Page 118 of Elf-ish

Instantly, I find a written inscription.

To the man who had a change of heart and changed mine along with his.

Here is an angel to always guide you out of the dark and remind you to live.

Fuck. My eyes burn and my throat thickens. I didn’t understand.

How could she leave me such a sentimental gift, but be gone?

Reaching for my phone, the first notification I see is from Angelica.

Spend Christmas with me.

I can almost hear the soft command in her voice, like when she invited me to go home with her only last weekend after I apologized to Eva in the bar.

Quickly, I scroll to the transformation list Angelica made me.

Where can you make a meaningful donation?

How can you gift time?

Who do you need to make amends with?

Who deserves an apology from you?

How can you show compassion for another?

A circle with a check mark ticks off what I’ve completed.

Donate money. Check.

Gift time. Check.

Apologize. Check.

Show compassion. Check.

What remains is making amends. But with whom? My family immediately comes to mind, and I send Julia a text wishing her and Chopper and the kids: Merry Christmas.

While chatting on the phone with her the other day, I let it slip that I’d had a heart attack, and my sister went batshit crazy on me for not mentioning it sooner. She was so angry, she hung up without saying she loved me.

Perhaps she’s who I need to make amends with. Especially when she doesn’t immediately respond to my text, which isn’t like her. Then I remember California is hours behind Chicago, and if first light is cracking here, her family is hopefully still snug in their beds.

My thoughts then drift back to Angelica’s invitation.

Spend Christmas with me.

But I don’t celebrate this day. Slowly, I rise from the blanket nest and redress in yesterday’s clothing. I need a shower and a stiff drink. My own bed is calling as well.

I head to my office, to collect a few things, but once I’m there I stand still and pull out my phone one more time.

Spend Christmas with me.

Glancing around my cold, empty office, where I’m alone on Christmas morning, it hits me that this cannot be it. This cannot be my entire world. This is not living my life.

I feel that itchy sensation again. That feeling under my skin, drawing me somewhere, toward someone.

Don’t you leave me, Jude?