Page 107 of Holiday Love
“Theodore Wright,” I read aloud, and then turn it over. “Semper Paratus.”
“Always ready,” he says. “That’s the Coast Guard motto, isn’t it?”
It is.
I swallow hard, nod, and manage to croak out, “Thank you, sir.”
He claps me once on the back with enough force to shake my spine. “Don’t cut off a finger.”
“If I do, your daughter can sew it back on.”
“Indeed she can.” He walks back to the couch to sit next to his wife, who beams at him like he just negotiated world peace.
Helen disappears for a second, then returns holding a large gift bag. Not the usual size, the kind you need both arms to carry. She sets it gently in front of her mom, then sits back down beside me, her hands wringing in her lap.
“This one’s from me and Dad,” she says softly.
Her mom raises a curious eyebrow, then reaches into the bag and pulls out a small potted rose bush. It’s dormant, the bare branches spindly and edged with thorns.
Helen clears her throat, her voice quiet but steady. “We know it doesn’t look like much right now, but roses lose their leaves in winter. When the time is right, they bloom again. Not the same as before, but still beautiful. Still growing.”
For a second, no one says anything. Her mom just stares down at the plant, fingers brushing the edges of a leaf like it might crumble if she held it too tightly.
Helen speaks gently. “We thought it might be nice to have something for the garden you planted out back. Something that blooms year after year. Pink roses are your favorite. That’s what this one is, a soft pink with scalloped petals.”
Her mom presses a hand to her heart. “I love it,” she says. “It’s a beautiful gift.”
Phillip puts his hand on his wife’s shoulder and holds it there.
I clear my throat, trying not to sound like I’m feeling all the feelings I’m definitely feeling. “I can help plant it,” I offer. “Back by the kitchen window maybe, where the sun hits in the morning.”
Her mom looks up at me with a warm, grateful expression. “That would be wonderful, Teddy. Thank you.”
“Great,” I say. “I’ll make sure it gets the best spot.”
Helen leans against me, her shoulder brushing mine, as we sit surrounded by the aftermath of Christmas. Wrapping paper, twinkling lights, and something deeper. No one says much, but it doesn’t matter. Some moments don’t need words. They’re meant to be felt, to be quietly cherished, before they slip away.
Chapter forty-eight
Helen
All families have traditions, rituals, they repeat every holiday. Mine is no exception. First, we eat breakfast. Then presents, followed by a light lunch of sandwiches, crackers, chips, and dip. Once the sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon, we take a stroll on the beach.
When I was little, it was the gifts I lived for, the glittering paper, the thrill of surprise. Somewhere along the way, that changed. Now it’s the walk I look forward to most. The way the ocean hushes the roaring noise in my head. How it drowns out all the chaos, leaving only room for things that matter. Maybe it’s age, but I’ve started to crave these moments, the ones that don’t come wrapped in ribbons.
Today, the sequence is the same, but everything feels different. Because this Christmas, Teddy is here. Our little family of three has quietly become four, and somehow it just fits. Like we’d been tilting slightly off balance, and he’s the weight that steadies us.
I’m hyperaware of him as we walk side by side. Teddy’s always upbeat, but today he’s practically buzzing, like he’s got electricity under his skin.
I glance over and whisper, “Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” he exclaims, loud enough to startle a flock of nearby seagulls. They take off in a flurry of feathers, squawking like they’re gossiping about rude tourists.
Teddy watches them go, then grins at me. “I have a surprise for you, Hellcat. Well, it’s mostly for your mom, but I hope you like it too.”
I narrow my eyes, already smiling. “What, another present?”
“Maybe.” He glances away, trying to look mysterious, but that ridiculous grin stays stuck to his face.
