Page 41 of Christmas Charms
I regret the question as soon as it’s out of my mouth. Again, Aidan isn’t my boyfriend. There are probably a million things he’d rather do on a rare afternoon off than hang out with my parents.
But he surprises me by saying yes and minutes later, we’re sharing a bucket of my mom’s special butter toffee almond drizzle popcorn while we sit side-by-side on the big, overstuffed sofa in the living room. Fruitcake flops at our feet and rests his head on Aidan’s foot while my parents flit around in preparation for a “special surprise” they’ve prepared for me.
I cringe a little when my dad pops a videotape into our ancient VCR. Surely we’re not about to watch the long-lost footage from the year Aidan and I were homecoming king and queen back in eleventh grade. I can’t think of anything more mortifying.
But as the old home movie begins to roll, joy warms me from within. It’s not footage from high school. On the contrary, it’s a full decade older than that.
“Is this the Firefighters’ Toy Parade?” Aidan asks, leaning forward with his elbows planted on his knees for a better look.
“It sure is.” My mom points at the grainy image of a young, trim firefighter in a Santa hat passing out candy canes to children lining the parade route. “Look, there you are, Ed.”
My dad laughs. “That might have been a few Christmas cookies ago.”
As if on cue, the camera pans to my mom, working her way through the crowd gathered around the firehouse with a giant platter of her gingerbread firemen and sugar cookie snowflakes. My heart stirs with pride at being part of such a special tradition this year. Mom was right. Who cares if my cookies didn’t look—and certainly didn’t taste—as perfect as hers did?
Aidan sneaks a sideways glance at me, and when our gazes collide, he gives me a slow smile that builds until my pulse starts to race. I bite my lip and force my attention back to the television.
“This is amazing. I can’t believe you found this tape,” I say.
“Well, we were talking about the parade this morning, and I knew it was lying around here somewhere,” my mom says.
Then she and my dad exchange a meaningful glance, and just as I’m wondering what their secret communication could possibly be about, the camera zooms in on a six-year-old me.
My hand flies to my throat and I gasp. I shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow, I am. This video was taken the year I was the Firefighters’ Toy Parade Sweetheart! I’m sitting on top of the ladder truck surrounded by a group of firefighters—including my dad, of course, who beams at me as if I’ve hung the moon. A glittering snowflake tiara sits atop my head, and I’m wearing a red velvet dress with white faux fur trim that looks like something the Rockettes would rock in their annual Christmas show.
“Look at how cute you were,” Aidan says. “The Firefighters’ Sweetheart. Who knew? How have I never seen this video before?”
“Ihaven’t even seen it,” I counter, and then I sit up a little straighter, because he’s right.
I was super cute. Whoever was manning the camera at the time—Uncle Hugh, if I had to venture a guess—is asking me questions, and I’m chattering away like a kid who’s just done a deep dive into the Christmas candy.
“Wait.” My mom shushes us and aims the remote control at the television, turning up the volume a few notches. “This is the best part.”
“Ashley, one last question,” the camera man says. It’s definitely Uncle Hugh. His deep baritone voice is unmistakable. “Describe for us your perfect Christmas—the Christmas of your dreams.”
My heart skitters to a stop. Did I just hear that right?
The Christmas of your dreams…
I can’t tear my gaze away from the screen, but my fingertips immediately latch onto the charm bracelet, wrapping tightly around the silver charms.
“The Christmas of my dreams would have a dog,” my on-screen self says, nodding so enthusiastically that my snowflake tiara bobs on my head. “A big yellow dog, with a huge red bow tied around his neck.”
Beside me, Aidan goes completely still as he glances down at Fruitcake. The dog’s big pink tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth, and I swear he looks like he’s smiling.
“Uncle Hugh was right. He remembered,” I say. A sense of wonder spreads through me, and I feel like I’m on the brink of something huge…
Something magical.
“Wait, there’s more,” Dad says, nodding toward the TV.
Six-year-old me isn’t finished with her Christmas wishes. “The Christmas of my dreams would have my mommy’s special Christmas cookies, too. And a Christmas tree as tall as the sky with a special gold star on the very top.”
My heart is suddenly in my throat. I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. Young Ashley has just described each and every charm that’s somehow come to life on Betty’s vintage bracelet. All three of the wishes six-year-old me made that came true.
“Ash? Are you okay?” Aidan says.
I nod without looking at him. I don’t trust myself to speak or to even meet anyone’s gaze right now. It feels like a flood of tears is gathering behind my eyes, and I’m not even sure why. A shiver courses through me as Aidan slips his hand in mine.
