Page 27 of Catching the Mistletoe

“Yes.” Typical Mack. Blunt and to the point.

“Great. We just need to get the presents loaded.” There were two guys standing behind her, with a trolley piled high with gifts. All brightly wrapped and shiny. Almost too garish for their destination. And wow, when the fuck did I get so morbid?

“I’ll give you a hand.” Mack headed out and I followed, my fingers brushing against the corners of gift boxes, the bows, the tags that read ‘To a Brave Fighter.’ Every touch was a reminder of who these gifts were for, and it… was a lot.Pull yourself together.

Once the storage was packed to the brim, we climbed back into the RV. Mack took the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel in that steady way of his. The engine roared to life, and off we went. The drive was a quiet one. Even the radio, our usual go to for breaking the tension, stayed off.

Pulling up to the hospice had my stomach churning. What was it about these places and their vibe? It was so innocuous. Just a one-story building, unassuming but well-kept, its beige walls and soft blue trim blending in with the surrounding suburbia. The camera crew pulled up behind us and I wanted, desperately, to ask them not to film this one. But that was dumb, so I didn’t.

Waiting for us at the entrance were two women in scrubs.

“Thank you so much for coming,” the first woman greeted us, her voice warm yet tinged with an underlying fatigue. “I’m Nurse Janet, and this is Sarah.”

Nurse Janet was older, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a neat bun. Sarah, a volunteer, looked like she could’ve been a college student.

“Hi, I’m Arabella, and this is Mack,” I introduced us, my voice wavering just a bit. I was holding it together, but barely.

We followed them inside, the automatic doors swishing open to reveal a softly lit hallway. I fought the impulse to hold my breath, because I knew exactly how this place would smell. I really had to get a grip. I’d be no use to anyone today, passed out on the floor.

The hallway walls were decorated with framed drawings and paintings—stick-figure families, animals in clothes, rainbows and suns—all the work of the children who stayed here.

As we moved deeper into the building, I couldn’t stop myself from peeking into the rooms we passed. In one, a young boy was propped up on a mountain of pillows, a comic book in his lap. His eyes flicked up and met mine, and for a brief moment, a small smile lit up his face. It hit me like a tidal wave, the enormity of why we were here, of the fleeting moments of joy we were here to provide. My steps faltered.

Mack was next to me in a flash, his hand on my shoulder steadying me. “Hey.”

“Sorry. I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s just tough. But I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t reply, but I noticed that he stayed quite close to me as we continued on down the corridor.

We finally reached a larger room, where a small Christmas tree twinkled in the corner. Nurses were helping kids get settled, their faces lighting up at the sight of us and our cart full of gifts.

Alright, game face on. I took a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs, steeling myself for what was next. I caught Mack’s eye for just a second, and in that brief moment, we shared an understanding. No words needed. We were here to make these kids’ day a little brighter, and no amount of personal awkwardness between us was gonna stand in the way of that.

The camera crew maneuvered their way into the room, their lenses aimed and ready. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin. It was go time.

“Who’s ready for some early Christmas magic?” I announced, my voice bouncing off the walls. The kids’ eyes widened, some of them letting out excited giggles.

“Me! Me!” one little girl shouted, her hands clapping together. She was in a wheelchair, a small oxygen tank attached to the side. Despite her frail frame and the tubes running to her nose, she had so much bright energy that she seemed like the unofficial sunshine of the room. She wore a name tag that read Emily.

The presents were sorted in alphabetical order, so in no time at all, Mack found Emily’s present and handed it to her. “This one’s got your name on it, Emily,” he said, a soft smile on his face that made my heart do weird things.

Emily tore through the wrapping paper with gusto, revealing a colorful puzzle set. She hugged it to her chest. “Thank you! Ilovepuzzles!”

“You’re very welcome.” I grabbed another gift from the cart, its tag reading ‘To Caleb.’ Walking over to a boy who looked to be about eight, I bent down to his eye level. “Hey Caleb, this one’s for you.”

I watched as he carefully unwrapped it to reveal a superhero action figure. His face lit up, and he immediately started undoing the packaging. A nurse stepped in with a pair of scissors to help him, so I moved back to the cart.

Mack and I continued this dance, moving from child to child, handing out presents and sharing smiles. The room filled with the sound of paper tearing, joyful gasps, and the kind of laughter that only comes from pure, unfiltered happiness.

I caught a glimpse of Mack as he knelt beside a little boy, helping him open a box of building blocks. Humph, didn’t really need that little belly flutter right now, so thanks for that, Mack.

When all the presents were handed out, Janet approached us. “You’ve made a lot of children very happy today.”

“We’re happy to help.”

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