For some reason the telescreen in the living-room was in an unusual position. My mother was so eccentric sometimes. Why would we need something as old-fashioned as a telescreen? In this case it was especially for the annual Christmas party that my mother organized every year, and every year it got fancier and fancier, or rather, I’d say pretentious, with the new things she would occasionally add. Last year it was a chocolate super volcano that erupted after being accidentally pushed to the floor by my cousin Mike, who, at his first sips of champagne, felt a bit tipsy and slightly out of control. I guess it was quite a normal reaction of a 12-year-old boy, so he was excused by the family. As for the volcano, the chocolate lava discharged flew onto one of my mother’s colleagues, who had obviously decided that this party was the perfect occasion for her to wear a long white cocktail dress. You can imagine the mess we all got into. As for the year before last, each family was required to wear a matching Christmas-inspired outfit and for our family it was a holiday sweater, which I didn’t defy if it hadn’t been for the material that made me scratch all night. Mom had always been passionate about such parties, especially the Christmas ones, as it was her favourite time of the year. So was mine. All her frantic efforts to make the occasion even more special and distinctive had always been accompanied with several ridiculous accidents which made the event even more memorable.

But let’s look back at the telescreen – the new gain of this year’s celebration that was poorly mounted on the wall of the living room. Was I the only one who had noticed that it was tilted more to the other side? I was literally burning to adjust it, however, mom was insistent on not touching it. You may wonder why a telescreen for a Christmas party? Well… mom said she wanted Christmas carols blasting in the house as they “are the perfect ingredient for setting the mood and having a great time.” And now we were here with the tilted telescreen and Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you” incessantly playing. While I was contemplating about it, sitting on the couch, I felt something on my lap. Of course, it was Mr. Berry – our grey Persian cat, who always wore a furrowed expression on his face. I started petting and scratching him behind his ears. The room and the whole house smelled of ginger cookies and biscuits, and I was so much overtaken by their sweet aroma that my whole being surrendered to the seductive warmth spreading through my body. The big Christmas tree in the corner of the room by the window was intensely glowing red, then green, then yellow, as the light bulbs go, irritating my eyes but at the same time fascinating me. The numerous presents under it were stacked and each of them wrapped up beautifully with a golden ribbon tucked on. The garlands were put high on the wall in shapes of half-moons so that Mr. Berry wouldn’t be able to bring them down with the sharp swing of his paw. As for the fireplace, all our Christmas socks were hanging on it, full of sweets and all kinds of chocolates, and arranged in the following order: my dad’s, my mom’s, my brother’s and mine, as I was the youngest. Silver cutlery and crystal glasses stylishly adorned the dining table. The house was beautifully decorated and ready to welcome the guests.

Everything about Christmas made me giddy and content. My peace was interrupted by the incessant ringing of the doorbell and my mom’s cheerful cry from the kitchen “Honey, can you take that for me, please?” She continued to chirrup happily but before I could hear her last words, I rushed downstairs, impatient to open the front door. Mr. Berry hopped off my lap and excitedly followed me to the door. Upon opening it, I saw the happy faces of my brother and his wife standing there with bags full of presents, I presume. My brother hugged me tightly “How have you been? You’ve grown so much since I last saw you!” he said, voice full of surprise. “I’ve been well,” responded I and returned the hug. “Samantha!” I exclaimed happily and hugged my brother’s wife. She giggled at me “I’m happy to see you too,” with a teasing tilt to her smile. They came inside and were welcomed by my parents too. Waiting for the other guests, we all sat at the table, engrossed in heated discussions and exciting stories that began to unfold. Not too late afterwards, the doorbell rang again, and the house started to fill in with all kinds of people. That was the Christmas spark. The holiday dinner dragged along for hours, everyone happily talking with one another, glasses full of punch or wine, “Last Christmas” by Wham playing in the background and there was nothing, nothing that could ruin that special moment. While munching on my cookie, I heard a clinking noise and raised my head. My brother stood tall with his glass of wine and a knife banging on it. He cleared his throat and started a long speech about how happy he was that we were all together, how much he loved his wife and ended with “Samantha is pregnant and I’m going to be a father!” At that everyone at the table exclaimed joyfully and started congratulating them. I was shocked, and amazed, and excited, and I could clearly hear every vibe that ran through my body. I was joyful and thrilled.

This was the best Christmas I had ever had. I was going to be an aunt!