Page 45 of Christmas On Call
Asha’s chest tightened with something she no longer misidentified as discomfort. Every Christmas since that first one, they’d gone back to the NICU—not to always work, but to deliver cocoa, hats, and a little hope. It had started as Max’s idea,but it became their family tradition, one that stitched the old pain into something whole.
“Shoes first,” Asha said, her voice softer than her usual register. “Then your deliveries.”
Max winked at Ophelia. “You heard your mother, Delivery Elf.”
The hospital lobby still smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee, but the tinsel had multiplied. Paper snowflakes fluttered from the ceiling, and a volunteer choir of nurses’ kids sang carols near the tree. Max wheeled the familiar cocoa cart down the corridor. Asha carried two gift bags and the look of someone trying not to smile too widely.
When the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, Ophelia gasped. “It’s sparkly!”
Oakridge NICU was brighter than it had been that first Christmas Eve. The old fluorescent lights had been replaced by warmer bulbs, and the staff had leaned into Max’s brand of cheer: paper garlands, knitted ornaments, and a tree decorated entirely with donated preemie hats.
At the nurses’ station, Juliette—her hair now a respectable auburn—raised a hand. “Look who’s here! The legends return.”
Max laughed. “We’re just bringing sugar and sentiment. The real heroes are whoever’s on charting duty.”
Juliette grinned at Ophelia.
“I’m the delivery elf. We brought cocoa. It’s very safe.”
“Sterile marshmallows only,” Max added solemnly.
The nurses chuckled. The parents nearby smiled. One of them, a mother in hospital socks and a cardigan, whispered,“Thank you for coming.” Her baby slept in an isolette beside her, wires curling like tinsel.
Asha’s gaze softened. She still saw everything—the readings, the IV lines, the rhythms of tiny chests rising and falling—but now, instead of bracing herself against it, she let the sight wash over her. There was something holy in the ordinariness of it.
“Max,” she said quietly, “you’ve started a cult.”
“A very gentle one,” Max murmured back. “Membership fee: one smile.”
They split up instinctively—Max moving from pod to pod, offering cocoa and jokes; Asha checking quietly on parents who looked like they hadn’t exhaled in days. Ophelia followed, solemnly placing a knitted hat beside each incubator, whispering to every baby as if they could hear.
“This one looks like a snowflake,” she told one mother, “and this one looks like a bean, but in a nice way.”
The woman laughed, startled by the sound. It was the same kind of laugh Max used to coax from exhausted parents five years ago. The sound still worked miracles.
Near the back of the unit, a voice called out. “Doctor Patel?”
Asha turned—and froze. A man and a little boy were walking toward her. The boy’s cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and his dark eyes were curious and steady. It took her a heartbeat to place him, but when she did, the world seemed to fold in on itself.
“Mister Rodriguez,” she said softly.
He smiled, his arm tightening around the child’s shoulders. “We wanted to bring Javi by. He’s been practicing saying thank you.”
The boy puffed his chest. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Asha crouched to his level. “You’re very welcome, Javi.”
He was sturdy now, tall for his age, full of life. The last time she’d seen him, he’d fit in her hands. “Are you still loud as I remember?” she asked.
He grinned. “My teacher says so.”
“She’s not wrong,” his father said, laughing. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small envelope. “We brought a photo. And tamales—for both of you. My wife says it’s tradition now.”
Asha accepted them carefully. The picture showed Javi mid-run, a streak of motion and joy. On the back, written in careful letters,For the ones who believed in breathing.
She couldn’t speak for a moment. When she glanced toward the cocoa cart, Max was already watching her—eyes full of the same warmth that had steadied her hands five years ago.
They left the unit an hour later, when the cocoa was gone and the babies asleep. The corridor outside was quiet. Max wheeled the empty cart to the wall, and Asha stood beside her, fingers brushing hers.
