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I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her so happy.
She tried a bit of everything with a huge smile on her face, then told me I was the best chef in the whole world. Truthfully, seeing her joy was the best Christmas present I could ever ask for.
Christmas Eve wasn’t ruined. I’d saved the day.
Now we’re all huddled around the tree in our holiday pajamas with cocoa and cookies. Our bellies are full, but not too full for the treats we’re inhaling faster than the snow falling down outside. Mr. Bailey has disappeared down to the basement a few times for unknown reasons, but we’re finally all together, drinking in the moment.
June is in my lap, her back pressed to my chest as she gazes at the tree with a look of wonder in her eyes. It’s magic, really, and it makes my heart skip a few beats as I watch the joy flicker across her face.
Mrs. Bailey pipes up from the reclining chair, her hair now in a messy bun with a holiday-themed pen stuck in it. Her Rudolph slippers nearly rival Mr. Bailey’s platypuses. “Brant, I have an early Christmas present for you…if that’s okay.”
Of course that’s okay!
I’m instantly giddy. Nodding, I straighten, while June lets out a gasp of excitement from my lap. Her hair tickles my chin when she resituates, clapping her hands together.
“I know what it is!” she chirps, bouncing up and down. “Can I give it to him, Mama?”
“Hey, it was my idea,” Theo counters.
Mrs. Bailey stands, setting down her mug of “grown-up” cocoa we’re not allowed to taste. She bends over near the tree, plucking a small present from the pile, and for a moment I’m transported back in time to that last Christmas at my old house. I picture my mother in her red flannel nightdress with curlers in her hair. She looked so sad, even though she was always smiling. She reminded me of the rainbow song—a sad melody disguised with happy words.
She’d read me a story about dancing sugarplums and rosy clatters. It was a magical story with strange words, but what I remember most about that night was the way my mother grazed her fingers up and down my spine, her voice a lullaby in itself. Everything felt so perfect in that moment. Dad had locked himself away in the bedroom, so there was no fighting, no tears. It was only me and my mom, drowning in Christmas magic, reading stories by the fireplace with colorful twinkle lights glimmering off the tree.
The memory fills me with warmth.
It fills me with regret.
It fills me with a touch of madness because it’s not supposed to be like this. She should be here right now, sharing a grown-up cocoa with the Baileys and singing us to sleep with our favorite song.
I’m brought back to the present when Theo snatches the gift from Mrs. Bailey’s hand and rushes it over to me. He’s smiling so big, I can’t help but let the bitterness fall away. For as much as I hate that my mother is gone, I can’t be angry for what I have now. I could never regret this family, or this home…I could never regret spending Christmas with my best friend and little Junebug.
“It was my idea, but June wrapped it,” Theo explains, plopping down beside me on the area rug. “Go on, open it.”
June scurries off my lap and faces me on her knees, far too eager to see what she already knows is inside.
Mr. and Mrs. Bailey have their arms around each other as they settle on the couch beside us, and I swear there are tears in Mrs. Bailey’s eyes. The lights are reflecting off of them.
What could it be?
Swallowing, I peel back the candy-cane wrapping paper. It’s a tiny present, just the size of my fist, but my heart starts to thump nevertheless.
And when I unfold the gift that sits inside, that same heart nearly detonates.
I discard the paper, staring down at the treasure in my hand, my chest achy. My throat tight. My fingers tremoring.
June is quick to point at the discovery, her voice high and chipper. “Look, Brant, it’s your mama! She’s so pretty. And that’s you when you were as small as me.”
“Do you like it, Brant?” Theo wonders, his eyes wide and curious.
I glance around the room with my own wide eyes before slipping my gaze back to the gift. It’s an ornament. It’s an ornament shaped like a gingerbread house, with a photo inside.
My mother and me.
I’ve never seen this photo before. She’s crouching down beside me, her hands squeezing both of my arms. I’m looking at the camera with a cheesy grin, and she’s looking at me. Her smile is so happy, so proud. So alive.
She’s looking at me like she never wants to let me go.
I have something smeared across my face, maybe chocolate, and my long-lost friend dangles from my grip.
