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I did that. Crushed a childhood memory. Literally.
My heart plummets as I inspect the splintered popsicle sticks. The ornament is signed with a heart, an age, and Adrian’s name. I’ve ruined a beautifully perfect item from his Christmas memory arsenal. He probably put his heart and soul into making it. The ornament means something to him, or he wouldn’t have kept it, and it wouldn’t be lying around in his bedroom. And I broke it.
Damn.
Is this what he meant by gifts met with complaints because they weren’t perfect? How could anyone reject such a gesture? From a child at that?
If Adrian thinks Christmas is all about commercialism, I’ll prove to him that he’s wrong. Changing his mind isn’t a job for one. It’ll take a family, and I know where to find one perfect for the task.
***
Adrian
By the time I rouse from the best damn sleep I’ve ever had, Hailey’s gone. Her pillow and the space beside me where she curled up after I kissed every square inch of her body are already cold. I roll out of bed, and something hard and sharp pricks the bottom of my foot. A pinecone owl stares up at me with one beady eye. The other one sticks to the bottom of my bare foot.
The box I’d been looking through when Hailey knocked on the door lies on its side with its contents strewn across the floor. She was a welcome surprise amid all the chaos in my mind. I forgot everything when I opened the door to find her standing there, so damn sexy, wrapped in a bow. After all I said, and how I behaved, she offered me the grandest gift only she could give. Herself. She gave me so much more than her body. She brought me peace and gave me perfection.
I was right all along.Hailey’s too good for a man like me.
I pull on a pair of boxers and gather the scattered items from the floor. I handle the ornaments with the greatest of care. It seems silly to bother. The only people they meant anything to are long gone.
Sadness tugs at my heart. What would Nana and Papa think of Hailey if they were here to meet her? Nana would never believe I’ve been smitten by a Christmas elf. I can imagine the ribbing she’d give me, the man who has made Santa’s naughty list for as long as I can remember.
A broken rubber band lies on the floor with scattered letters and cards around it. As I gather the papers into a neat stack, an envelope catches my eye, then another and another. Letters addressed to my mother from my father with postmarks from the year he was stationed overseas, early in their relationship, to less than a year ago.
Why would Mom give them to me for safekeeping? Why keep them at all? They despise each other. Why would my father bother writing to her long after their divorce?
I open the envelope out of curiosity. The selfish part of me would like to shed some light on the early days of their relationship and what changed between them. They wouldn’t have married if they didn’t love each other.
I unfold the yellowed paper, recognizing my father’s scrawled handwriting.My Dearest Love, the letter begins.
The letter’s short but heartfelt. He details his days since he last wrote, then spills into beautiful prose, confessing how much he misses her, his undying love, and a few intimate descriptions that make me cringe.This is my parents, for pity’s sake.I skip to the end, where he’s doodled two doves and hearts with their names entwined.
I’ll be damned. My father was a romantic. I pick another letter from the pile and continue reading until the last envelope’s been opened. He continued writing her love letters and thank you notes after his tour of duty ended, and he was finally home for good. The love and devotion he had for my mother ran deep. According to the postmarks, that includes up to a year ago.
He commended her for the beautiful home she kept, how she raised me, and how her attention to detail made everything special. He mentioned outings, parties, and Christmases and how she was always the most beautiful woman in the room.
I don’t recall the years playing out in the way Dad described. He doesn’t mention the fighting and yelling. Our home was a war zone, volatile and toxic. But his words are sincere, filled with passion and devotion. Are the letters apologies for his temperamental behavior? Did Mom return the sentiment in letters to him?
Despite their love, their inability to live together without bickering drove them apart. They lived in a vicious cycle of negativity, allowing it to drive a wedge between them. Mom must still love Dad if she couldn’t bear to throw the letters away.
She can’t let him go.
I’mnot the one who wasn’t good enough.Theyweren’t good enough for each other.Theywere too stubborn to be happy.
I finish cleaning up the mess, shower and grab Hailey’s dainty, strappy shoes on my way out the door. It’s time to put my hardheadedness and ill feelings aside.
