Page 15 of The Christmas Letters
I’m not necessarily opposed to hanging out with my ex-fiancé’s older brother. The whole failed wedding should have created tension between me and my cousin, but somehow, we’ve made it through without things getting too weird. Which is entirely Chloe’s doing. She’s just like that—always sensing people’s moods and saying exactly the right thing to make everyone feel better.
Plus, Deacon is far more chill and down-to-earth than Preston. He married Chloe, after all, even though she wasn’t atruedebutante and didn’t meet any of his mother’s requirements. We’ve been together enough times now that it doesn’t even feel weird anymore. Just so long as no one mentions anyone else in his family.
Lack of awkwardness aside, I still have to plan my Chloe and Deacon time wisely. They’re just sohappy.It isn’t super fun to be the third wheel.
“He’s in court and then after, he has to prep fortomorrow’sday in court, so he won’t be home until late. Please?” she begs. “I swear, when you’re pregnant, I’ll bring you whatever you want to eat every single day.”
Another image of Drew flits through my mind, and heat floods my cheeks. An hour of random conversation through a stuck stall door and I’m thinking about having his babies? I’m worse off than I thought.
“Fine. I’ll bring you chicken salad. But you have to help me answer Santa letters for the Southern Society.”
“I’ll help,” she says easily. “I mean, assuming there’s chicken salad. Did you sign up to visit the hospital?”
Chloe is a pediatric nurse at MUSC Children’s, so she’s got a vested interest.
“Yeah. Someone named Julie is supposed to email me the schedule. I think we’re coming in to decorate for Thanksgiving next week.”
“That sounds so much better than bedpans.”
“Doesn’t it?” I roll off the couch and turn off the television, then kick off my fuzzy slippers. “Okay. I’ll go get your chicken salad. But I’m absolutely bringing these letters.”
“You’re my favorite,” Chloe says. “Have I told you how glad I am that you’re home?”
“A few times,” I say, though I’ll never get tired of the reminder.
The one bright spot in my struggle to reinvent myself is that through it all, Chloe has always believed I can do it. That somewhere inside of me, there is a person who values something more than investment portfolios. A person who isreal.
I end the call, then drop Sophie’s half-finished letter about the puppy she’s probably not getting back into the box with the others. I grab the lid and move to put it on the box, but then I notice the corner of something sticking out from behind the wrapping paper that lines the old box. It looks like another envelope.
Gently, I pick at the wrapping, loosening it enough to slip whatever was hidden into view. Itisan envelope, a slightly tattered one, yellowed with age.
Curious, I drop back onto the couch, letter in hand. The postmark on the corner of the envelope is from sixteen years ago.
Sixteen years? It’s been hidden that long?
I look back at the box, worn and well-used. There are several layers of wrapping paper where I picked at the seam to free the hidden letter. It’s probably been wrapped and rewrapped every few years to keep it looking fresh. It’s hard to imagine no one would notice the letter until now. But it’s clearly never been opened.
A sudden pang of sadness washes over me. Whoever wrote this letter is probably well into adulthood now, but my heart still hurts at the thought of them not getting a response all those years ago.
Slowly, I open the envelope and pull out a single sheet of white paper.
Dear Santa,
First, I want to start by saying I’m pretty sure you aren’t real. I’m ten, and ten-year-olds are too old to believe in Santa. But I thought I’d write a letter anyway. Just in case you are. If you reply, maybe that will be my sign.
I smile. Whoever this kid was, they had spunk.
I don’t want any of the regular things kids want for Christmas. I already have a Nintendo, and my skateboard works great. I even have a dog. But I don’t have my parents anymore. So instead of presents, I’m hoping you can bring them back. If you’re real, then you’re a miracle. That’s obvious. There’s no other way you could get all over the world in one night anyway. If you can do that? Then bringing my parents back shouldn’t be a big deal.
I live with my grandma now. She’s nice. But she doesn’t know how to make the pancakes my dad used to make every Saturday. And she doesn’t read stories as good as my mom. If you can help, please tell them I’m on Sullivan’s Island with Grandma, but I’ll come home the minute they call for me.
Sincerely, Max
Oh man.I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. Poor kid. This is even worse than Sophie’s puppy.
Made doubly worse by the lack of response. I clearly broke the seal when I opened the envelope, so I’m sure no one has read this letter but me, much less replied.
Max probably waited for a response all season long. To think of him hoping for an answer, then watching for his parents on Christmas morning. It’s the worst kind of emotional gut punch.Poor, poor Max.
