It’s one of my favorites. Sunrise in the Smoky Mountains, serving as the backdrop to three indigo buntings taking flight.
“You’re a hard chick to get to know, Ship, you know that?”
My smile fades a bit, but her words aren’t accusing. They’regentle, more of an observation. Still, the truth in them makes me uneasy.
“Yeah, well, so are you,” I say, grinning to lighten things up. “It’s a miracle we’re friends.”
She reaches across the booth, squeezing my hand. “I’m glad I met you, Ryan. No matter what you’ve got hiding under the surface.”
We say goodbye outside the diner, and I drive home. The kitchen is warm when I enter, the air filled with the scents of rosemary and sage, and the sounds of up-tempo holiday carols wafting out of a Bluetooth speaker.
I sidle up to Maggie, who’s at the counter rolling out dough for the pie crust and humming to herself. The Shipleys have their dinner on Christmas Eve rather than tomorrow, which is Dan’s family’s tradition.
“Smells good,” I tell her. “Do you need any help?”
“No, darlin’. I’ve got it covered.”
A bittersweet feeling washes over me as I watch Maggie prep dinner. This is my first Christmas without Gran, and I feel her absence like a gaping hole in my chest. I miss her. I wish I could hear her voice again.
Unlike Thanksgiving, tonight’s dinner is a more introspective affair. Even Jasmine, usually so loud and full of drama, chews in silence, her mind a million miles away. She’s been hanging out with Connor’s teammate Bo this week. They’ve been on and off all semester—frankly, I think he’s stringing her along—and it seems they’re on again.
Setting down his fork, Dan clears his throat and raises his glass. “I’d like to propose a holiday toast. To Ryan.”
My head jerks up at the sound of my name. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” He smiles, lifting his glass a little higher. “I’m so grateful you’re here with us. I mean that. You’re part of this family, and I want you to know that, always.”
I nod, fighting the lump in my throat as everyone voices their agreement. Connor nudges my shoulder with a small grin, while Jasmine beams at me, but my heart still feels heavy.
After dinner, we pile into the living room for another Shipley tradition. They have a Santa hat full of paper slips bearing titles of Christmas movies, and every year they pull out two to watch at random. This year, I have the honor of pulling movies from the hat. We end up withElf, which everyone is on board with, andDie Hard, which leads to an intense debate between Dan and Maggie about whether it actually qualifies as a Christmas movie.
“It takes place on Christmas Eve, Daniel! At a company Christmas Eve party! What else does it need to do to prove itself to you?” Maggie shouts, while the twins and I howl with laughter. I didn’t realize how passionate the Shipleys were about this issue.
Being part of a family is…pretty damn nice. Yet despite the holiday cheer and the good-natured bickering and the alcoholic eggnog that Maggie lets us drink, the ache in my chest won’t ease.
Once everyone goes to bed, I pull out my suitcase from under my bed and fumble on the bottom until I find the scrapbook. Then I slip out of the bedroom and curl up on the living room couch, my fingers tracing over the photos. There’s one of Mom smiling in that shy, secret way of hers. One of her laughing, the sound almost echoing in my head. I flip the page, and there she is again, holding me as a baby, gazing down with such pride.
A dam breaks inside me, tears streaming down my cheeks.The ache deepens, a cold, gnawing grief that I can’t shake. She should be here, sitting beside me, laughing and holding my hand like she used to. But she’s gone, and I can’t bring her back.
I press my hand to the worn page, my fingers tracing her face. “I miss you,” I whisper.
The tears fall harder, blurring the photos until they’re nothing but blobs and shapes and I can no longer see my mother’s smile.
The next morning, after presents are opened and the obligatory family pictures taken, I pull on my coat, grab my camera bag, and sling it over my shoulder. Dan gives me a curious look, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands.
“Heading out to take pictures? On Christmas?”
“Yep.” I tug my scarf on and hope my voice sounds casual. “Do you mind if I take the truck? I might be gone all day, though.”
“No problem. I’m not going anywhere. Keys are in the front hall. Have fun, kid.”
I head out the door, trying not to feel too guilty about the half-truth. As soon as I’m out of view of the house, I text Chase.
Me:I’m on my way.
When I get to his house, he’s on the porch, smoking a cigarette. “Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he drawls as I climb the steps.
I shrug, stepping past him into the warmth of his front hall.“I couldn’t let you spend Christmas alone. The thought of you crying made me really sad.”
