Page 56 of The Holiday Hookup List
Taking her hand, I draw her over to the mantel. On the day we decorated, Valencia hung two stockings there, as I did in her apartment. These are mint green satin with embroidered white snowflakes, and she said they reminded her of my eyes.
“This one is yours.” I hand her the one on the left.
“And this one is yours.” She gives me the second stocking.
I frown as I pull out a sealed red envelope. “When did you put this in here?”
“Monday.” She smiles. “Open it.”
“We’ll open them together.”
We sit on the sofa, and as he did that first night, Archimedes lumbers into the room and wedges himself between us. He immediately flexes his claws into the leather, and I sigh.
So it begins.
Valencia pulls out a small, square origami box.
“Did you make this?” When I nod, she gazes at it like it’s something precious. “On the count of three? One, two ...”
“Three.” I slit open the envelope.
Inside, there’s a card that reads, “All I want for Christmas is you ... naked!” Smiling, I open it and find a sheet of paper ripped from a spiral notebook—the same one, I’m sure, that we wrote our list in. I unfold it and read Valencia’s spiky script.
Dear Gideon,
I forgive you. But more importantly, please know that you’re allowed to forgive yourself. You learned from your mistakes and you changed, which is more than most people ever do.
The truth is, you’re a good man. (And extremely hot.) I wish we could’ve been friends in school, but I’m happy we found each other now.
Have a nice life. I hope I get to be part of it.
Love,
Valencia
P.S. Any interest in a Valentine’s Day list?
The breath catches in my lungs. I read the letter three times before focusing on the first sentence.
I forgive you.
I’m not sure I realized how much I needed to hear this. Fromher.
Except ... she’s right. Her forgiveness doesn’t relieve the weight of my past completely. All this time, I’ve been afraid of becoming like my father, but that very fear ensured that Iwouldn’t. So the burden I’ve carried about whether or not to forgive him ...
Has actually been about forgivingmyself.
The simplicity of that strikes me like a blow. What if Iamallowed to forgive myself? What would the rest of my life look like if I did?
I lift my gaze to Valencia sitting beside me with a cranky cat tucked between us. This, right here, is what I could have.
If I just let the past go and spend the rest of my life being the person she sees in me.
She appears to be equally speechless, staring open-mouthed at the set of keys I’ve gifted her. She rubs her thumb over the cutesy acrylic key chain.
“Is this a Scottish fold cat?”
“That’s what he is, right?” I scratch my fingers down Archie’s back and direct my next words to him. “Would’ve been a lot easier if you were an orange tabby. I had to beg an Etsy seller in Iowa to express ship it.”
