Page 23 of A Curvy Wonderland

“My mom is my biological aunt,” I replied.

Holly nodded slowly.

“Things weren’t always bad with my birth mom. A lot of my memories with her are good, but then things changed. Back then, I didn’t understand why, but now I know it’s because she started taking drugs with one of her boyfriends.”

The story used to make me so sad when I told it, thinking about me as a little boy, just wanting my mom and not knowing what was going on, what had changed. But now I had more perspective and had gone to therapy to help me understand that my mom's addiction wasn't about me at all.

So I continued, “The last year I had with my birth mom, my aunt and uncle—my parents now—brought me a bunch of presents for Christmas. They were so pretty under the tree. I still remember the wrapping paper, Spiderman in a Santa hat… and I was so excited to go to sleep and wake up on Christmas morning to open them. But when I got up the next morning, all the presents were gone. My birth mom told me that they were stolen in the middle of the night, but now I know she probably sold them for drugs.”

Holly reached out and touched my shoulder, and just that small gesture of kindness made a lump form in my throat.

I swallowed it down, surprised at how much I needed to share this with someone. The only people I’d ever really talked to about it were my mom, dad, and therapist. I didn't even share it much with my friends at school.

“A few months later, my mom left me with my aunt and uncle and never came back to pick me up,” I continued. “So now, Christmas isn’t a holiday to celebrate… it’s a reminder of what I lost.”

Holly nodded like she understood, or at least like she cared. “I feel bad for trying to shove all this merry Christmas stuff on you,” she admitted.

I shook my head. “It was nice to see Christmas through your eyes.”

She smiled. Then she got back to work wrapping the presents, and I appreciated that she gave me some time to myself to sort through what I had shared, to recover from being so vulnerable. But a couple hours later, the door to the café opened.

Margot, one of the employees had come to open the shop up. “Hey,” she said to us. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No worries,” Holly said sweetly. Then she glanced back at me. “I should probably go.”

“I'll walk you out,” I said. Then I told Margot I’d be back to clean up our wrapping station.

Holly and I walked out of the café, and when we were standing there, stalling on going home, she looked up above the door and saw something. “Mistletoe,” she said.

My lips twitched.

“That wasn't there before,” she said. Then she looked at me. “Who put that there?”

“Santa,” I said.

With a small smile on her lips, she leaned close.

I could see her thick eyelashes, the subtle freckles across her cheeks. She was even more beautiful this close.

I reached out, tentatively cupping her cheek, her skin warm under my hand, and then I closed my eyes.

Our lips brushed softly, tentatively.

It lasted seconds, but it was the best thing “Santa” ever got me.

13

HOLLY

Istill couldn’t believe I’d had my first kiss.

Not when I was walking home. Not last night as I lay in bed, running the moment over and over in my mind. In fact, the next morning as I got dressed, all jittery and excited to see Eldan again, I wondered if it had all been a dream because of how perfect it had been.

He'd been so tender with me, gently cupping my cheek, like I was so precious he couldn’t just experience the kiss with his lips. And my favorite part yet had been the way he opened his eyes after our kiss, and his lips lifted in a small, wondrous smile. Like kissing me was the most amazing thing he'd ever done.

It made me feel special in a way I’d never felt before. Feel beautiful in a way that didn't always come natural to me.

That buoyancy carried me on a cloud as I said a quick goodbye to my dad and brother—my mom was already at work. I threw on my coat, scarf, and gloves, and headed to the door.

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