In the next town over, the Bolzani house was already bursting with holiday joy.
The front door never rested. It swung wide, gulping a gust of night air along with the latest arrivals, then slammed shut only to fling itself open again moments later. Each entry carried a little storm: boots stamping snow onto the mat, scarves unwinding, trays of food balanced like trophies, folding chairs banging doorframes. The reading chair in the front parlor disappeared beneath a rising tide of coats and hats until it looked like a mountain had grown inside the house.
“Careful! Don’t drop the cookies!” Aunt Rosa scolded as she shuffled in with a pan covered in foil. Behind her, Uncle Sal followed with two bottles of wine tucked under one arm and a chair dragging at his heels. From upstairs, a cousin’s laugh rolled down the staircase and somehow merged perfectly with the chatter in the kitchen. The house took every new sound and wove it into the fabric of the night.
The kitchen was the center of gravity. Pots crowded the stovetop, lids clicking as steam tried to escape. Garlic browned in olive oil, sweetened by the tang of tomatoes; lemon sliced sharp through the air where fish sizzled and popped in shallow pans of oil. Desserts lined the counter like an army waiting for orders: cannoli in neat rows, cheesecakes, a homemade icebox cake, and the family favorite, Cousin Tracy’s Death by Chocolate.
From the living room, Bing Crosby’s voice drifted out of the record player, the notes softened by age. The carol threaded the air, quickly swallowed by the chorus of the house, conversations spilling over one another, laughter bouncing between rooms. A question from the kitchen might be answered from the hallway; a joke begun on the stairs finished in the dining room.
In the middle of it all stood Eve, seven years old, her braid loosening from the speed of her movements. She slipped between legs and arms, stealing kisses from relatives and cookies from trays. She hugged Aunt Teresa tight, then wriggled free and sped into the kitchen, bumping against Nonna’s leg as she passed. Without thinking, Eve reached toward the simmering pan on the stove, her fingers stretching for the spoon.
Nonna snapped the wooden spoon down with a sharp tap. “No, no! You’ll burn yourself,” she scolded, her voice firm.
Eve’s hand fell back, her eyes wide. For a moment Nonna’s stern gaze held, and then it softened into a smile. She reached for the loaf of bread on the counter, tore off a crusty end, and split it cleanly in two and placed one piece into Eve’s small hand, then leaned close, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“This is just for us. Our secret.”
Nonna popped her own piece into her mouth with a wink.
Eve lit up, certain she and Nonna now shared a secret magic all their own.
The tree stood glowing in the corner of the living room, its lights blinking in steady rhythm, ornaments shimmering when cousins brushed past. Beautiful as it was, it seemed content to step back from the spotlight. Tonight, the real centerpiece was the living, moving storm of people: the shuffle of trays from oven to table, the laughter that clung to the walls, the children racing down the hallway in socks, the grown-ups raising voices just enough to be heard over it all.
Eve inhaled every bit of it, the warmth, the smells, the overlapping sounds. This was Christmas for her: a house too small for the amount of love it held, spilling over at the seams.
When dinner ended, the house still hummed with its echoes. Plates sat stacked at the ends of the table, crumbs scattered across the tablecloth like confetti. The adults lingered in their chairs, talking in overlapping circles, voices lowered but still bright, laughter breaking out in bursts that seemed to shake the chandelier.
And then Anna, one of the older cousins, spoke up. She was seventeen, tall, and carried herself with the kind of authority the younger kids automatically trusted.
“You know,” she began casually, just loud enough for the cluster of younger cousins to hear, “I heard Santa’s heading our way.”
The children froze mid-whisper, eyes widening.
“Really?” one of them asked, clutching at Eve’s sleeve.
Anna nodded, her gaze flicking toward the little ones with just enough gravity to convince them. “We’d better get downstairs before he gets too close. If we’re lucky, we might even see his sleigh through the window.”
That was all it took. Excitement erupted like a spark on dry tinder. Daniel, a college-aged cousin home for break, appeared in the hallway with a worn red book in hand. He grinned as he waved it. “C’mon, we’ll read this while we wait. That way, if he shows up, we’re ready.”
They bustled toward the basement, feet thudding on the steps, socks slipping across the carpet at the bottom, voices echoing in the stairwell, the herd settled into the finished room.
The cousins sprawled across the carpet, forming a messy circle. Some leaned against the couch; others stretched out on their bellies. Eve nestled between two younger cousins, hugging her knees, her braid brushing her shoulder as she leaned forward, eyes wide.
Daniel cleared his throat and opened the book. “‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…”
The words tumbled out warm and steady, wrapping around the children like a blanket. Eve mouthed some of the lines silently, already knowing them by heart, though Daniel’s voice gave them new life. The littlest cousins gasped at the stockings and giggled when the reindeer were named.
