He tears off a chunk with his teeth, his grin visible behind the hunk of meat. “I’m glad we don’t have anyone else here,” he says, still chewing. “I really like it when it’s just our family.”

“That’s an excellent thing to be thankful for, then, Jacob,” Stuart says. “Don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh,” Jacob says, taking another bite of his drumstick.

After dinner, Stuart says that he’ll do cleanup. He invites me to watch television with Jacob. Christmas shows are in heavy rotation on the networks. I have a choice between Frosty the Snowman and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I opt for Dr. Seuss.

“Have you ever seen this?” I ask Jacob.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re going to like it. It was my favorite when I was a little girl.”

I sing him a little of what I remember from the main song. About the Grinch being so mean that I wouldn’t touch him with a forty-five-foot pole, although I’m guessing as to the length that’s actually in the song. Jacob giggles and asks me to sing more. I don’t recall the stanzas, so I sing the chorus again. He stares at me as if he’s never heard anything as beautiful in his entire life.

He watches the program with his mouth agape. The wonder of bearing witness to my son experiencing something new never gets old for me. When the program ends, he predictably asks how long until it’s Christmas.

“About a month,” I tell him.

He looks sad. I think he expected it to be tomorrow.

“What is Santa going to bring me for Christmas?” he asks, apparently not taking the moral of the Grinch to heart.

“I don’t know. That’s between you and Santa. Make a list, and if you’ve been a good boy this year, I’m sure that some of what’s on your list will be under the tree.”

“I think I’ve been a good boy,” he says. His big brown eyes beg me to confirm his self-assessment.

“The best,” I say.

I allow Jacob to stay up later than usual. After the Grinch, we switch the channel to Frosty Returns, but then I remember that times have changed since I was a child. I can simply order the original Frosty from Amazon for his viewing pleasure. When the snowman vows to return next Christmas, I’m tempted to queue up Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but it’s late. Jacob doesn’t have to see every Christmas classic tonight.

After Jacob is asleep, I join Stuart in our bedroom. As soon as I’m in bed, he reaches over and takes my hand. When I accept the gesture, he follows it up by kissing me deeply, leaving no doubt where he’d like this to go.