Page 23 of A Season of Second Chances
My arms come around her automatically, holding her close. Over her shoulder, I see Winter watching us, and the look on his face nearly undoes me all over again. It's full of hope and fear and maybe longing too. All the same things I'm feeling.
"Me too, princess," I whisper back. "Me too."
When Alana pulls away, she grins at both of us. "Can we make more cookies later? I want to make some to give to Carol and Fiona and everyone. Carol always makes them, but she left the recipe," she whispers.
"We can definitely do that," Winter says, his voice rough. He clears his throat. "But first, how about you go play with your other presents for a while? I need to talk to Joy about some boring grown-up stuff."
"Okay!" Alana runs off again, apparently satisfied, her crown bouncing on her head.
When she's gone, Winter turns to me. We sit there in silence for a long moment, the snow globe between us, everything that needs to be said hanging in the air.
"I'm sorry," he finally says. "I shouldn't have…"
"Don't apologize." I set the snow globe carefully in my lap, running my fingers over the smooth glass. "Don't apologize for giving me the most thoughtful gift I've received in ten years. Don't apologize for being honest about how you feel. And definitely don't apologize for your daughter being the sweetest child I've ever met."
"She really does like you," Winter says softly. "I haven't seen her take to someone this quickly since... well, ever, really. It even took her a few months to warm up to Fiona, and Fiona was with her all the time."
"The feeling is mutual." I look down at the snow globe, watching the last few flakes settle. "This is all so complicated, Winter."
"I know. Life is complicated."
"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what the right choice is. I don't know how to go home to the life I've built with the life I'm realizing I actually want."
"I know," he says again. He reaches over and takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. "I'm not asking you to figure it all out right now. I'm just asking you to stay present, right here, for whatever time we have left. Can you do that?"
I look at our joined hands, then up at his face. He's giving me an out, a way to not have to make any big decisions or promises. He's giving me permission to just be here, in this moment, without worrying about tomorrow.
It's exactly what I need, even if it's not what I want.
What I want is to tell him I'm staying, that I'm never leaving again. What I want is to promise Alana I'll be here next Christmas and every Christmas after that. What I want is to reach over and kiss him and let myself fall completely back into everything we used to be.
But I'm terrified. Terrified of making the wrong choice again, terrified of hurting him again, terrified of upending my entire life only to fail.
So instead, I just squeeze his hand and nod, pushing tears back. "I can do that."
"Good." He brings my hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. "That's all I'm asking for."
But we both know it's not all he's asking for. It's not all either of us wants.
For now, though, it's enough.
I hold the snow globe up one more time, watching the snow fall over the tiny couple skating together, forever frozen in that perfect moment.
And I can't help but wonder if Winter and I will ever get our perfect moment, or if we're destined to always be just out of reach, like the figures trapped inside the glass.
Twelve
Winter
The movie playing on the TV is some animated Christmas flick Alana picked out, but I'm barely watching it. My attention keeps drifting to Joy, who's sitting on the other end of the couch with Alana sprawled between us, her head in Joy's lap. Joy's hand is absently stroking Alana's hair, and she doesn't even seem to realize she's doing it. The gesture is so natural, so damn maternal, that it makes my chest ache.
This is what I wanted to show her this morning with the snow globe. This. The three of us together, comfortable and happy, like we're already a family.
"Dad, you're not watching," Alana complains, her voice sleepy. She's been yawning for the past twenty minutes, fighting to stay awake even though it's well past her bedtime.
"I'm watching," I lie, forcing my eyes back to the screen. "The elf just made a toy train."
"That was ten minutes ago," Joy says, amusement in her voice. She's smiling at me over Alana's head, and the warmth in her eyes makes me want things I have no right to want.
