“I'm so glad you came home for the holidays, Miles,” my mother says. “I was afraid you might skip this year.”

“I would never miss Christmas with my family,” I say. “I can, however, skip the annual party.”

“Which is a couple of nights from now,” she says and laughs. “And, since you're here, you know that means your attendance is mandatory.”

It's a little before midnight. Neal has already gone to bed and Christopher is back at his place – likely curled up with the real Alice Donnelly on this cold evening. That makes me think of Sasha, bringing a weak, listless smile to my face.

My mother and I are sitting across from each other on the couches in the informal living room. Marina brings in a tray with assorted festive snacks and a couple of steaming mugs of hot cocoa – the same cocoa she used to make when I was a kid – and sets it down on the table between us. It's rich, comforting, and somehow perfect for tonight.

The oversized fireplace to my left is burning wildly, filling the room with heat. Since all of the lights are off, it’s the only source of illumination in the room, casting its red and orange flickering light on the walls. Well, except for the soft glow and twinkling of the white lights on the sixteen-foot tree in the corner that's completely covered in gaudy Christmas gear.

It's just the two of us tonight. Once upon a time, my mom and I used to frequently stay up late together, talking until the early hours of the morning. She's a fantastic listener and has always been great with advice. She's helped me work through plenty of problems in my life – no matter how small – and I am more appreciative of her keen insight than I could ever say. I’d also like to think I've given her at last some sense of comfort, and maybe even a few sage words of wisdom, over the years.

It's a tradition I've missed quite a bit with all the emotional turmoil in my life lately. It's something that only the two of us shared – neither Christopher nor Neal ever participated in our late-night chat sessions. Part of me wonders if we'd be closer if they had. Another part of me feels glad they never did. This has become a tradition I hold sacred. Even today.

My mother looks at me, a troubled expression on her face. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

She eyes me critically, as if searching for any hint of truth in my words – but, of course, there is none. I’m lying through my teeth. After speaking with Rosie, I started to become excited about the idea of being a parent – I mean, it appeals in so many different ways – especially because it will be with Sasha. At the same time, the entire situation really freaks me the hell out.

Not knowing what to do, I called Christopher and asked him to send the company jet to get me. I told him I wanted to come home for the holidays and didn't want to get stuck flying commercial – an entirely believable white lie since everyone knows I hate flying coach. A few hours later, I was en route to SeaTac.

The truth of the matter is – what I want the most isn’t in L.A. I don't have any idea where Sasha is. I wanted to come home so I could do exactly this – sip hot cocoa while getting my mother’s counsel. If there’s anyone who can cut through the bullshit and give me an unbiased perspective – even if I don’t like or agree with it – it’s my mom. She'll put me in line if needed, but I know she'll also give me the best advice possible.

Now that I'm sitting here with her, however, I'm having second thoughts. I have my doubts about letting her know about the situation. I mean, how can I tell her the woman I've fallen in love with – the woman carrying my child – is the same woman who conned our family? The same woman who took advantage of my mother's hospitality and lied straight to our faces?

I really don’t think this is going to end well. My mother is the sweetest woman ever, but she does not suffer fools very well.

“I don't believe you, Miles,” she says. “And you know that lying to me violates the rules of Midnight Chat Club.”

I laugh softly. Midnight Chat Club. That’s a name I haven't heard in a long time, it seems. It was the silly, unofficial title of our late-night gab sessions. I don't know why, but it fills me with joy to know that she remembers the name too.

I let out a long breath and steel my nerves. I have to come clean with Mom. She deserves to know the truth. And if I can fix things with Sasha, and there's even a chance of us having a future together, my mom needs to know so she's not totally blindsided.

“I need to tell you something, Mom,” I say. “A few somethings, actually.”

“Oh, this sounds juicy,” she says. “We haven't had an intriguing midnight chat in years, Miles.”

“Believe me, I know,” I say with a chuckle.

I pick up my mug of cocoa and take a sip, reveling in its rich, frothy taste. It's every bit as good now as when I was younger. My mother takes a drink as well, eyeing me over the rim of her mug. I almost get the feeling that she's somehow read my mind and already knows what I'm about to tell her.

Or maybe, I'm on edge and feeling– which is probably much more likely.

“So? What is it?” she asks.

I take in another breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm my faltering heart. I don't know why confessing this to my mother has me feeling so uneasy. She's never been judgmental or condescending before. She's my mom. I can tell her anything and everything. For whatever reason, it feels like I’m suddenly treading on unsteady ground.

“Well, the first thing I need to tell you is that the woman who was here over Thanksgiving was not actually Christopher's girlfriend,” I say. “Her name is actually Sasha Gates.”

“I know, dear,” she replies, not missing a beat. “I mean, I didn't know her name, but I knew right away she wasn't Chris's girlfriend.”

I cock my head and look at her. “You knew?”

She nods. “Of course, I did,” she says and laughs, a sound almost as rich as the cocoa. “I knew about ten minutes after I met her.”

“How in the hell did you know?” I ask. “It took me a little time – and a phone call from Chris – to figure it out.”

“It was the way she spoke about your brother,” she says. “She had no idea who he was. To hear her speak about him was like listening to her describe a stranger. I just knew she wasn't Alice.”

I sit back on the couch, stunned by my mother's revelation – and the demonstration of the fact that she's obviously a hell of a lot sharper than I am.

“Why didn't you say anything?” I ask. “Why didn't you kick her out of here?”

