He didn’t believe Santa Claus brought him gifts, not after that Christmas Eve three years ago when he had walked in on his dad placing boxes wrapped in bright red and gold paper under their tree. That didn’t mean Christmas mornings had lost their magic. When he pressed his nose to the cold glass pane in his bedroom window, Aidan squealed and dashed to the heavy wooden door. Swinging it open, he ran down the carpeted corridor, ignoring the oil paintings, and barely avoiding knocking down a couple of potted plants on their high stone pedestals.

“White Christmas! We’ve got snow!”

“What’s this raucous all about?” Aidan darted past his dad, swerving to escape his outstretched hands. “Hey, don’t I get a Merry Christmas hug?”

“Busy! Later!”

Skipping every other step, Aidan conquered the two-story worth of stairs, and was out of the door, in seconds.

“Don’t forget your jacket.” His mom’s words made him turn tail and reach inside the coat closet, before rushing outside again.

He didn’t bother with a hat, the heavy windbreaker had a wool lined hood, and he chose not to wear gloves because he wanted to feel the snow melting on his palms. There wasn’t enough of it to make a snowman, so he went for the next best thing. Snowballs. Tons of them. And if he knew his parents well, he would need all the ammunition he could gather before they caught up with him.

Aidan kept a watchful eye on the front door as to avoid being caught by surprise by his mom and dad. Last time they had snow, Tim and Joan buried the boy in the frozen white powder before he could throw his first ball. A dry creak on the snow behind him gave his parents away. They must have gone out through the backyard door and around the house. Aidan spun around to face them, but didn’t duck fast enough. The burgundy on the breast of his coat got covered in white spots, when a snowball thrown by his mom hit him. The white turned into dark stains as the snow melted fast.

Screeching, he returned fire and hurled his snowballs in the general direction of his parents. If only he could see past the white curtain of flakes raining down on him, a result of Tim and Joan’s coordinated attacks. His dad’s guffaws, and his mom’s snorts helped Aidan aim his shots, but he had no idea how effective they were.

His high-pitched shriek rang through their front lawn and garden, when his dad shoved a handful of snow down his back, the tiny rivers of icy water raised goosebumps on his skin all the way to his butt.

Aidan surrendered.

“Truce!” Raising his hands, out of breath, he knelt on the snow, giggling. “Please, no more. I don’t want to spend Christmas in bed with a fever and cold.”

His mom’s laughter mirrored his. “Tim, I’m glad someone does the adulting thing in this family.”

“Yep, and it’s not us.” His father plopped himself on the ground beside Aidan, laced hands nestling his head, his eyes piercing the clouds.

Aidan followed his dad’s lead and lay down to watch the sky. His mom flanked him on the other side. After a brief, silent contemplation, her chest rumbled, but she didn’t share the joke with them.

His father caved in first. “What?”

“I’m glad our nearest neighbor lives over half-a-mile away. If not, they would be calling the cops on us right about now for assaulting our child.”

“That is so true.” His dad turned his head to watch Aidan, who pretended the clouds held mesmerizing secrets, and kept staring at them.

His dad braced himself on an arm and kissed his cheek. His mom followed suit kissing his opposite cheek and, before he knew it, he was snowed under tons of love and affection. “Stop, stop.” He half giggled, half begged. “You guys are ruining my tough act.”

“Sorry. I can’t help it. Too much cuteness,” his mom retorted, as she proceeded to tickle him.

Aidan was doomed.

He wiggled his way out of his parents gripping hands and tickling fingers, to escape to the safety of their home. He was shaking the snow off his coat, when his parents joined him.

“If you two go ahead and change into dry clothes, I’ll get a nice, warm breakfast ready when you come down again. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Aidan and his mom replied.

Aidan’s small family took their time consuming their Christmas breakfast, stuffed with soft soda bread, fresh scrambled eggs, a board of mouth-watering cheese, and fragrant smoked salmon. The delicious food distracted Aidan from craving the boxes stacked under the living-room Christmas tree. Once the meal was over, he helped his mom put the dirty dishes in the sink for the housekeeper to take care of in the following day. Then, the allure of the paper wrapped volumes returned to his mind with full force.

