Page 80 of The Nightmare Before Kissmas
“I just—” I roll my lips into my mouth, breathing the bitter, iced air. “We’re supposed to make people happy. But it doesn’tlast.So what’s the point?”
Hex straightens, leaning on me a little less, but only so he can twist, facing me. “You said something like that once before. In the alley.” He squints. “Do you remember?”
No point in lying to him, or myself, anymore. “I remember everything from that night.”
He shows a little flash of surprise at the intensity in my eyes, the way I let him see that I mean it, that everything he said is and has been branded on my mind.
“I don’t think our purpose is to prevent all the bad things in the world,” he says. “I think our purpose is to help people endure those things.”
“With that foundation you talked about? One by one by one, until they have something to stand on.”
An unexpected, sensational grin brightens Hex’s face.
We don’t generally concern ourselves with the religious elements associated with our Holidays—they fluctuate as much as joy intake—but I understand now how people are driven to worship.
His smile makes me want to swear my soul to whatever god created him.
“You do remember,” he says. “And yes. We give them the foundation to withstand whatever they may have to face.”
I walk us forward another step. Dad glides past us on the ice and gives me an intense look that says,Get out here.Defense wells in me, my grip tightening on Hex’s arm.
“Why does that not feel like enough?” I whisper.
Hex watches me still, and I can feel his exhale on the side of my face. “I think you’re trying to make each little thing too big. I don’t expect the ofrenda to bring Raven back. In that moment, when I set up the altar for her, I feel a little less alone. A little less broken by her loss. If I can have that, then I know other people are getting the same comfort out of this Holiday. And that’s all I expect to get or create by any of the magic I’m destined to build—one small moment.”
I wish I could have a flicker of his conviction. To believe in what we do, to know it resonates and people need it.
But I realize, in listening to him talk, at the bar and up to now—being with him is the only time in my life when I started to think that the joy we bring might be enough. Becausehethinks it’s enough.
“How did she die?” I ask. “Or you don’t have to talk about her if—”
“It’s fine. A car accident. Two and a half years ago. I—”
He stops. His eyebrows crease.
“What?” I ask.
He takes a fortifying breath, expression pleading and intense. “Actually. I’d rather you not ask me about her.”
Instantly, I want to surrender, hold up my hands and back away, but I can’t let him go, so I nod. “Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize. Really. I don’t—” Another deep breath, another shuddering exhale, and he looks out at the rink. “I don’t do well talking about her. Even years later.”
“No. I get it.” I spend every anniversary of the day Mom left rereading the handful of texts she’s sent over the years, then hating myself for it. “I… thank you for telling me. I wish I could’ve met her.”
Hex whips towards me so fast I jump. His brows bend in that pleading look again, his lashes pulse, and maybe it’s the sting of the bitter winter air, but his eyes are glassy.
“I wish you could have met her too,” he says like a promise, hanging such weight on each word that my knees go weak.
Then he smiles, straightens up. “Now. Show me this next Christmas death trap.”
“It’s hardly adeath trap.You’re so morbid.”
“Halloween.”
“If you adhere to Halloween’s morbid stereotype, then that means I have to adhere to Christmas’s jolliness, and I’m not sure I’m physically capable of shaking my belly like a bowl full of jelly.”
Hex laughs.
