Page 110 of Holiday Star
To: Caleb
From: Melinda and Uncle Seth.
It’s my dad’s old guitar. The one Caleb used to win me back.
Mom and Seth had decided to give it officially to Caleb, but in my mind I imagine it as a present from Dad himself. I know how much he would have loved Caleb. How they would have bonded over their mutual love of music and their mutual love of me.
A tear gathers in the corner of my eye, and I swipe it away. This is not a day for crying. Caleb is at my elbow immediately, lips puckered with concern. “What’s wrong?” he whispers so the rest of the family can’t hear.
I shake my head as more tears threaten, not knowing how to express my overwhelmed emotions. But I don’t have to. He takes one look, and I have the sense he understands. Every unspoken joy, all my tiny heartbreaks. He gets it. He sits beside me, and his hand seeks mine.
“It’s just that I love them so much, my family,” I say finally, my voice choked.
He squeezes my hand, letting me know I’m not alone.
Eventually, all the ornaments get hung. Caleb pulls me up from the couch, calling out, “Maddie, Megan, where’s the star for the top of the tree?”
Tissue paper rustles as the girls dig to the bottom of the ornament box. “Here!” Maddie jumps up and down, holding the star in her hand, the one that was in Japan last year.
We bought this star the year Teddy was born. I remember shopping for it with my parents, Brandon, and Teddy, who was a tiny bundle of blankets in the stroller, just home from the hospital.
I had held out the star to him, saying, “See, baby. Do you like it? It’s a little star, like you. You’re a little person. The real stars are much bigger, like Daddy is bigger than you and me.” Eight-year-old me had recently learned that in science class and felt very wise, to already be teaching my baby brother such important facts. I remember being excited, thinking about all the things I wanted to share with him.
Back then the star was shiny and perfect, but now its gold has rubbed off in some places. There’s a dent in one pointy corner from where I dropped it when I was ten. I had cried and cried when I had seen the damage from that fall.
Dad had kissed away my tears. “Don’t you see?” he had told me. “It’s more beautiful now. Each of the star’s imperfections tells the story of our family, our Christmases together. When I look at that ding, I won’t remember that it fell. I’ll remember how high you held it.”
Maddie places the star in my hands.
Caleb kneels down at my feet. I stare at him in confusion.
He grins. “What are you waiting for? Climb on.” He motions toward his back. “I’ll lift you up.”
Understanding dawns and, with it, a thrill. For the first time since Dad died,I’mgoing to put the star on the tree. I clamber onto Caleb’s back like he’s giving me a piggyback ride. He hoists me high. With him on his toes and me reaching out as far as I can manage, I place the star on a spindly branch at the top of the tree. It bobs there for a second and then the branch straightens, holding the star steady.
He gently lowers me to the ground. With my family all around, I let myself stay in the circle of his arms, gazing up at him with wonder. “Thank you.”
When Caleb first came into my life, I thought I had everything figured out. I thought he was the one who needed my help to heal, which he did. But now, as I stare at him in the colorful glow of the Christmas lights, I see I need him as much as he needs me. I’ve got long-neglected broken parts, too.
With each touch, each kiss, each whispered confession, Caleb mended me. Putting all my pieces back together. Just like the star, I won’t be perfect, but those scars I carry tell my story. If he can love those flaws, then I can, too.
Epilogue
Six months later, Tokyo, Japan
Whatever you do, don’t look.” Caleb is close, his hands tight on my face as he covers my eyes. Cinnamon scent swirls around me, comforting and arousing all at once.
“If it’s a helicopter, then I’ve already seen this trick,” I tease.
There are so many noises to sort through. The unfamiliar syllables of people speaking a different language. The honk of cars and the occasional echo of a distant siren. I’m jostled when someone hits my shoulder as they rush past.
We’ve only been here a week, yet already I’ve learned that the sidewalks of Tokyo are always jam-packed, morning, noon, and night. There’s no sense of personal space, not with the thousands of people crowding each other on the streets and in the subways.
“Almost there, Aunt Gwen,” seven-year-old Megan sings out from somewhere close by. She and Maddie had been having the best summer visiting Mom and Seth. I swear we’ve been to every Pokémon store in town. The girls have thick binders full of colorful trading cards. Although I can’t see them since my eyes are covered, the rest of my family is also here. I can hear them chattering around us. Caleb had insisted we all be present for his “big surprise.”
After walking for what feels like forever, we stop.
Caleb’s lips brush the rim of my ear as he removes his hands and says, “You can look now.”
