We bickered over finger-pointing
after a late morning start on a holiday trip.
We’d almost stopped for directions,
more time than we’d spent on the road.
We stopped at a hotel before the sun dipped
below the horizon for some sleep.
We skinny-dipped before we hit the sack,
wondering what our parents would say
when they knew what we had to say.
We chatted until we couldn’t;
opened our eyes as rays strengthened
through the blinds.
I had stomach knots
because authorities had reopened the pass.
We’d make Christmas lunch.
I’d compliment her mother’s cooking
and feed it to the dog when she turned
her back to get another plate.
I exhaled vibes into an anxious skyline
because I thought I wasn’t good enough.
Natalia’s dad would ask me about this
or what I thought about that.
I yawned, and we drove,
and a cup of cold coffee had
me eyeing the road, hands planted
firmly on the steering wheel.
We arrived, and Natalia’s mother
moved into the driveway.
Natalia entered her mother’s tight embrace.
The sparkle in her mother’s eyes tugged
a grin at the corner of my mouth.
Natalia’s father gave me a once-over,
searching for anything unworthy of his angel.
I’d do the same.
The fireplace had flames dance over logs,
and soft jazz Christmas music played.
We talked until we’d run out of small talk
and told them we planned to marry.
Her mother darted her eyes to Natalia’s dad.
“I told you!” she said.
Her dad reached into his wallet and paid
the cash he’d lost in their bet.
Her father said he could tell I loved Natalia
when he met me last year.
He gripped my shoulders
and told me that I was good enough.