Halfway through, Anna’s hand shot up toward the half-frosted basement window, her eyes wide. “Look!” she whispered urgently.
The room exploded into motion. The children scrambled to the window in a flurry of elbows and socks, tripping over one another in their rush. Eve pressed against the cold glass, her breath fogging it instantly, her small hands cupped on either side of her face.
There it was, a single bright light in the night sky, sharper and stronger than all the rest.
Eve’s heart leapt. She didn’t know what it was, and she didn’t think to question it. To her, it could only be one thing. It had to be Santa.
“See? He’s getting closer,” Anna breathed, hushed but steady.
The younger cousins squealed, bouncing on their toes. Eve’s chest fluttered with a joy so strong it almost hurt.
Daniel’s voice brought them back. He had resumed the reading, his tone deeper now, more theatrical, carrying the magic forward: “‘More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name…’”
The children sank back down, still buzzing from the glimpse of the sky, their imaginations glowing as bright as the star.
For Eve there was no question, no doubt. Santa was close, she could feel it.
While the cousins pressed close to the window and Daniel’s voice carried the poem through the basement, the adults upstairs slipped into motion.
The front door opened in a rhythm now, quick gusts of cold, boots crunching the porch, arms full of wrapped boxes and bags.
“Careful, careful,” Eve’s father murmured as he shifted a stack of gifts higher in his arms. His sister trailed behind, dragging two more bags, ribbon handles cutting into her fingers.
“Where are we putting them?” asked Uncle Ralph, his breath puffing as he stamped snow from his shoes.
“In the living room, like always,” came the reply. “Pile them right in the middle.”
One by one, the presents formed a mountain. Bright paper shimmered under the glow of the tree, ribbons curled in cascades, tags fluttered as they were set down. The tree itself stood tall, its lights twinkling steadily, as if it knew it was in on the secret.
At the edge of the pile, Eve’s mother set down a red box, straightening the bow before stepping back to survey the scene. “It never looks like enough until you see it all together,” she whispered, half to herself.
“Which kids still believe?” Aunt Maria asked as she slid another package onto the stack.
“Austin, for sure.”
“Rosie, depending on the day.”
“And Eve?”
A pause. A shrug. “She’s seven. She’s still all in.”
They didn’t linger. More trips to make, more bags to bring in from trunks waiting in the driveway. The door swung open again, another gust of cold, another armful of packages shuffled into the growing mountain.
And beneath their feet, in the basement, the children huddled close, their voices rising and falling with Daniel’s reading. One world was waiting, wide-eyed and certain; the other was working, careful and unseen, two halves of the same tradition unfolding at once.
It began faintly, almost hidden beneath Daniel’s steady reading: a jingle, light and far away, like bells caught in the wind.
The cousins froze. Daniel’s voice faltered, and then it came again, louder this time, unmistakable. Bells.
And then, the voice. Deep, booming, rolling through the house as if the walls themselves carried it:
“HO! HO! HO!”
The basement erupted. Blankets flew, elbows jabbed, the youngest squealed so loudly the sound bounced off the low ceiling. Anna snapped the book shut, grinning ear to ear. “He’s here! Santa’s here!”
The children stampeded toward the stairs, socks sliding on the steps, palms smacking the railing for balance. Eve’s heart thudded; her breath came in bursts of laughter and gasps as she raced with the others. The door at the top burst open, and they spilled into the light.
The living room had transformed.
Where moments ago the carpet had been bare, a mountain of presents now glittered beneath the tree. Boxes in red and green, bags with curled ribbons, it all shimmered together like something that had grown out of the floor itself. And next to the tree, in Nonna’s armchair, which tonight looked more like a throne, sat Santa Claus.
“Merry Christmas!” Santa boomed, his voice vibrating through the air.
Cheers broke out. Some clapped without meaning to. Others bounced on their toes, faces flushed and glowing. Eve felt her chest swell until she thought she might float away.
Names were called one by one, and each child stepped forward in awe. The littlest were lifted onto his knee, eyes wide as he handed them a wrapped gift. The oldest cousins tried to play it cool but failed, grinning anyway when their names were spoken.
And then, “Eve!”
Hearing her name in Santa’s voice sent a shiver down her legs. She stepped forward, hardly breathing, the room narrowing into a tunnel of light and ribbon. Santa leaned down, eyes twinkling, and placed a red-and-green box into her hands.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Santa smiled and gave her a nod. Before he could linger, Eve’s father stepped forward, clapping his hands. “All right,” he said gently, glancing at the children. “Santa is very busy tonight. So he has to get going.”
The words worked like a cue. Santa gave a weary chuckle and a wink. “Very busy indeed.”
