Until he rasps, “Good as new,” and taps me on the chin with his knuckles, before stalking away, back to his wood.

Jesus…

Absentmindedly, I run my thumb over the Band-Aid on my index finger. You’re his kid. His fucking son.

Cleanse the creepy, Jess.

Snow is falling outside. Again.

It’s been coming down for hours. I’ve already shoveled the driveway once, but at this point, I figure it’s Christmas Eve.

Time to relax.

Jesse and I just finished dinner. He made lamb chops with roasted potatoes, squash, and salad. It was fucking amazing.

The kid can cook. Seriously, it’s like a God-given talent he also happens to work really hard at. I know it’s his favorite hobby, and also something he’d like to make into a career one day. And I just want to be supportive of that, because it’s a smart, achievable goal.

When Jesse told me he wanted to take a year off after graduation to figure out his next steps, I was on board. I know some parents might look at college as the only direction after high school, but I respectfully disagree. I never went to college, though I did take an online business course, which was tremendously helpful. But I just don’t think everyone needs to go into staggering debt for a piece of paper you hang on your wall.

In some professions, sure. It’s necessary. But Jesse could easily work his way up in restaurants and then maybe open his own someday without a college degree.

Regardless of all that, though, I just want to support him. In whatever he chooses to do with his life. And if that choice happens to keep him at home for at least a little while longer, well then… great.

Because not that I’d ever admit it out loud to anyone, but I don’t want to think about what my life would look like without the kid here.

I’m not sure I even know who I am without Jesse…

A business owner, yes. A friend? Maybe, to a couple of guys who still put up with me. Other than that, though, I’m a father to an eighteen-year-old, and that’s a huge part of my personality. If Jesse leaves, he takes a significant chunk of me with him.

The thought is all too real, so I stuff it away and grab a couple of glasses. It’s eight at night, and our tradition is about to start.

Every Christmas Eve, we light up the fireplace and drink eggnog while watching A Christmas Story. We’ve been doing it since Jesse was old enough to hold a cup. It’s not a lively or exciting event, but it’s ours and I enjoy it.

If I had gone with Leslie, I would’ve missed out on our tradition for the first time in ever…

No, that’s unacceptable. It never would have worked.

Although we were together for two years, Leslie never spent Christmas with me. And I can’t for the life of me picture her here now, snuggling up on the couch next to us with a cup of eggnog. She doesn’t even consume dairy.