“Could we do the presents now?”

“Sure, why not? I was planning to wait until lunch, but go ahead.” His father had to shout the second sentence to be heard.

Aidan had already crossed the intimate dining-room, the entrance hall, and was kneeling by the tree. He waited until his parents joined him, so they would distribute the packages. His grandparents on his mom’s side had passed away before he was born. She had only one sister, who had married an American and moved to Wyoming. They rarely flew over for the holidays. His paternal grandparents, uncles and aunts would join them after lunch, but their gifts had preceded them, surrounding Aidan with multiple sets of building blocks and a couple of pogo sticks. However, the present that lit up his eyes was a robot dog his Uncle Jerry had bought for him.

“Your brother took the hints,” Joan told Tim, as Aidan tore at the wrapping paper.

“Well, Aidan mentioned the dog every ten minutes every time Jerry visited us.”

Aidan shrugged. “He messed up last year. I wanted to make sure he got it right this time.”

The previous year, Uncle Jerry had bought him a plush dog, thinking it was the toy all the kids were talking about. Granted, the names were similar, but the plush dog didn’t bark songs or stand on its legs.

Busy making the tiny plastic dog sniff his bone, Aidan didn’t notice his dad leave the room. In fact, his mom had to tap his shoulder to get his attention and point it to his dad. When Aidan turned his head, he found Tim standing by the door.

“This is our Christmas present for you, son.”

The tall square volume didn’t give away the kind of gift it contained. But, whatever it was, Aidan knew his dad would have nailed it. He abandoned the other presents and hugged his dad. “Thank you.”

“You might want to open it first.” Tim winked.

“You always get it right.”

“I married your mom, didn’t I?” He kissed the top of Joan’s head, as she snuggled against his chest and they watched Aidan rip the red and green paper to shreds.

Aidan’s heart thudding against his ribcage cut off air form his lungs when a black faux leather case, framed by heavy-duty metal, peered at him amid the ruins of Christmas-themed wrapping papers. His stare cut to his dad’s, who nodded in response to Aidan’s silent questioning.

That couldn’t be it. Right?

Snapping the latch open, Aidan confirmed his father was his hero. A bass guitar was nestled inside the case in a soft bed of black plushy fabric. He wanted to spring on his parents and hug them tight to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming, but his hands grew a will of their own and wouldn’t stop caressing the shiny baby-blue and white surface and the long rosewood neck with its four taut strings.

He eventually closed the traveling case and tried to hug both his parents, but his arms didn’t reach all the way around their waists. Tim and Joan sandwiched him between their bodies instead. “Thank you. This is the best present ever. You’re the best.”

“Right back at you, son.”

* * *

Later in the day, when his extended family distracted his parents with their fun-filled yearly competition of charades, Aidan grabbed the bass guitar case and snuck upstairs to his bedroom. He hoisted the case onto his bed, opened it, and reverently plucked the guitar out of its snug bed. He didn’t know the first thing about playing that instrument, but he wanted to practice.

He slung the strap over his arm and shoulder, and the guitar surprisingly hung in front of him within reach of his fingers. The perfect height. His father was famous for the attention he paid to details. Turning to check his reflection in the full-length wall mirror, Aidan’s satisfied smile turned into a wide grin.

“I’ve got a bass guitar. I can’t believe it,” he muttered.

He scowled at his grinning reflection.

That was wrong.

That teeth-showing expression worked for self-centered lead singers or camera-seeking movie stars.

Aidan wanted to belong to the cool crowd.

He wiped the beaming smiled off his face, drew his eyebrows together, and glanced in the mirror.

“Much better.”

He thumped and strummed the strings, producing dissonant and cacophonous sounds, and shrugged. He didn’t care.

In due time, he would learn to play bass.

For now, he focused on getting the attitude right.