Page 26 of The Christmas Letters
Chapter Seven
Drew
Ishouldnotbethis excited.
I’m driving to my grandmother’s house to pick up a letter from a mystery woman I’ve never even seen before. She could be anyone. She could look like anyone. She could live in a tiny cabin at the edge of the swamp with sixteen cats and a pet possum.
I pull into my grandmother’s driveway and will my nerves to settle. This isn’t a big deal. It’s just a letter. It doesn’t mean anything.
Honestly, maybe I’m just excited about the distraction. I’ve had a hard time keeping Tess out of my thoughts the past couple of weeks. I’ve seen her two more times since I first saw her going into the hospital with the Southern Society, which feels incredibly unlikely, considering Ineversaw her before I rescued her from a bathroom stall.
When I made this argument to Ben, he insisted I might have seen her plenty before her rescue. I just didn’t notice her because I’d never met her. He might be right, but it’s hard to imagine any circumstance in which I wouldn’t noticeTess Ravenel.
Ravenel.It’s not a wonder that’s her last name, something I only know because she programmed it into my phone. It’s an important name in Charleston. There’s a bridge named after a Ravenel. Bridges and libraries and probably a dozen other things around the city. Yet more evidence that she’snotthe woman for me.
Her presence at the hospital could also be seasonal. The volunteers are always at the hospital more during the holidays, trying to make the place as cheerful as possible for patients and visitors.
Either way, I’m to the point now where I’m nervousevery single timeI’m at the hospital, which is beginning to feel like a job hazard since we’re there all the time, and I can’t really afford the distraction.
The last time I saw her, she actually sawmetoo. She was hanging snowflakes in the windows of the ER waiting room, and I was hurrying through it on the way to my rig. She held my gaze for a moment before her cheeks flushed and she looked away.
I should have spoken to her, but technically, I was on the clock. And now, more than two weeks after she gave me her number, what could I have even said?
Hey, it’s you! The woman I didn’t call after we had an amazing conversation and you put yourself out there by making the first move. Great to see you again!
“Gran?” I call as I open the front door.
She appears in the kitchen doorway, a broad smile deepening the creases on her face. She holds up the letter. “I’ve nearly opened it myself at least half a dozen times.”
I sigh, dropping to one knee to give Roxie an obligatory head scratch. I ought to take the dog out on the beach. She’s getting older and doesn’t seem to mind lounging around the house all day with Grandma Pearl, but the exercise would probably be good for her.
“Grandma, I told you I wasn’t getting my hopes up,” I say, my eyes still on the dog. “And you shouldn’t either.”
I’m willing to own that I was feeling actual anticipation on the way over, but I won’t give my grandmother false hope. Even a spark of excitement would be enough to send her into matchmaking overdrive. She might even write the woman back herself.
“Oh, just read it,” Grandma Pearl says, swatting me in the arm with the letter as I stand up. “What would it hurt to get a little excited every once in a while?”
I follow her into the kitchen.
“Are you hungry? I’ve got half a sweet potato pie with your name on it.” She lifts the half-eaten pie from the back of the stove and sets it in front of me.
“You ate your half before I got here, huh?”
“You hush,” she says. “I had help. Shelby from down the street brought her girls over this afternoon.”
Shelby was one of Mom’s new friends from the Southern Society—the only one who stayed in touch after the accident. “Yeah? What’s Shelby up to these days?”
“She came by to make sure I got my invitation to the Southern Society’s Christmas Eve Gala.” Grandma Pearl slides an envelope across the counter. “She left a ticket for you, too.”
Shelby visits Grandma Pearl once a year, dropping off a couple of comp tickets to the gala and a giant basket of fruit. The connection used to irritate me—an unwanted tieback to the life that, in my mind, stole my parents away from me—but I’m old enough to recognize that isn’t really fair to Shelbyormy parents. Plus, Grandma Pearl appreciates the attention, and she’ll never turn down the chance to put on a fancy dress and go to a holiday party.
“Will you go with me, Drew?”
My jaw tenses. I’ll do anything for Grandma Pearl, but this is a big ask.
“You’re hesitating,” Gran says.
I look up and meet her eyes. “Daisy will probably be there.”
