Page 34 of The Christmas Letters
Chloe smacks him on the chest. “He does not,” she says. “I think he sounds adorable.”
Deacon chuckles. “I don’t know. It sounds risky to me. How can you possibly learn enough about a person through letters to know you’re attracted to him? I know it’s not the most important thing, but physical attraction does matter.”
“But maybe once you really get to know someone, you’ll find them physically attractive because of how great they are overall, even if you would have ignored them at first glance.” I take the letter from Chloe’s outstretched hand and refold it before tucking it back in my purse. “People can be shallow, yes. But that doesn’t mean wehaveto be.”
“So would you date this guy if he looked like Gollum?” Deacon asks.
“He doesn’t look like Gollum,” Chloe says, shooting Deacon a pointed look. “The lady at the deli already said he was a catch.”
“Which is very subjective. What if he looks like that guy over there?” Deacon motions to an older, balding man across the patio. “Or the guy next to him. How do you feel about face tattoos, Tess?”
“Geez, you really know how to kill a moment, Deac,” Chloe says.
“Sorry. I’m not trying to be a buzz kill. He really does sound like a great guy. I’m just saying. We don’t live in a Hallmark movie. The odds of him being someone who would generally turn the head of someone like Tess are slim.”
“And maybe that’s the point,” I say, looking to Chloe for support. “This way, I’m getting to know him for all the reasons that actually matter, and not just the superficial stuff. Obviously, dating the pretty boys hasn’t worked out too well for me in the past.” My eyes dart back to Deacon. “Sorry. No offense to your brother.”
“None taken,” Deacon says easily. “Just be careful, all right? If you decide to give this guy your name or meet him somewhere, let me know. I’ll come be back up in case he’s a creep. Or Gollum.”
Chloe gives her husband an adoring look, and gratitude tugs at my heart. I know Chloe is the main reason Deacon is being so kind to me, so concerned for my well-being, but as an only child, I’m happy to soak up whatever brotherly concern he’s willing to give.
“Thanks, Deac.”
The conversation moves on to other topics as dinner progresses, but I can’t keep myself from tossing glances toward the guy with a face tattoo on the other side of the patio.
The truth is, that guycouldbe Max. I have no way of actually knowing what he looks like. Maybe Francie is into the biker look. Spikes and chains and lots of black leather. How could I possibly know?
Except, Max watches romantic comedies with his grandma! Would a guy with face tattoos and spikes around his neck do that?
I press my fingers into my temples. I’m being so judgmental right now.Of coursea man with face tattoos could watch movies with his grandma. I have to stop this. Stop the spiraling—
“How’s the toy drive idea coming?” Chloe asks.
Yes! Perfect. Let’s talk about the toy drive!
“The toy drive is totally happening,” I say, so happy for the distraction. “Mrs. Greenly loved the idea, and the fire station is happy to host.”
It only took a few nights of rote Santa letter responses for me to decide I wanted to do something more than deliver false promises and empty platitudes. A few phone calls expressing my concern, and suddenly I found myself heading up a toy drive that will, instead of just answering letters from Santa, actually provide the requested gifts for the letter writers. It will take some coordinating with the kids’ parents, and I’m going to have to suck it up and do some fundraising to make it all work, but it feels so much better than just crossing my fingers and hoping parents can deliver what their kids are asking for when they’re writing to Santa.
“Can I sign you guys up to help? Three weeks from this weekend,” I say. “I wanted it to be as close to Christmas as possible. We’ll be meeting Friday night to wrap and sort the presents, and then Saturday the kids will come to meet Santa and pick up their presents.”
Chloe’s eyes drop to her midsection where her hands are resting on her very pregnant belly.
“Oh. Oh gosh,” I say quickly. “You totally don’t have to help. I wasn’t thinking—”
“No! I totally want to,” Chloe says quickly. “I just got distracted doing the math. I’ll be seven months along by then.”
“You might not feel up to it,” Deacon says gently, and a pang of wistfulness fills my heart. He is so good at taking care of her.
“If I’m still working, I can still volunteer,” Chloe says. “Count on us,” she says more firmly. “We’ll be there to help.”
After dinner, I follow Chloe and Deacon out to the parking lot, trying hard not to envy the way Deacon helps Chloe down the stairs, one hand hovering protectively at the small of her back, the other gripping her hand. They love each otherso much,something that only makes what my previous relationship lacked more apparent. Preston and I were never so solicitous of each other. We were together, and I believe we cared about each other, but that’s different than caringforeach other. Even aside from my frustrations with the world he represents, we didn’t quite fit—not like this. Not like Chloe and Deacon do. It’s just one more confirmation that I really did make the right choice in ending things.
Next time, it has to be different.Ihave to be different.
With Max, maybe? If life were a Hallmark movie, sure.
Or, you know. If I’m the kind of woman who’s down with a face tattoo.