She shrugs. “She's a lovely girl, Miles,” she explains. “I enjoyed her company very much. She's honest and genuine –”

“Honest?” I say and chuckle.

My mom waves me off and laughs. “In every other way she's honest,” she says. “She's a wonderful young woman – that carries a pretty daunting emotional burden on her back. I got the idea that being here, away from whatever her situation was, helped her. I wanted her to experience a little peace in her soul for a while.”

“It helped her. A lot,” I say. “Being around us for a few days helped ease her mind and her heart. At least, for a little while.”

“You knew her situation, I take it?” she asks.

“I didn't. Not at first,” I say. “Hell, I'm the one who picked her up from the airport thinking she was somebody she's not. But, her home life – it's not good. Her mom and younger sister live nearby, but they're mean to her. Cruel, even. They're not supportive of her, at all, and constantly run her down.”

“It sounds like this was a nice respite from that,” she says.

I nod. “Yeah, it seemed to do her a lot of good.”

“By the way, how do you know what her home situation is like?” my mom asks. “And in such great detail?”

A wry smile crosses my face and I look away from my mom for a moment. I have a feeling she knows what I'm going to say next, but she's having fun torturing me right now, just because she can. With a sigh, I finally find the nerve to look over at her.

“Not long after she left here, she called me,” I say. “She begged me to help her pull one over on her mom and sister.”

“She certainly seems to enjoy pulling one over on people,” she cracks.

“Yeah, but it's not like that. She's not like that,” I say. “This was different. She wanted to get them off her back so she told them I was her boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

I nodded. “Yeah, she asked me to come to dinner to meet them, so she could parade me around a bit, and get them to back off of her.”

My mother laughs, clearly finding this hilarious – which, I guess with some distance and hindsight now, it kind of is.

“Yeah, but then I made the mistake of trying to have some fun at her expense and upped the ante,” I say. “Just to get under Sasha's skin, I told them that I was her fiancé. That backfired a bit and made things become incredibly awkward over there.”

“I can only imagine,” she says and laughs.

I tell the rest of our story from there – excluding our recent fight, and the pregnancy news. Afterwards, we sit there together in comfortable silence, sipping on our cocoas. For a long time, the only sound in the room is the snapping and popping of wood in the fireplace.

“You care about her a lot, don't you?” my mom finally asks, breaking the silence.

I nod. “Yeah, I really do,” I say. “It might seem crazy, but I think I'm in love with her, Mom. It's beyond nuts, I know. I mean, it makes no sense.”

“Love never makes sense dear,” she says. “When it does, it’s not really love. Emotions are messy, strange things. And your heart will always want what it wants.”

“That it does,” I say. “And it wants Sasha.”

“Then you need to fight for her.”

“I don't even know where she is,” I grouse. “She left L.A. in a hurry a few days ago and I haven't heard from her since. She doesn't return my calls or text messages. She's gone silent on me.”

I tell her everything that happened at my office and the fallout from it. My mother listens and I can't help but notice the amused smile on her face. When I'm done with my story, I look at her, completely stone-faced. She has the good graces to not laugh out loud, but it's clearly a struggle for her.

“Really?” I ask. “You're going to laugh at me too?”

She shrugs. “I'm sorry dear, but it is kind of funny,” she says. “And wow, does that girl have an attitude.”

“Yeah, that she does.”

“If you love her, you need to find her, Miles,” she says. “Maybe it works out, maybe it doesn't. I think this woman is good for you – like the real Alice and your brother. Sasha has loosened you up and is helping change your priorities. She's making you kinder and gentler. She's shown you that a true and genuine love can be the greatest thing in the world and make your life infinitely better.”

I nod. “That's true. Very true,” I say. “I really like the changes I’ve seen in myself since Sasha came into my life.. I'm happier. Lighter, even.”

“I know. I can see it in you, dear,” she says. “And it's a wonderful thing to see.”

“There's more,” I say, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

“What is it?”

“She's pregnant, Mom,” I say.

My mother's eyes widen and a look of absolute shock crosses her face – but only for a moment. The shock quickly gives way to a look of absolute joy. She jumps off her couch and runs over to me, throwing her arms around the back of my neck, and squeezing me tight.

“I'm going to be a grandmother,” she cries.

“Yeah, it looks like you are.”

“I can't tell you how thrilled I am, Miles.”

She stands in front of me, my hands in hers, beaming at me. I can't recall the last time I saw my mother this happy. It's crazy – one things I’ve already learned is that kids do crazy things to people.

“Are you happy, Miles?” she asks. “How do you feel about being a father?”

I give her a smile. “Honestly? I'm excited about it. Really excited,” I say. “I never thought I'd say those words, but I am. I'm in love and excited to be a father. I just – I don't know what's going to happen with Sasha.”

“If this is what you want, then you have to fight for it, Miles,” she says, her tone serious. “You need to show her what you’re willing to do to make her happy. This is on you now.”

“Yeah, if I can ever find her.”

“She's probably at home,” she says. “With her mother and sister.”

“I doubt that,” I say. “That's probably the last place she'd go.”

My mother holds my gaze. “We usually retreat to familiar surroundings, when troubled or hurting,” she says. “Didn't you come home?”

I give her a rueful smile. “Yeah, I did,” I say. “I guess it wouldn't hurt to check out her mom's house tomorrow. I doubt she's there, but at least it's a place to start.”

My mom nods. “Good for you, dear,” she says. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

“I'll do my best to get her back, Mom,” I say. “I really will.”

“I know you will, dear,” she says. “I know you will.”