Page 29 of Love Letters to Christmas

That this will be the first and last time we do anything together.

Maybe that day a few weeks ago when she was going to come see me I should have let her. Maybe I should have stomached the guilt over letting someone else expend so much energy on me and let her prove that out of all the relationships in my life this one is secure.

But I couldn’t do it.

Because I don’t feel worthy of the kindnesses I’ve been granted.

And I’m terrified that I never will.

All the same, I say, “No.”

Chapter Eleven

Oh dear.

Brian

“Phew,” I say upon entering a hotel room sporting two entire beds. “We’re lucky.”

Beside me, pale, Amelia stares dead ahead at the twin mattresses arranged a few feet apart from each other against the right wall. “Lucky?” she whispers.

“Mrs. Albee is notorious for matchmaking. Even with the influx of visitors for the festival, I almost didn’t believe her when she said there was only one room left, and I was expecting a single bed in a honeymoon suite.” Sighing merrily, I take myself to the bed closest to the door and set down my overnight bag. “I’d have had to stay with my parents so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable, and that would have been less than comfortable for me.” Not a single person in the Single family understands why I gave up the Bandera post office for an office building mailroom, and whenever I see my parents or my sister, they bring it up. A lot.

When I told my father I was moving, he went on for hours about how I was abandoning my legacy. He implored me for an explanation. He pleaded with me to reconsider.

I did neither.

I had already set my sights on my destination, and there was no way to return to sender…at least not without additional fees and…

Amelia has not moved.

Lifting myself from thoughts of my sordid past, I find her lingering at the door, clutching her overnight bag tight in both hands.

Elegance does not seem strong enough a word to describe how Amelia looks tonight. Not even the cheap hotel lighting can steal her splendor. Every hair in place, even after an evening exploring this elaborate Flag Day festival. Not a wrinkle in her formal dress.

She’s ravishing.

But, then again, when isn’t she?

“A-mail-ia?” I query, snapping her back to reality.

Her gaze finds mine, panics, and darts off. Steps sure, she marches to the other bed and drops her bag atop the comforter. Voice less sure, she stammers, “Y-yes?”

Ah. Well… Maybe I rejoiced too soon. I guess I am doomed to spend the night with my parents, dodging comments about how there’s still time for me to regain my legacy. “Sorry.” I comb my fingers through my hair. “I suppose sharing a room is a touch immodest on its own.” I slip my phone from my pocket. “I’ll text Dad and let him know I need to use my old room.”

With any luck, asking to use my old room won’t give them any weird hopes that I’m returning for good. Unfortunately, I do also know my parents, and when I mention that there wasn’t a suite with two rooms available at the hotel, my mother will cry and ask why I didn’t send a letter of reservation a month in advance.

She’ll claim I’ve abandoned my love of mail.

And it’s all because of thatoffice mailroom.

She would be joking of course. Big on dramatics, my parents, but I just don’t know if I want to weather theater this late at night.

Maybe I’ll just have to sleep in the car…

“N-no,” Amelia squeaks after I’ve drafted and deleted a textthree times.

Looking off my phone, I locate Amelia sitting on her bed, back toward me, rivulets of dark hair spilling across her wingbones. My breath catches as she pulls a pin from her bun, and the cascade continues. She unwinds a decorative braid and faces me as she begins untwining the strands.

---