t is Christmas Eve and nearly dark, possibly my favorite hour of the year.

Ben and I are in the car, crossing the Triborough Bridge on our way to Daphne and Tony's house. We are about to meet their son, Lucas, who arrived three days ago, right on schedule, the most divine Christmas present imaginable.

The radio is on low and Nat King Cole is singing "I'll Be Home for Christmas." Ben's hands are gripping the steering wheel, at ten and two o'clock, perfect driver's ed form. He is usually a more laidback driver, even in heavy traffic, and it occurs to me that he could be nervous about seeing my family again. I ask him the question, admitting that I am a bit anxious about our visit with his family tomorrow afternoon.

As if busted, Ben shifts to the single hand at six o'clock position and says, "Maybe a little nervous… but I'm mostly just excited to see everyone."

I smile and say, "Even my crazy mother?"

"Even crazy ol' Vera," he says, shaking his head. "I love everything that is part of you."

I lean over and kiss his cheek. We have only been back together for a month, and the little things still thrill me. Things such as the feel of his rough whiskers a mere few hours after he shaved. Being in a car with him. Listening to Christmas music. Everything with Ben feels new and sacred and exalted. I suspect that it will for a very long time. Maybe forever.

A half hour later, we are exiting the Long Island Expressway and approaching Huntington. It is now completely dark. Ben points out the sliver of a moon, and the multitude of stars not visible in Manhattan. The stars are the best part about the suburbs, I muse aloud. Ben says he agrees—but then adds, "Not reason enough to move out of the city, though."

He is full of such subtle, conciliatory comments since our reunion lunch. We both are, although we are still dancing around the real crux of our divorce. We don't speak of such serious matters at all, other than when we tell our friends and family the story of that fateful day at Pete's Tavern. We will likely be asked to tell it again tonight. I'm sure we will roll our eyes and say, "Again?" while secretly relishing every part of the story—our story. The sickening hours leading up to our meeting, our slow-dawning realization, our euphoric cab ride back to my old apartment after lunch. I am sure tonight we will add a new detail, as we do every time. Perhaps I will imbue it with the literary significance that was never lost on me: There we were in O. Henry's booth, playing out our own version of the "Gift of the Magi," Each of us willing to give up something for the other, for love. It seems a fitting twist for Christmastime.

Zoe is waiting for us at the door when we arrive. She flings it open and yells, "Uncle Ben!" as she runs out into the driveway without her coat or shoes.

Ben swings her up in his arms and says, "Zo-bot! It's good to see you again, girl!"

"I missed you soo much, Uncle Ben!" she says, looking at him adoringly.

"I missed you too, sweetie," he says.

"I knew you'd come back!" Zoe says, and it strikes me that she will one day learn that not all endings are happy. With luck, her parents won't be such an example. So far they seem to be forging ahead with a very fragile peace.

"Well, you're a wise little girl," Ben says, putting her down on the front porch. "Now let's get inside. You're going to freeze to death."

Zoe beams and takes his hand, "Yeah! C'mon inside and see Baby Lucas!"

"Hey, Zoe, what am I? Chopped liver?" I say, pretending that I actually mind playing second fiddle to Ben.

Zoe smiles over her shoulder. "Hi, Aunt Claudia! You can come with us, too!"

By now, everyone in my family, except Daphne and Lucas, are gathered in the foyer, wearing huge, silly grins.

"Hi, everyone," Ben says with a sheepish smile.

My dad emerges as the patriarch and official family spokesperson. "Welcome back, buddy!" he says, extending his right hand.

"It's good to be back, Larry," Ben says, and the two shake hands as my mom snaps a picture. She snaps another as my father says to himself, "Aw, what the heck," and then gives Ben the sort of embrace you would expect when a man has just returned from a long tour of duty in a faraway war.

The others line up for their turn. First Maura, Scott, and the boys. Then Dwight. Then Tony.

"Congratulations," Ben says to him.

"You too, man," Tony says.

Meanwhile, my mother is photographing every embrace, snapping away. I let her—because I don't want to stifle her spirit and because I have a feeling I'll want to relive this night for years to come.

My mother ceremoniously hands her camera to Dwight, saving herself for last.

"Ben, darling," she says, pausing for dramatic effect, "what took you so long?"

Ben laughs and says, "I don't know, Vera. I was a fool."

"Yes, you were," my mother says with tears in her eyes. Then she points to me. "And so was this daughter of mine."

"Okay. Okay. Enough!" I say, laughing at my family's over-the-top enthusiasm. "We have a baby to meet!"

"Yes! Come in here," Daphne calls out from the family room.

We round the corner, and there is my sister, in the soft glow of the fire, holding her newborn son.

"Ben, Claudia, this is your nephew Lucas," Daphne says. "Lucas, meet Aunt Claudia and Uncle Ben!… That is what he should call you. Right, Ben?"

Ben takes my hand and says, "Yeah, Daph. That's what he should call me."

"Well, come get a better look at him," Daphne says proudly, as she unfolds the blue blanket from Lucas's face.

It is a moment I've been wondering about ever since Thanksgiving. Will I feel differently than I did when Maura gave birth to her three children? I am worried that I will. But as soon as I gaze down at Lucas, I am relieved to realize that I feel exactly the same. Filled with pride and wonder and gratitude and anticipation of so much to come.

"He's exquisite," I say.

Too good to be real. And yet, he is real.

"I know," Daphne says. "I can't believe it."

"Aunt Daphne, can I please hold baby Lucas?" Zoe asks—which is William and Patrick's cue to chime in with their own request to hold the baby.

"Not now," Maura gently tells her kids. "Lucas needs his mommy right now."

Daphne gives Maura a grateful glance. I can tell she is not ready to pass around her child. She has waited way too long for this night.

We all have.

Much later that night Ben and I are back in our old apartment. It is finally starting to feel like home again—which is a good thing because Michael is moving in with Jess in January. They're calling it a "trial run" but I know better. Sometimes it's easier to take things in small steps.

Like Ben and I are doing now. I have moved about half of my clothes back in with Ben, and am rifling through our dresser drawers now, looking for my red flannel pajamas.

Ben laughs, and I say, "What?"

"I knew the lingerie get-back-together stage wouldn't last forever."

"It's Christmas Eve!" I say. "Time to be cozy. Not sexy."

"Well, I got news for you," Ben says.

"What's that?" I say, smiling.

"You're both," he says.

I smile as I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Then I hesitate for a long moment before taking my pill. I return to the bedroom where Ben is waiting for me in his own green flannel pajama bottoms. We turn out the lights and get under the covers.

Our kisses are cozy at first, like our pajamas, but quickly become urgent and hungry.

"How can I love you this much?" Ben says at one point.

It is one of those things you just can't answer. Like trying to explain magic or miracles or faith.

"I don't know," I breathe, thinking that there are a lot of things I don't know. I don't know whether I will ever overcome my fears of motherhood. Whether I will someday be a mother. Whether I am capable of being a good one.

But for now, it is Christmas, and I am with Ben, and that is all that seems to matter. So I hold on to him tightly and whisper his name. As a wish and a promise for things to come.