Page 31 of Love Letters to Christmas

You’re sharing a room with Amelia Christmas right now.

It’s Mrs. Albee’s fault, and as the night grows longer, you are considering a high possibility that other rooms were available, but that meddling woman knew she could get away with this.

She’s smart, too, you know. She knew better than to think we’d ever agree to share a single bed, so she gave us two.

If you’re honest, you miss Mrs. Albee even with all her mischief. She was at the post office every week, sending letters to pen pals and packages to friends. You bet she still does. You bet Brianna getsthe pleasure of chatting with her about the things her Italian pen pal is up to these days…

This town has a lot of memories. A lot of good. There are things you miss. Things you made yourself leave behind.

Right now Amelia is writing herself a letter so she won’t forget good things like these, but I think I forgot on purpose. I think I imposed some distance between myself and this place, so saying so many goodbyes wouldn’t hurt as badly.

I don’t know.

Maybe I’m being overly sentimental since I just went to a wedding and it’s been a minute since I’ve been back in Bandera.

Or maybe I’m just plain not thinking clearly at the moment.

Did you know that Amelia’s hair holds a wave?

Did you know it nearly reaches her hips when it’s let down?

I remember the days when she’d come see me at the post office. She’d bring letters with the most beautiful seals I’ve ever witnessed, and I’d hand-cancel them all so the processing machines wouldn’t damage the wax.

She was a lonely kid. Shy. Careful. Sweet.

It hurt me when the pen pal she received for a project in third grade stopped replying right after the assignment ended. I hated no longer being able to see her art. I hated thinking of how lonely she must be without the comfort of mail to get her through.

After that, I saw her everywhere at school.

We didn’t share any classes until she skipped grades, but I couldn’t help myself. I just kept noticingher. So I’d talk to her sometimes. And she’d glow like the sun.

When the epidemic of love letters appeared unexpectedly in middle school, I didn’t know how to handle them. I didn’t know how to express my disappointment every time a letter came without an elaborate blue seal.

I love mail. That’s one of my defining characteristics. But those love letters? They just made me feel bad. There I was, disappointing people, disappointing myself, not appreciating the effort that went into what I was receiving. All because I only wanted an Amelia Christmas original.

All because…

My pen bleeds into the paper as I stare at the words I’ve written, skimming them. Swallowing hard, I find Amelia seated at her desk on the other side of the room, dress splayed around her chair legs, ankles crossed and tucked underneath her.

Pure, unhindered joy reflects in the candlelight as she drips wax and crafts art.

Wow. She’s…beautiful.

…huh.

Have I… Have I been writing about Amelia this entire time?

Her lips form a dainty circle as she blows out the flickering candle, plants her stamp, and perches with her chin in her hands, watching it lovingly while it cools. This time, my swallow sticks in my throat, and it takes everything in me to drag my attention back to my letter.

Grip tightening around my pen, I proceed, valiantly testing how my straying thoughts might look against Amelia-blue paper.

All because…all I wanted was Amelia Christmas.

The words gleam up at me, confessing an idea I don’t believe I have ever once toyed with before.

Do IlikeAmelia?

Have Ialwaysliked Amelia?

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