Page 24 of Ransom

"Blair, honey, can you pass the green bean casserole?" Mrs. Granger calls from across the table.

I nod, picking up the dish and handing it down the line. My fingers brush against Mr. Peterson's weathered hands as he takes it, and I feel a surge of affection for these people. They're more than neighbors; they're family.

Max darts between the adults, showing off his new toy car to anyone who'll look. His energy is infectious, making everyonearound the table smile. I catch his eye and give him a small wink. He beams back, then races off to tell Mr. Johnson a story about Santa.

"This pie is delicious, Maggie," Mrs. Rodriguez says, helping herself to another slice. "You'll have to give me the recipe."

Maggie waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, it's nothing special. Just something I threw together."

But I know better. That pie took her hours, and she was exhausted afterward. Still I know seeing the joy it brings our friends makes it worth it to her.

I wish she would have bought a fucking pie, and saved her energy.

She nearly punched me when I suggested it.

The conversation ebbs and flows around me. I listen as Mr. Peterson recounts his last fishing expedition, embellishing the size of his catch with each retelling. Mrs. Granger and Mrs. Rodriguez discuss their plans for the community garden next spring. Through it all, I worry. That next year, we might be missing some faces. That next year, there will be a big gaping hole at the other end of the table.

"Blair, dear, you're awfully quiet," Mrs. Johnson says, patting my hand. "Everything alright?"

I force a smile. "Just taking it all in," I reply, not wanting to dampen the mood with my worries.

Max chooses that moment to climb into my lap, his small body warm against mine. "Aunt Blair, can we open presents now?" he asks, his eyes wide with excitement.

"Soon, buddy," I promise, ruffling his hair. "Let's let everyone finish eating first."

He nods solemnly, then turns to Mrs. Johnson. "Did you know I was in the school play? I was a tree!"

The table erupts in laughter and encouragement, and I feel a swell of love. Max is so at ease with these people, so cherished.

As the meal winds down, I start to clear plates. Mr. Peterson and Mrs. Rodriguez jump up to help, despite my ordering them to sit the fuck down. "Nonsense," Mr. Peterson says gruffly. "You and Maggie did enough cooking. Let us handle this."

I catch Maggie's eye across the room. She's settled on the couch, looking pale but content as she chats with Mrs. Granger. Our gazes lock, and I see my own fears reflected in her eyes.

What if this is the last one?

Max's eyes light up with each present he unwraps. The adults all trade happy smiles. We all remember the joy. That's why we hold off on presents until after dinner. Because our neighbors and friends, especially the ones with us tonight, the ones without little ones in their families, deserve a little taste of that joy. And through it all, Maggie watches Max with a look that makes my throat tight. A look that says she's trying to commit every moment to memory.

"Look, Aunt Blair! A fire truck!" Max exclaims, holding up his latest gift.

I ruffle his hair. "That's great, buddy. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson!" he chirps, already reaching for the next package.

Mrs. Rodriguez hands him a carefully wrapped package.

"This one's from me and Mr. R, sweetie," she says, her eyes twinkling.

Max tears into it, revealing a model airplane kit. "Wow! This is so cool!" he says, bouncing on his heels.

As the night wears on, our guests start to leave. Mr. and Mrs. Granger are first, living just two doors down. Mr. Peterson follows, shrugging into his coat. I hug him. "Thanks for coming," I whisper, throat too tight for anything else. Mr. Peterson's eyes are misty as he clasps my hand. "You take care of them, Blair," he says gruffly.

It’s not just me. We all see it. She’s fading.

Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez are next. They hug Maggie a little longer than they ever have, then come to me for a hug and kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas," Mrs. R says.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Soon, the house is quiet. Max is asleep under the tree, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper. Maggie's standing on the carpet beside him, hand pressed to her lips, face a picture of love and longing. I grab my phone and take a photo of both of them. Max is going to need to see how much she loves him.

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