Page 53 of Holiday at Home
“With tonight,” I reply.
Simon sets his jaw and climbs out of the car. We meet on the sidewalk and stroll arm in arm up a palm-lined walk towards the entrance. A beautiful wreath with pinecones and frosted boughs adorned with a red ribbon hangs on the door. Sleigh bells jingle as we step in. A lone teenager mans the front desk as peoplemill about, some heading for the gym, others the pool. It smells of sweat and chlorine. Even the music is sterile, piped in Muzak boring the poor young man at the desk to tears.
He glances up from his phone as we approach. “Help ya?”
“We’re with the Holiday party.” Simon brandishes his most charming smile and the young man sits up straighter, placing his phone face down on the desk.
“Oh, yes. Everything’s ready for you Mr. Holiday.” He points to a door behind him. “Go right in whenever you’re ready.”
And suddenly everything bland and strange about the YMCA feels magical and mysterious.
“The Holiday party?” I mouth, looking up at Simon who silently places a hand on my lower back and leads me towards the door. We stop in front of it, and he hits me with a smile as warm as the rum-soaked ciders we had all those weeks ago, then pushes through and holds it open for me to join him inside the ice-skating rink.
The second I cross the threshold, I forget how to breathe.
The rink is empty and dressed in soft gold light that glows against the glass. Strings of twinkle lights spiral overhead like stars caught mid-fall, their reflections scattering across the ice until the whole place shimmers. A Christmas tree towers near center ice, its ornaments glinting in silvers and sea-glass blues, as if the ocean itself decided to celebrate. The air smells faintly of pine and peppermint, and the speakers hum a low, familiar carol that seems to pulse right through my chest.
Nora, Robbie, and Nash stand a few feet inside, their arms wrapped around each other. “Surprise!” they call and Nash runs up to wrap his little arms around my legs.
A quiet rush of air ripples through the rink, and suddenly, it’s snowing. The flakes float in lazy circles, catching the glow from the Christmas tree and spinning like glitter. I reach out to catch one, and it lands soft as silk against my palm. It doesn’t melt,just flutters away, a sliver of paper that’s gone before I can find it again. A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, half wonder, half disbelief.
Simon’s hand finds mine, warm and steady. When I look up, flakes cling to his hair and lashes, reminding me of the flour fight we had at the bakery. “I couldn’t give you skating in Rockefeller Center. Not yet and not on such short notice. But I hoped maybe this would do.”
For a second, the whole world narrows to the two of us, together, Simon delivering the impossible and my heart yearning for more, more, more and then Nora and Robbie join us. Tears well in my eyes as I take in the people around me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask my sister. “Did Simon…?”
“He’s good,” Nora says. “But not that good. We were worried about you here all alone and thought we’d surprise you by coming in early.”
“But we were the ones who got a surprise, right Uncle Simon?”
As Nash recounts a wild story involving shoes, pillows, and a bare-chested Simon, emotion swells so suddenly it steals my breath. I look around the room at the four people I love most in the world—all of them taking time out of their lives to make sure I’m okay—and my vision blurs. I press a hand to my heart as tears sting my eyes.
I’ve spent so long feeling lonely, convinced that everyone else had someone while the people I had were taken from me. But how can I believe that now? Not when I’m surrounded by proof that, no matter how empty my life once felt, no matter how far my people scattered, I was never truly alone. I’ve always mattered. I’ve always been loved.
“You guys are the absolute best,” I manage through a thick throat, then turn to Simon. “How did you even manage this?”
“You’d be surprised how persuasive I can be when I want something.”
Nash tugs at my hand. “Can we skate now, Aunt Violet?”
I nod. “Let’s skate.”
My nephew lifts a fist in celebration and races over to his parents. Simon leads me to a bench where two pairs of skates wait, one for him and one for me. We lace up and hit the ice, him stepping onto the rink with a measure of confidence while I hover at the entrance, hesitant to step off the safety of the carpet.
“I’m gonna fall.”
“I won’t let you.” Simon extends a hand and with a deep breath, I take it, then slowly carefully step onto the ice.
And immediately lurch backwards.
Simon wraps an arm around me, holding me tight until I’m safely back on my feet.
“I told you I’d fall,” I say, breathless.
“And yet you didn’t.” His eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat. “I got you, Violet. Trust me.”
It sounds less like a statement and more like a plea.
