Page 51 of Love Letters to Christmas

This is absolutely something I am capable of surviving.

With only minimal tachycardia.

Lightheaded, I follow him out of his room, casting one last glance back at my letter before we head to the car.

Chapter Eighteen

Christmas sparks and candy cane conundrums.

Brian

I knew that my holiday events weren’t an inconvenience. I knew my mean coworkers who pretend to hate fun do notactuallyhate fun. Iknewit.

What a turnout.

Smiling, I peruse the snack tables I’ve had set up in the large Whirlwind Branding parking lot and refrain from looking smug as I pluck a marshmallow snowman off a tray. A bustling hum of voices fills the night. Some of my coworkers have set up lawn chairs and camping chairs, where they recline with their snack plates. Some others have snuggled up with their families in truck beds loaded with pillows. Laughter abounds. Joy washes in like a wave.

Peace settles in my chest as I pop a pretzel reindeer in my mouth and behold my small town, nestled into a city overflowing with lights.

My parents don’t understand this part. They can’t fathom why I gave up a close-knit town like Bandera in order to become just another ant in a hill here.

But, in the city, people form communities and circles. Everyone longs for connection, so it’s inevitable no matter where you wind up. My community just happens to be the couple thousand members who work here at Whirlwind Branding’s HQ instead of the couple thousand who live in a whole town. My circle just happens to fill a sprawling parking lot when lured outby snacks on July 4th.

Ever since night fell, stray fireworks have been lighting up the sky all around. The other shows distantly create a symphony in the jet canvas above. In Bandera, fireworks compete against stars. Here, they rival skylines.

There’s a limitless beauty to the ways life can be appreciated.

And speaking of limitless beauty…

I take my attention off my extended family to find Amelia rife with distress staring at her plate, so I bump her shoulder with mine. “What’s wrong, A-mail-ia?” I bite the head off my snowman.

Her tiny gasp preludes dread overcoming her pretty face as she watches me. “Everything’s too cute to eat.”

I chew my decapitated marshmallow man and hum. “Oh.”

“Someone must have spent a lot of time making all these. It seems mean to eat them.”

“You’d rather waste food?”

The streetlights highlight the red on her face. “N-no. I wasn’t thinking when I took them that I’d have to eat them. I just wanted all the cute things. But now I have regrets.”

She’s freaking adorable.

I call upon the theatrics that were entrusted to me at birth and place my palm over my heart. “You’d withhold their destiny from them? They’ve waited their whole lives to be enjoyed. When an angel plucked them from their trays, I can only imagine the elation they experienced, but now—sorrows—that very same angel hesitates to bestow upon them the finale of their reason for existing. Cruelty has never before looked so sweet.”

Her red cheeks darken by several shades.

I pluck a reindeer from her plate and hold it to her lips. “Don’t be cruel, A-mail-ia. Cuties are meant to be devoured.”

Before her trembling lips can open and take the morsel from my fingers, a whistle soars into the sky on the other side ofthe lot. The pyrotechnicians I hired send several more barreling upward, then green and red bloom in the dark.

Christmas fireworks.

For Amelia Christmas.

Reindeer forgotten, Amelia stares—wide-eyed—at the sky flowers while sparks erupt. The colored light reflects in her eyes, glittering, and for the first time tonight, she relaxes.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers beneath the fizzing scatters.

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