Page 15 of Merry Little Hate Notes

He pressed his lips together thoughtfully, scrubbing a hand over his salt-and-pepper stubble. “Honey, I think you know the answer to that. You wouldn’t be so afraid if it had never existed. As a people, we are most afraid of the things we lost or of what we can potentially lose. So much so, we wind up losing more because we are afraid to live. I’m sorry for what you’ve lost and especially for my part in it. But you are the bravest person I know. Maybe it’s time to brave Christmas and live again.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip, feeling like I might hyperventilate. “I’m not sure I’m all that brave.” Just ask my charts. They spelled out all the things I could lose.

“We both know that’s not true, but I understand your trepidation. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

I nodded absently.

“Thank you.” He paused. “Perhaps this will be good for you. Working with Brandon, that is. He’s a link to many happy holidays and Christmases. Times I think you have forgotten. Or ... perhaps do not wish to remember.”

Dad’s comments left me stunned. He was wrong about working with Brandon, but he was right about not wishing to remember.

I feared my memories might swallow me whole.

BRANDON

“PLEASE, HURRY,” I BEGGED MOM while peeking out of the Bat Cave to see if Holly had returned to her desk. She’d been working in the bathroom for an hour now. I’m not sure how she managed to schedule so many appointments from there, but her reputation as the best BDR remained unaffected by the unusual location. My calendar for the week was full, thanks to her.

Mom looked up from the conference room table where she was doing my dirty work. “I don’t know why you can’t just give her the sticky notes yourself and say, ‘Have some merry little sticky notes’?”

“First of all, she won’t take anything from me.” She’d tossed the peppermint mocha in the trash the day before without even taking a sip. “Second, I’d like her to respect me after this is all said and done, and I don’t think using phrases likemerry little sticky notesis going to help my cause. Honestly, I’m not even sure I should keep writing the notes. She barely glanced at the one yesterday before throwing it away. Then this morning I used the one you told me to—Don’t be so coal’d.It didn’t even faze her.” I thought for sure if I told her she had a case of resting Grinch face and she was beingcoal’d, she’d get so ticked off she’d write me something rude back. Anything but ignore me.

“Give it some time,” Mom said calmly. “Our Holly isgoing to show up. I know it. This is Holly’s love language. Take it from your wingman.” Mom wagged her brows.

I couldn’t believe I’d resorted to this—calling my mom in the middle of the day to come help me with a woman and asking her which hate note to use. But I was admittedly desperate. No one haunted me like Holly. Not even Christian, although he was sure to haunt me for even thinking about pursuing his sister. Let him come. I had some things to say to him too. “Maybe we could think of a different title for you.” I grinned.

Mom laughed. “There’s no shame in letting your mom help you catch the girl.” She held up the card she’d just written to Holly on my behalf.

Maybe there was no shame in it, but it wasn’t my finest moment. “You realize the odds of me catching her are worse than the Broncos making it to the Super Bowl this year?”

“Don’t say that in front of your dad. He’s already up in arms over their losses and swearing he’s going to cancel his season tickets.”

I knew that was an idle threat. He’d been saying that since John Elway retired years ago.

“Perhaps you could take Holly to a game,” Mom suggested, not so slyly.

“You’re getting way ahead of yourself. Besides, Holly isn’t a big sports fan.” Or at least she didn’t used to be.

“That may be, but I remember her coming to every one of your baseball games. Well ... except your senior year.”

“I screwed that up, didn’t I?” I’d looked for her in the stands every time I stood on the mound that year, just like I always had. And her absence every time reminded me of how I’d hurt her and how much I missed her. After every game, I’d go home and write her a note, just so she’d write something back. And she had, with the brutality I deserved. Now, fourteen years later, I found myself doing the same thing. But this time I would be brave enough to tell her the truth. If she’d give me the chance, that is.

Mom placed the card in the elegant white Christmas bag she’d brought with her for the sticky notes. I hoped Holly might use them if she thought they were from a secret Santa. As far as I could tell, she nolonger kept sticky notes on hand like she once had. This was me egging her on to lambast me, to open the door to even an unpleasant welcome.

“Honey, I’m not saying what you did was right, but you were a teenager. Your brain hadn’t fully developed. You need to forgive yourself regardless of whether Holly forgives you. Please,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I want you to feel comfortable at home, with your dad and me, and most importantly, with yourself.”

I felt awful for the distance I’d created between myself and my parents, both physically and emotionally. It wasn’t their fault—no one could ask for better parents. It was just ... “I haven’t felt like myself without Holly and Christian as part of my life. Is that as lame as it sounds?” I thought over the years I would find friends—and women—to fill the void they’d left. But it hadn’t mattered how many friends and associates I’d made or how many beautiful women I’d dated—something always felt like it was missing.

Mom stood resolutely. “Don’t you ever be ashamed of your feelings. That is the manliest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Now let’s go get the girl.” She was obviously much more optimistic than I was.

I peeked out the door to see if the coast was clear. Did I feel immature? Absolutely. But a man had to do what a man had to do. From the sound of it, most people were still in the common area for the daily Ping-Pong tournament, and no one was in my line of sight. “All right, Mom, just casually drop the bag off at her desk, but don’t let anyone see you do it.”

“Honey, this isn’t my first rodeo.” She grabbed the bag and gracefully floated my way, looking more like a board member than a wingman. Mom didn’t know how to dress down.

“What rodeo have you ever been to?” I wondered out loud. Had she played someone else’s wingman?

She patted my cheek as she walked by. “Wouldn’t you like to know? You should have seen me in college.”

Based on her wicked tone, I didn’t think I wanted a glimpse into her college years—I was fine to let some things stay private. She could have her secrets and I would keep mine.

---