Christmas morning.

I’d had many surreal experiences in those last five months. Losing my chastity in a foursome, having sex at school, having friends, going to a love hotel, having three girlfriends, having FIVE girlfriends, speaking to the spirit apparently living in my head through a ouija board and normalizing my polyamorous relationship through literal magic among other things. It was enough to make me consider the possibility that I was living in a simulation of reality. But even after all that, one of the most realistic yet still surreal-feeling events of my life happened early that Christmas morning.

I ran into a sleepy Grace in the second floor hallway on the way to the bathroom.

Her eyes were half open, her long hair disheveled and the first button of her pajama shirt undone. She looked a little out of it, almost like she was still half-asleep. Looking closer, I noticed there was a bit of drool in the corner of her mouth.

It was (understandably) the messiest I’d ever seen Grace Valentine, and yet all I could think of was that she STILL looked absolutely gorgeous. Seriously, she looked adorable with that sleepy face, and seeing her coming out of my bedroom in the morning hit some strange feel-good emotion I’m not even sure has a name. Kinda like the first time you see your partner’s toothbrush next to yours when you start living together. Oh, but that one came a lot later. Still, it was like that.

Grace stared at me blankly for a while, but then she blushed and smiled. “Do I really look cute like this?” she asked, trying to fix her hair with her fingers and rubbing her eyes.

I chuckled. I don’t know how much she read, but she definitely knew what I was thinking. “You do. Slept well?”

“After our talk, yes. I don’t think I’ve slept this well in my own bed.”

“...” It was 8:00 am on Christmas day. Like I said before, we usually laze around on the 25th. Mom would let herself sleep in until 9:30 or 10:00 and there was no way Isabelle was getting out of bed before 11:00 am. I was only up because it was coded into my routine already, and apparently the same went for Grace.

We stepped forward towards each other at the same time. Grace put her hands on my chest and I wrapped my arms around her waist. We shared our first kiss of the day in the middle of the hallway.

“Merry Christmas,” I told her.

“Merry Christmas,” she told me with a beautiful, lazy smile. “Why don’t you use the bathroom first? I think I’m going to take a bit longer than you.”

“I really need to pee, so I’ll take you up on that.”

“Gross,” she said, giggling and pushed me away towards the bathroom.

The rest of the day was pleasantly uneventful. We lazed around until 6:00 pm, watching videos in my room, having lunch with Isabelle and mom, watching TV together… It was great, let me tell you. We deliberately didn’t open any gifts, though.

Mila, Sarah, Alice and Noelle would arrive at 7:00 pm, and that’s when we’d exchange gifts. I went to the kitchen with Grace to start preparing sandwiches and snacks. Isabelle offered to help, and while I initially didn’t want to accept on the grounds that the people coming over were my guests, I did end up accepting because my sister was starting to offer her help more frequently and I wanted to encourage it. Mom offered to help, too, but I refused. She cooked dinner last night. We could take care of some sandwiches.

…

We hoped.

They were just some simple sandwiches. He didn’t have to cook anything. We made them with white bread, mozzarella cheese, tomato, ham, lettuce and seasoned with a bit of oil and salt.

Isabelle peeled and sliced the tomatoes, Grace washed the lettuce and I… got experimental. See, I was looking for ideas for sandwiches online, and one of them mentioned using pesto, a sauce made of basil pounded together with pine nuts, a bit of garlic and olive oil, and then finished with finely grated parmesan cheese. I liked the idea of putting it on a sandwich, so… I made it.

I toasted the pine nuts on a frying pan, constantly shaking to avoid burning them. When they were done, I poured them on the food processor with the other ingredients I mentioned and blended them until they were a smooth, greenish paste. Then I poured that into a jar with a bit of extra salt. Simple as that.

I dipped my finger into the (unplugged) food processor and tried the pesto.

…

It was… good. Or at the very least, I liked it.

…

But it was just mixing some stuff together and putting it on the machine. There was no science to it, no way to fuck it up.

Grace tapped me on the shoulder and I turned back to look at her.

“Going to put that in the sandwiches?” she asked, smiling.

“...No. I’ll leave it in the jar. If someone wants to try it, then it’s there.”

Isabelle nodded in approval. “Smart.”

We put the sandwiches together, set them on a tray and the filled bowls with chips, peanuts and other things. It was my first time hosting a… party like this, so I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t even know if you could call it a party. We were just getting together to hang out.

As the time approached, I began to feel more and more nervous. The people coming over were my girlfriends, literally the people I felt most comfortable around (save for perhaps that one guy, who was likely having the time of his life with HIS girlfriend that same day). There should’ve been no reason for me to feel nervous, but… I was worried they wouldn’t have a good time.

The bell rang. They were here.

…

Oh well. No use worrying about it more than necessary.

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