I remember Christmas as a child.
 
I remember being overly saturated in Christmas cheer, stuffed full of gingerbread cookies, watching one of God knows how many cartoon specials, and carefully picked what toys I wanted from the mythical, jolly, fat man in his sleigh.
 
Now I’m that jolly(-ish) man, driving a sedan instead of a sleigh, and a lot slimmer than him as well.
 
This also means I’m entitled to deliver a special someone her gift, which sits right in my pocket. The little velvet-covered black box that contains a silver band inset with a single diamond, and inscribed with her name on the inside.
 
Rika Nakai…
 
I honestly had a moment of indecision when I had it done, wondering whether to put her maiden name on it, but a friend told me that it would be “beta as hell” putting that on a wedding ring. In the end I relented, sticking my name on it as a way of saying “I know you’ll say yes,”, and hid the little black box away until tonight. It sits comfortably now in my pocket, waiting for the perfect moment to be shown.
 
Rika sits quietly next to me, humming along with the radio as she watches the snow fall. She looks… beautiful, clad in this little backless black dress that’s solely held up by her neck in this figure eight formation, displaying a little of her modest cleavage. This is paired with matching peep-toe heels, and she’s even pulled her hair up into a bun.
 
I feel like a peasant sitting next to a queen…
 
This feeling dissipates however as she smiles at me, one hand gently rubbing my arm as we turn into the parking lot of this very fancy restaurant. It’s French cuisine, mostly, though they have Italian and even a bit of Greek, but I’m more concerned about making our reservation in time. We do of course, but the look the concierge (is that what they’re called?) gives us makes me a little irate.
 
He leads us to this window table, two seats only, and quickly takes our drink orders before whisking off to the kitchen. He returns quickly, a glass of red wine for Rika, and water for me since I’ll be driving. We order soon after, Rika ordering angel hair pasta in vodka sauce, and myself ordering rotini alfredo. After taking the order he books out, leaving us to talk.
 
We don’t, instead we do that couple thing where you look at each other, talking through expressions over words.
Barely half an hour later our food gets here, and my heart starts to race faster as our meals disappear.  Finally I decide it’s time as she dabs a napkin on her ruby red lips, and I stand up.
 
“Hisao, wha-,” she starts to say as I pull the box out of my pocket.
 
Her hand goes to her mouth as she realizes what it is, and tears begin forming as I speak.
 
“Rika Katayama, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
 
There are no words, just rapid nodding as she accepts me putting the ring on her finger, and she pulls me into a kiss/hug afterward as people around us claps. I’m crying too as we sit back down, the waiter popping a cold bottle of champagne, and pouring it into two flutes for us. After the hustle and bustle settles down, we go to leave, and she pulls me close to whisper something in my ear.
 
“I think you’re going to get your Christmas gift early,” she coos, one hand sliding down to my crotch.
 
I guess Santa is coming early this year.