Page 105 of Holiday Love
Love.
Such a big word, something neither of us have said yet.
“Hedoeslove you, Helen. I know it.” She says it with such certainty, like it’s the only possible outcome, that I almost believe her.
“I hope so,” I whisper like a prayer.
We sit together for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, watching the sea roll in and out until the coffee in my mug goes cold, forgotten. Outside, the sun has climbed higher, casting golden light across the kitchen tile, warming the edges of this heavy morning.
Finally, I turn to her. “What can I do? How can I help you?”
She squeezes my hand, then gently lets go. “You’ve already done so much. You gave up your whole life in New York just to come home. That’s all I need from you, sweetheart. Just be here.”
She pauses, then adds, “Do you know why I love the holidays so much?”
I tilt my head. “Why?”
“Because it’s the one time of year I can always count on us being together. No work excuses, no distractions. Just us.” She pauses, her voice softening. “When you’re young, you think you have all the time in the world, but now, more than ever, I realize how priceless it really is. Time.” She smiles faintly. “It’s the most precious thing we have. More than money, more than anything you can buy. You know what I mean?”
I nod, the lump in my throat too thick for words.
She reaches for her coffee again, takes a sip. “Go wake him up,” she says softly. “Teddy. Tell him Merry Christmas. Tell him everything else too, when you’re ready.”
I hesitate, caught between wanting to stay here in this quiet moment with her and the pull of someone special waiting just downstairs.
Mom doesn’t rush me. She just smiles, tired but peaceful. “No matter what happens, we have love, Helen. Love between a parent and a child. Love between your father and me, you and Teddy. In the end, that’s all anyone can ask for. To be loved. To love someone else.”
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I rise and set my mug in the sink. I walk back and wrap my arms around her one more time.
“I love you, Mom,” I tell her. I’ll keep telling her every day, even after she’s gone.
“Love you too,” she says back, and I let it sink in, the knowledge that I’m well and truly loved.
I breathe her in, coffee and cinnamon and something that’s always just beenMom.I don’t know how many more moments like this we’ll have, so I hold on a little longer.
And then, finally, I let go.
Chapter forty-seven
Teddy
The living room looks like the North Pole exploded. Wrapping paper iseverywhere. Bows have been ripped off with the kind of primal chaos you only see in nature documentaries. Two nutcrackers give me identical judgmental stares from either side of the fireplace. One is missing a hand. I don’t know what happened, but I respect him for surviving it.
I’ve seen these decorations before, back at Thanksgiving, but now they’ve gone full holiday boss level, like the North Pole got a Pinterest account and no adult supervision. I half-expect to be offered cocoa by an animatronic Mrs. Claus.
Even with the over-the-top holiday décor, Christmas so far has been quiet. Cozy. Just the four of us lounging, with cinnamon rolls and coffee, laughter coming in soft waves.
And Helen.
She’s sitting next to me on the floor, hair tangled, cheeks pink from warmth and smiling. Her parents are on the couch, sipping from matching mugs that sayNaughtyandNice. Her mom isNaughty. Her dad isNice. Not sure if I agree with those labels, but whatever.
Even though Christmas hasn’t been loud or flashy, something about this moment feels huge. Like maybe, without meaning to, I’ve stumbled into something I didn’t even realize I wanted.
There are only a couple of presents left.
“Saved the best for last.” Helen hands me a small, square box wrapped in navy paper with tiny gold stars. The wrapping job is impeccable with crisp corners, perfect tape alignment, the kind of thing that screamsI have a label maker, and I’m not afraid to use it.
I hold it up and raise an eyebrow. “Is this going to explode glitter in my face?”
