Page 52 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

— Christmas shirt

— Books

— Personal sized Christmas Tree

“Come on,” she said. “We’ll go offer the money for these like last time.”

The woman manning the donation station beamed. “Oh my god!” The five grand that I’d offered should cover the last ten kids on the list. “This is amazing.”

“I’m going to go shop for this one,” I said. “I’ll have it back by the deadline this evening, though.”

She nodded, her eyes wet with tears. “This is amazing.”

I winked at her and peeled off, heading toward the first store. “What do you think we should buy her?”

“I would suggest buying a couple of pairs of shoes,” she said. “They grow fast at this age. I say we go with the size listed. Then buy a few in the next couple of sizes up. We should also buy her a bigger pair of winter boots.”

I agreed. “I think we should be able to find her a couple of Christmas outfits, too.”

“Oh.” She snapped her fingers. “Let’s go here.”

She pointed at a boutique that I’d seen but had never gone into before in my life.

I assumed she shopped here for my nieces.

For the next hour, we bought the little girl that asked for practically nothing everything.

Shoes. Sweaters. Books.

Oh, so many books.

I even picked her up a cute little Christmas-themed teddy bear with red and green paws and a Santa hat.

Once everything had been purchased, we went back to the attendant and dropped it all off.

The attendant smiled. “You are seriously the best, Mr. Dixon.”

I grinned. “Thanks, but it’s the least I could do.”

She carefully put everything into a trash bag, then zip-tied it closed with the Angel Tree tag on the makeshift handle.

“This year has been so hard,” she said quietly. “Everyone is struggling to make ends meet. Some kids are barely getting groceries right now, let alone toys for Christmas. It breaks my heart entirely that we had so many this year. Usually we only have half that. But you just saved Christmas, Mr. Dixon. Thank you.”

I smiled uncomfortably. “If this ever happens again, let me know. I’m more than willing to make sure each of Hooker’s kids has something under the tree Christmas morning.”

She patted my arm. “You’re one of the good ones.”

We were walking out, and I felt like my heart was left in that bag with the Christmas items we’d just purchased.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“If she only knew how bad you smelled after a game or how you liked to sit on us and fart, she wouldn’t think you’re one of the good ones.”

I flipped my sister off.

And still, our lightheartedness didn’t alleviate the hole that was opening up in my heart.

MERRIAM

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