Then came the part that belonged as much to the adults as to the kids. Aunt Rosa went first, flopping onto Santa’s lap with a dramatic sigh, laughing like a teenager as the cousins squealed. Aunt Teresa followed, striking a pose just as the camera flashed. Then Uncle Tony, broad-shouldered and booming, dropped into the chair with such force it let out a sharp crack. Both he and Santa jumped up at once, their faces flashing between alarm and laughter.
The room roared. Children and grown-ups alike doubled over, the whole family caught in the same web of joy.
With a final jingle of the bells and one last booming “HO HO HO,” the door opened, a gust of cold swept through the hallway, and Santa was gone.
For a single beat, silence held the room, as if no one dared breathe, afraid the magic might slip away.
And then, all at once… chaos.
Wrapping paper tore in violent, joyous strips. Bows popped and vanished under furniture; ribbons curled into nests across the rug. Cousins shouted thanks across the room as gifts were revealed.
“THANK YOU, AUNT LINDA!” came from one corner, a sweater dangling down to a cousin’s knees.
“THANK YOU, TONY!” another cried, holding a shiny fire truck overhead.
The answers were shouted back through laughter: “You’re welcome!” “Glad you like it!”
Eve was in the middle of it, her braid half undone, cheeks pink from the heat of the room and her own excitement. She ripped into her boxes with both hands, squealing when a doll tumbled into her lap, then tearing into another to find a book wrapped in shiny green foil. She pressed her face to its new-paper scent, then tossed it aside to attack the next box like the others, shrieking and laughing as the living room filled with treasures.
Parents hovered at the edges with scissors and screwdrivers, freeing toys from impossible packaging. Batteries snapped into place, wheels spun, buttons beeped.
“Don’t lose the pieces!” someone shouted.
The frenzy lasted until the smell of chocolate and coffee drifted in from the dining room, tugging everyone back.
Dessert transformed the table into another feast. Cannoli lay in neat rows, their ends dusted with powdered sugar. Cousin Tracy’s famous Death by Chocolate towered like a monument, rich enough to silence the room for a moment with each first bite.
Children darted between the dessert table and their new toys, sticky fingers leaving smudges on boxes. Adults sipped coffee and leaned into their chairs, the volume of laughter dipping slightly, softer but no less warm.
Eventually, the night began to unspool.
Plates stacked in the sink, crumbs brushed away. Coats were dug out of the heap on the armchair in the front room, the same yearly scavenger hunt. “Is this mine?” someone called, holding up a sleeve. “What does yours look like again?” Another cousin insisted, “Mine’s the pea coat with red buttons!” It never failed; the pile caused confusion before anyone could get out the door.
In the driveway, cars were opened and re-opened, parents shuffling the packages they’d brought in earlier back out to the cars, arranging them like puzzle pieces. One family with a new baby drew the most laughter, struggling to wedge the overabundance of toys and clothes around a car seat and folded stroller.
“Try the back seat!” someone called.
“There’s no room in the back seat!” came the muffled reply.
At the doorway, relatives laughed and shouted advice no one followed. “Take it out of the box!” “Turn it sideways!” Laughter and exasperation filled the air. Eventually, as always, doors slammed, the last bag was forced into place, and parents climbed in, weary but smiling.
Engines rumbled; headlights swept across the snow; tires crunched down the icy driveway. One by one, the cars slipped away until the house, stretched full all night, finally exhaled back into stillness.
Upstairs, Eve brushed her teeth with clumsy strokes, too tired to care about the minty foam dripping down her chin. She tugged on her flannel pajamas and padded into her bedroom, arms heavy with the weight of the night.
Her mother followed, smoothing the blanket up to Eve’s shoulders and tucking it close. She paused, her hand resting gently on her daughter’s hair.
“Goodnight, Eve,” she whispered. “I hope you had a great Christmas.”
Eve’s smile stretched wide, her eyes heavy but still shining. “The best!”
Her mother bent lower, her voice softer. “I love you… to the moon and back.”
“I love you too, Mom,” Eve murmured, her voice drifting as sleep began to pull her under.
Her mother clicked off the light, leaving only the soft glow from the hallway.
Eve curled toward the doll on her nightstand. She carried the night inside her, Santa’s booming laugh, cousins squealing, the star in the frosted window, desserts and laughter still sweet on her tongue. She felt full in a way words couldn’t reach.
And in the next town over, Nicolas Perrin lay in his own bed, wide awake, heart racing with hope and anticipation for what the morning might bring. Eve, by contrast, let sleep take her easily. For her, the magic had already happened, wrapped in the noise and love of her family.
Lovely and warm 💕
Within your story, I felt the experience of being there at Christmas time with Eve‘s family. Warmed my heart and made me feel like a child again. Such a great story.