Page 101 of Check the Halls
I nudge his arm playfully with mine. “Sam, Buddy, I don’t think your mom would want you to spend all your prize money on her Christmas gift.”
“But she does everything for me,” he argues. “Plus, I think a smart watch would help her. She’s always got so many things going on and she doesn’t always have her phone on her. If she had a watch, she could set reminders and send texts.”
Maddy’s expression softens as she looks at him. It’s not hard to see that she’s relating to him after all the time she spent looking after her mom.
An idea forms in my brain.
“Now that I think about it, I feel like I got a smart watch at some team event last year. I’m sure it’s at home, unopened in the box. You can give that to your mom.”
Sam frowns as he considers my offer. “But that wouldn't be from me.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Maddy argues. “Maybe you could buy her a watch band for it? Pick out one in her favourite colour?”
We watch him think it over. Eventually he asks, “Do you think they have pink ones?”
The three of us check out a few stores before Sam finds what he’s looking for. A glittery pink sports band that claims to fit most smart watches. We decide to chance it, knowing we can always return it if it doesn’t work.
We celebrate the successful completion of our holiday shopping quest the way any sane person would—greasy food court pizza.
Maddy and I stroll hand in hand through the mall, the scent of cinnamon pretzels and fryer oil hanging heavy in the air. We’re mid-debate over the merits of pepperoniversus pineapple as we reach the pizza counter when I turn to get Sam’s perspective.
Sam isn’t there.
Unease rises in my chest. I spin around, scanning the crowded food court. Relief floods me moments later when I spot him. He’s thirty feet back, frozen in place near a bench, like a statue dropped into the middle of a moving crowd.
“Wait here,” I tell Maddy, pressing a quick kiss to the back of her hand before letting it go.
I jog back toward Sam, weaving through shoppers burdened with oversized bags and cranky toddlers. He’s standing completely still, back to me, staring straight ahead.
“Hey, man,” I say gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
He doesn’t answer.
His eyes are locked on a store across the corridor. It’s one of those trendy boutiques with tiny baby mannequins and pastel everything. A man stands at the entrance, staring down at his phone, oblivious to everything around him.
“Sam?” I follow his gaze. “Do you know that guy?”
A hard swallow. Then, in a voice so quiet I barely catch it: “It’s my dad.”
My heart rises into my throat before crashing into my stomach like a lead balloon.
I take a closer look. The resemblance isn’t obvious. Sam has his mother’s softer features, her colouring. But now that I know, I can see it—something about the curve of the jaw, the set of the shoulders.
My fists clench at my sides and I find I’m fighting theimpulse to storm over and knock the phone right out of his hands. To say what Sam can’t. To tell the man exactly what kind of damage he left behind.
But I don’t.
Instead, I take a breath and focus on the only person that matters right now.
“What do you want to do, buddy?” I ask, keeping my voice low, steady.
Before he can answer, a very pregnant woman emerges from the store and walks up to the man. She says something, and he rolls his eyes in response. It’s the same sarcastic look I’ve seen on Sam’s face countless times and somehow that makes it worse. She leans in to kiss his cheek. They turn and walk away together, the man making no move to help carry the bags she’s juggling.
Sam watches them go, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t move until they’re swallowed by the crowd.
Then, quietly, he turns to me. “I’m starving.”
“Oh. Yeah?” I say, caught off guard. “You still want pizza?”
