Page 9 of Love Letters to Christmas

“A-mail-ia?”

Amelia squeaks, whirling in a twirl of her gauzy skirt. Potato and peeler in hand, she stares at me. “Y-yes?” A peeling drops to the ground, and she flinches as her attention snags on it. “Sorry. I’ll clean that up.”

…I am covered in glitter. My living room will never not have glitter in it again. My couch will rot away someday and leave a pile of glitter behind. I think my kitchen floor will survive a potato peeling. “You know…” I begin.

In lieu of paying attention to me, she locates a paper towel and ducks down below my kitchen island.

I rise, scattering glitter across my floor as I approach to lean against the granite and peek over at her.

Furiously, she scrubs.

I blink. “A-mail-ia?”

Her head whips up, giant brown eyes fixing on me.

Gracious…she looks pretty, skirts all splayed around her. She’s spring and summer, bound together with warmth and gentleness. As comforting as a letter from a friend, who would never add glitter to it.

I forget entirely what I’m saying for a solid minute, then I shake my head and remember. “You don’t have to do all this.”

Tension floods her body as her eyes go ever larger. “I-I’m sorry. Am I being too loud?”

“No?” She could stand to be louder so I don’t have to strain to hear her singing, actually. She has a lilting, musical voice. Some mixture of fantasy and nature, pooling together. She’s like a fairytale princess.

“Is it…not helpful to have meals ready for after we get back from work?” she asks.

“It’s incredibly helpful.”

Confusion fills her doe eyes.

I walk around the counter and crouch beside her, bracing my arms on my knees and grinning. “I just meanyoudo not need to be so helpful. It’s Saturday. I’ve not cooked once since you got here eleven days ago. You’re gonna make me worry that I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Taking advantage of me?” she whispers. “When…you’reletting me live here for free and you’ve given me a full-time job, with benefits, and an hourly wage I could only ever have dreamed of? Aren’t I taking advantage of you at that point?”

I tilt my head against my knees, and glitter brushes from my pants onto the floor.

Amelia notices and has my smallest dustpan retrieved from beneath the kitchen sink before I can answer her. Staring at her hands as they literally clean up around me, I dare to say, “No. I don’t think you know how to do that.”

Once the floor is clean, I breathe, and it is no longer clean.

Distress rampant in her eyes, Amelia’s lashes flutter. “Why are you covered in glitter?”

“Because my friends hate me.”

Her attention lifts. “What?”

“Mars sent me a letter filled with glitter to tell me I’m not invited to his wedding.”

Amelia’s mouth opens, and closes. Finally, she says, “I’m sure that’s a joke.”

“I’ll be treating it like one, yes.”

She sweeps up more of the glitter, lip pouted. “I’ll vacuum after I’m done cooking. Maybe you should change your clothes…”

“Are you going to lay them out for me?”

Face erupting with fireworks of pink, Amelia flicks her gaze to my eyes, then away. “W-what?”

“I fear I may grow useless should you continue taking care of me so well, A-mail-ia,” I provide, seriously. “I’ve never been this spoiled before in my life. My parents are great, but they aren’t entirely homemakers. After a long day of school and work, all of us would forage for dinner. Sometimes, all we’d have is Kraft singles and saltines.”

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