Page 87 of Back to December
My feet touch the bottom step, and a whole new level of detail assaults my senses: the warm and spicy aroma of gingerbread, the sounds of the Grinch coming from somewhere nearby. But most of all, it’s the level of coziness that infuses our space.
The sound of tiny feet on hardwood jolts me out of my reverie.
“Mommy!”
Their voices are tiny and bright. They barrel into my legs, one attached to each leg, and my world spins on its axis. They’re clamoring over each other to get to me—tome—to hug and kiss me and tell me they love me.There’s only one way I can put a name to the feeling overwhelming me, and my eyes seek his as the realization hits me square in the chest.
It’s unconditional love.
Fury muscles its way past the overwhelm. Because my mother stole this from me.
I sink down and bury my face against their heads, tears stinging my cheeks as they fight over who can get the closest to me. Their high-pitched voices vie for my attention, chattering a million miles a minute about their morning so far. I laugh as they tell me about Holden turningwhipped green like the Grinch and how he made them hot chocolate for breakfast.
If there’s nothing else I take away from this magical snippet of what I hope is my future, it will be this. I vow right here on the floor that I’ll never let my image come before these kids. Or any others that come along.
Not long after we graduated high school, Bridget, Ella, and I moved into an apartment. We couldn’t wait to put some distance between ourselves and Mom because we realized we were pawns. Nothing more.
I can’t think of a single instance where she cared about any of us more than our image. My talent might’ve landed me on the dance team in Enchanted Hollow, but it was all the classes she worked so hard to pay for that actually got me there. She always managed to frame things as if she cared about what was best for her daughters—Ella excluded—but it was really about what served her own interests.
The Laila in this universe healed from the fear she’d do the same with her kids.
“They love you so much,” Holden chuckles, crouching down beside me.
Words form, but I can’t quite manage them out loud yet:you really did choose me.He chose me when I didn’t know how, and somehow, that got us here.
I sniffle through a smile as I hug them close.
“The feeling is mutual,” I whisper, and I mean it in every possible way.
Never mind the fact that I don’t even know their names or how to be a mom. Just knowing that the potential for this exists for me—if I allow it—is enough. That wound inside me soothes, like aloe vera on a burn.
He extends a mug of steaming coffee my way. “I brought you caffeine.”
I could kiss him for this act alone.
Instead, I let myselfreallylook at him. Our initial meeting this morning was too spiral-y, and while I’m not quite settled, I’m in a better frame of mind. Sort of.
He doesn’t look that dissimilar from the Holden of yesterday, but there’s a clear distinction in his eyes.ThisHolden is satisfied with his life. I’ve never recognized it because I didn’t know what it looked like.
It goes from quiet to noisy in the time it takes the kids to scramble off me and dump a box of blocks all over the floor, but I don’t mind. I’m surrounded by a domestic scene I’ve never let myself hope for.
Henry would probably call this a retelling, our story rewritten. It’s the version where the girl doesn’t lose herself in the forest; she finds home there.
Last year was the first time I admitted I wanted marriage. I’m still wrapping my head around that one. Holden has told me over and over that he will wait as long as I need to figure things out—but I wonder if I’m making a mistake trying to shoulder it all on my own.
“You never stopped choosing me,” I whisper.
I can’t wrap my head around it. Even after everything I’ve put him through, the repeated distance, the literal walls,the pillow wall—Holden still chose me. It bears repeating simply because it’s a huge deal to me.
He presses the coffee cup into my hands and folds himself into a seated position on the hardwood floor beside me.
“I willalwayschoose you.”
I take a sip of coffee out of habit as I process this. Somehow,it feels safer to talk to this Holden, since we’re already happy and married. The risk is removed, and I can say what I think. Or I can at least test that theory.
“I was really selfish, Holden.”
His eyebrows curve in surprise. “What do you mean?”
