Page 19 of A Christmas Spark
They had a deal, and she needed to stick to it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The cold air at Lincoln’s ice-skating rink nipped at Imogen’s cheeks as she watched Katie lacing up her skates on the bench next to the entrance. She tucked her plaid scarf a little closer under her chin, tucking her hands into her coat as she leaned against the edge of the rink’s wall.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Katie’s letter to Santa. Was it just that Katie wanted her to be happy—that she wanted her mother to have someone to share her life with? Or did Katie feel like something was missing too? Was she sad that she didn’t have a father there at school events or on holidays, the way her friends did? Imogen had tried so hard over the years to be everything Katie needed in a parent, but now she wondered if she should have tried harder to date too. If she should have been trying to find someone to fill out their little family.
“Mom!” Katie waved for her to come over as she finished tying on her skates, and Imogen walked over, sitting down on the rink-side bench next to her daughter. “Don’t let me forget—” Katie opened her bag, letting Imogen see the red envelope tucked inside, Santa’s address written on the front in that same silver glitter pen. “I need to drop this off at the special mailbox after we’re done.”
Imogen smiled. “Of course.” The ‘special’ Santa mailbox was located at Mabel’s toy store, of course—children could drop off their letters to Santa inside, in the box dedicated for that purpose, or put them in the outside mailbox after hours, for Mabel to collect after. Mabel had been doing it for years, disseminating the letters back to parents afterward so they’d know what their children wanted for Christmas. Really, Imogen thought, MabelwasMrs. Claus. She didn’t just play her at Christmas every year.
“Although—” Imogen hesitated, but she felt like she needed to be honest with her daughter. The last thing she wanted was for Katie to be upset with her, but she already felt bad for waiting as long as she had to own up to it. “I should probably have told you, about that letter…”
“What?” Katie looked up, alarmed, and Imogen shook her head quickly.
“Nothing bad. I just… I read it,” she admitted. “I saw it on your desk after I tucked you in the other night, and I was curious about what you might have decided to ask Santa for. I’m sorry, honey. I know I should have waited for you to tell me about it.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Katie said breezily, clearly not upset at all. “I’m sure you agree with me, right?”
Imogen raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “About what?”
Katie rolled her eyes. “That you need Santa to send you a husband!”
Imogen bit her lip. She wasn’t at all sure that the ice-skating rink was the place to explain to Katie that relationships were a little more complicated than Santa sending her the newest Mr. Sanders model. It wasn’t exactly like picking out a Ken doll—although there were times, she reflected wryly, when she wished it was.
“I think it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about me, Katie,” she began softly. “And I think it’s sweet that you’ve put somuch thought into our little family and what would be good for us. But I promise you that I’m more than happy with just the two of us. I don’t need anyone other than you, and our little family is complete just the way it is, as far as I’m concerned. If there’s somethingyoufeel is missing?—”
Katie frowned. “I’m okay,” she said, kicking her feet back and forth, the blades of her skates scraping lightly against the floor. “I mean, it might be cool to have a dad. My best friend’s dad is nice. He makes really good cinnamon rolls. But not as good as those hot cocoa ones you make.”
“Then why do you think Santa needs to send us someone so badly?” Imogen asked gently.
“Well—” Katie twisted her mouth to one side, looking at her mother. “Youdoseem happy most of the time,” she conceded. “But sometimes you look so tired at night. And I see you staring out of the window sometimes… and when we watchedCasablancathat one night you looked so sad when they kissed…”
Imogen swallowed hard. She’d thought she’d been doing a better job of hiding her moments of loneliness… but maybe not as good as she’d thought.
“I just think,” Katie continued, “if you’re happymostof the time with just me, then having a husband would make you happyallof the time.”
“Oh, honey.” Imogen felt a lump form in her throat, and she did her best to blink back the mist that burned at the backs of her eyes. “I’m perfectly fine, I promise. I’m tired sometimes because all grownups get tired, that’s just how life is. But I’m absolutely happy just the way things are. You don’t need to worry about me at all, sweetheart.”
She turned away for a moment, blinking away the tears, and saw that the hot cocoa and apple cider stands were opening up for the evening after the afternoon break. “How about somethinghot to drink?” she asked, quickly changing the subject. “Hot cocoa or apple cider?”
Katie’s face lit up, the serious conversation forgotten in an instant. Imogen silently said a prayer of thanks for children’s short attention spans. “Apple cider,” she said decisively. “I get hot cocoaallthe time at the shop.”
“Probably more than you should,” Imogen agreed. She stood up, digging her wallet out of her purse to get some cash. “I’ll go grab us some drinks, then.”
“Can I have cinnamon sticks with mine?” Katie asked, and Imogen nodded.
“Of course. Is there any other way to drink it?” She leaned down, giving her daughter a quick peck on top of her head. “I’ll be right back.”
She was glad for a moment to regain her composure while she went to get them apple cider. She knew Katie hadn’t meant to make her sad—very much the opposite, actually. But she couldn’t help the lingering feeling that she’d missed something along the way… that she hadn’t done a good enough job convincing her daughter that there was nothing else that Imogen needed to make their lives complete.
A few minutes later, she returned with a cup of apple cider for each of them, cinnamon sprinkled on top and cinnamon sticks floating in the warm liquid. “Here you go,” she said, handing one cup to Katie, who took it in mittened hands and breathed in the warm steam.
“Are you going to skate too?” Katie asked as she sipped the cider, and Imogen laughed.
“Maybe later,” she said. “I’m not very good at it. I’d rather watch you.”
“I’m thebestat skating.” Katie grinned enthusiastically, finishing her cider in record time and hobbling toward the rink entrance precariously on her skates. Imogen leaned against therink wall, watching as her daughter began to glide across the ice, sipping on her own cider.
