Page 44 of Wishing for Christmas
“The King I can do,” Pete said. He banged out the opening notes of “Here Comes Santa Claus.”
Everyone sang along to Pete’s attempt at an Elvis impersonation. Clara was having a good time with Brent already. She always did. She took a moment to appreciate the picture-perfect scene. She glanced over at the kitchen where his parents were busy filling drinks and hosting friends. Her gaze slowly rotated around the living room. She watched the other guests. They hugged in greeting. They laughed. Everyone was happy. It was a beautiful illustration of the importance of being together with loved ones for the holidays. Time together with friends and family. Sharing in the joy of the season.
It all served as a necessary reminder that she and Brent reallyhadneeded to spend Christmas together. She thought about what they would be doing right now if she hadn’t made that wish. He would be off in the desert and all alone at Christmas. He would be missing out on all of this—and she would be too.
They would have been deprived of experiencing one of the best moments that life can offer. Despite all the messiness, at that moment, Clara knew one thing with certainty: She had made the right decision in making that wish.
As she perused the room, her eyes stopped on the Christmas tree. Her gaze landed on the star that stood atop. Her mouthopened and something stirred inside her. It was familiar. A tingle coursed through her spine. Her eyes remained glued to the star. There wasn’t anything extraordinary about it. It didn’t sparkle like the one at the hotel. It didn’t light up. There was little grandeur about it at all. It appeared to be made of simple wood and painted a basic shade of blue. Still, there was an allure about it that she was drawn to.
Brent noticed her staring and nodded toward it. “Our tree is still missing something, isn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t worry. I told my parents we’d be taking that with us tonight. They just wanted to show it off for the party.”
She looked at him, not understanding.
“It was nice of you to loan it to them last year.” He laughed. “Since the crickets had other plans for your tree.”
“Yeah, they sure did,” she said with a fake laugh.Those crickets again. She rolled her eyes.
“But this year, and for every Christmas from now on, that star goes on our tree.”
Clara was silent. Her brow furrowed. She tried to piece together clues so she could make sense of what he was saying.
“I made that foryou,after all.”
“You made that?”
Brent turned to face her and sucked in a breath.
She shook her head, still not understanding. She stared at the star again. It was impossible to take her eyes off it. Clara saw a faint vision play out in her mind. It didn’t feel like a memory exactly, not from real life—more like a memory of a dream.
Brent’s jaw became firm. “Yes, Clara. It was the gift I made for you last Christmas.”
The sharpness of his tone broke the spell she was under.
An abrupt laugh escaped her throat that she’d never heard come out of her before. “We didn’t even know each other last Christmas.”
Clara covered her mouth with her hand, forced her lips together, and squeezed her eyes shut. She knew better than to say something stupid like that. It felt as if the words had jumped out of her mouth before she could even stop them. It was as if she had been so lost in thought over that dumb star that she lost all ability to think.
Maybe she’d been so relaxed she got caught up in the nostalgic feelings of Christmas and forgot about their current situation entirely. Or maybe the stress of this overwhelming lie was becoming impossible to handle. Maybe she was beginning to crack. Either way, she was overcome with a desperate desire to end this whole charade. She couldn’t keep up with this act much longer.
Part of her wished Brent would just tell her everything she’d missed instead of quizzing her all the time. Every conversation with him was a test of her memory—a test she continued to fail. The only way it would stop, though, was if she told him the truth. But if she did that, he’d probably run for the hills, or at least a psychiatrist.
Brent lowered his head and ran his hands through his hair. His frustration was becoming impossible to hide.
Clara felt her chest tighten. She didn’t blame him for reaching the end of his rope with her inexplicable and all too frequent lapses in memory. No, it wasn’t his fault. He had been incredibly patient with her up to this point. Nothing about this ridiculous situation made any sense. There was no way to explain it to him—why she hadn’t remembered meeting his parents, or those dumb crickets, or that aggravating ringtone, or his peanut butter allergy, or his adorably named dog—and now, this Christmas gift?
Clara shook her head as if erasing an Etch A Sketch to start over. “I’m sorry, Brent. I’m not sure why I said that.” She felt a pain in the back of her throat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she tried to think of what to say next.
She remembered his answer about a blue star from the game at the squadron party the other night. The best gift he’d ever given her—apparently—was this tree topper. She folded her arms across her stomach and looked down at her feet. She still didn’t know why this simple gift was such a big deal. All she knew was that, by the look on his face, it was.
She blew out a stream of air. “Of course I remember the gift. I’m so sorry,” she said.
Brent stared at her. The usual warmth in his expression was missing.
Clara turned away, unable to look him in the eyes. She glanced out the window to the backyard. It was dark, except for the orange glow from a wood-burning firepit. She needed to pull herself together. She needed to sort out everything he’d told her. Right now, she needed some air.
