Page 50 of Must Love Christmas

He knew she was dead serious when she used his middle name. “I promise,” he said.

His mother gave a long sigh as she rubbed the side of her neck. Simon could just about glimpse the deep weariness beneath her steely mask of strength.

“I’m proud of you for wanting to be independent. I really am.” She reached out and cupped his jaw. “But a mum can’t help worrying. It’s me job.”

“And you’re an expert at it.” He touched her hand, trying to keep his own from trembling. “Butmyjob is to get back to work as soon as possible. I’ll be telecommuting, but the sooner I can go into the office for meetings, the better. I need to put in face time so they don’t forget me.”

“Aww, love, you know you’re unforgettable.”

Simon returned her warm smile, hoping that deep down she was secretly relieved not to add another burden to her life.

His desire to stay in Glasgow wasn’t completely unselfish, and wanting to stay close to Garen wasn’t even the biggest part.

For his entire life, Simon’s family had coddled him like a precious artifact. And now, just as he’d achieved independence by moving to Glasgow, this illness had struck him down, threatening to turn him back into a child. Returning to his boyhood home would have been a giant leap backward.

Simon had a long journey ahead of him, and he needed to complete it on his own.

* * *

24 Days UntilChristmas

“I come bearing gifts!” Garen declared as he swept into Simon’s room Thursday evening, even more eager than usual to see him. “And also moussaka.”

“Ah, you’re a star.” Simon moved his wheelchair forward and took the takeaway container. “I’ve been craving it all week.” He opened the container and took a long whiff of the still-steaming meal.

Garen couldn’t believe how much better Simon looked every day since he’d transferred into the rehab unit. Every movement, no matter how awkward, seemed full of hope and energy. Even his face, which had never been paralyzed, seemed more animated. And his hair, of course, was perfect.

Altogether, Simon’s condition gave Garen the impression it might not be dangerous to jump into his lap and smother him with kisses. The impulse was getting harder to resist, especially after their close encounter Sunday night.

To keep them focused elsewhere, Garen whipped a three-foot-tall cloth advent calendar from his bag and unfurled it with a flourish. “Happy first of December.”

“Oh my God, that’s my grandmother’s—my mum’s mum, not the one in Greece.” Simon set the food on his bed tray and reached out to touch one of the calendar’s twenty-four felt pockets, each of which contained a tiny homemade toy—or so Garen assumed, since it was bad luck to peek ahead.

“Your mother gave it to me to keep at the flat. But I didn’t want you to miss the first few days.”

Simon’s eyes crinkled as he reached into the calendar’s top left pocket. “Ooh, the teddy bear. You know, Nana made this whole thing herself in, like, 1980.”

“She’s made an updated one, your mum says, with wee felt iPhones and Super Mario characters.”

“My little cousins must love that.” He replaced the bear in the pocket, slanted so that its head poked out. “Nice of Ma to let us have this.”

Garen laid the advent calendar on Simon’s bed. “I think giving it to me to hang in the flat was a gesture of good will, to prove she doesn’t resent me for winning the privilege of overseeing your recovery.” He gave Simon a wee smirk to show he was sort of kidding.

Simon scowled anyway. “No one’s overseeing my recovery but myself.”

“I know, you’re Solo Man, the world’s most independent superhero.” Garen sank onto the love seat and crossed his legs.

“Wanna see my new superpower?” Simon pushed himself over to a gray walking frame propped against the wall. With some effort, he unfolded it until it snapped into place, then set it directly in front of himself.

Garen pulled his feet up onto the love seat and hugged his knees. It had been nearly four weeks since he’d seen his friend stand up on his own power. Every instinct told Garen to leap forward and help, or at least position himself nearby in case of a fall. But he didn’t want to hurt Simon’s pride.

Simon locked the chair’s wheels, folded back the footplates, and grasped the arm rests. Then he pushed himself to his feet—not all at once, but slowly, steadily, until he was standing straight.

Garen put his hands over his mouth, his eyes heating. “Wow,” he breathed.

“Not done.” Simon grasped the wheeled walking frame and took one short step forward. He paused for a moment, breath whistling through his pursed lips, then did it again with the other leg. “Voilà.”

“Mate, you’re walking.” Garen applauded—softly, in case the patient in the next room was sleeping.

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