SKY") and Lily rode Storm around the living room making horse sounds.
New Year's Eve with Tom. The kids were asleep by 9. Tom came over at 10. We sat on the couch with Hank between us (Hank has no concept of "third wheel" and no intention of learning) and watched the ball drop and toasted with champagne and kissed at midnight, the second kiss, the one that confirms the first wasn't a fluke.
2019 ends. It was the year of reconstruction completed, the year of Tom, the year of Lily's first show ribbon, the year of Mason's gifted admission, the year the ranch was sold and the flag was moved and the table got bigger. It was a good year. The best since Before. The best because of After. The best because I am standing in it, alive and cooking and kissing someone at midnight on New Year's Eve in a kitchen that has held everything and will hold more.
We toasted with champagne at midnight, and if I’m being honest, I’d been thinking about that moment all week — the quiet couch, Hank wedged between us, the ball dropping on the TV. A straight pour of champagne felt right, but a Kir Royale felt better: a little color, a little sweetness, something that says this isn’t just any night. It’s the drink I’ll make every New Year’s Eve from here on out, because 2019 deserved more than ordinary bubbles.
Kir Royale Cocktail
Prep Time: 2 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 2 minutes | Servings: 1
Ingredients
- 4 oz dry champagne or sparkling wine, chilled
- 1/2 oz crème de cassis (black currant liqueur)
- 1 fresh or frozen blackberry or raspberry, for garnish (optional)
- 1 thin lemon twist, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Chill your glass. Place a champagne flute in the freezer for 5 minutes before serving, or rinse it with cold water for a quick chill. A cold glass keeps the bubbles lively.
- Add the cassis. Pour the crème de cassis into the bottom of the champagne flute. Start with 1/2 oz — you can add a splash more if you prefer a sweeter, deeper flavor.
- Top with champagne. Slowly pour the chilled champagne or sparkling wine over the cassis. Pour gently down the side of the glass to preserve the bubbles; the cassis will bloom up through the wine naturally.
- Garnish and serve. Drop in a blackberry or raspberry for color, or add a lemon twist. Serve immediately while the bubbles are at their best.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 145 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 5mg