“That’s perfect.” I’m excited about what could come of it, and I’m grateful to my aunt and uncle for their help.
For the remainder of the dinner they talk back and forth with me a little bit about ideas for prizes as they come, and I begin to feel like I might actually be able to pull off this project of mine with some serious clout.
When the meal is done, I ask them to meet me in the study. They may not be feel
ing festive or celebratory, but I brought them a gift and I’m going to give it to them anyway. They oblige me.
Five minutes later I walk into the study with my heart pounding and the wrapped frame. They look at me almost in surprise.
“I know it’s not quite Christmas Day yet, but I thought I’d give you this now.” I hand them the wrapped photograph and they take it with uncomfortable expressions, and a quick glance at one another as if they are asking each other how to proceed.
“This is lovely, Teddy. Thank you. You didn’t have to do this,” Ellen tells me, glancing at the paper-wrapped gift in her hands like she doesn’t know what to do with it.
My uncle looks at the gift strangely. “Go ahead and unwrap that,” he says quietly.
She does, and when she sees the photograph of me, she gets visibly choked up and hands it to my uncle. I realize that it must remind her too much of Sadie, and I feel suddenly sick to my stomach. It was supposed to make her think of me instead of her lost daughter, but I guess it had exactly the opposite effect.
“I … I have a headache. I’m going to … go. Goodnight, Sadie. I mean … Teddy,” she stammers with a tight voice before practically fleeing the room.
My uncle stares at the photograph and then lays it on his desk, face down. He walks over to me and pulls an envelope from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. With no real expression at all, he hands the envelope to me.
“I’m sorry, for everything today,” he says. “I hope we can be a family to you one day, but I think it’s going to take a little while.”
I take the envelope, but I wait to open it. That pit in my stomach grows, and yet, somehow, so does a sense of relief. I think I know what’s coming.
“So, what do we do now?”
Dane nods at the envelope in my hand. “That will hold you over until all the paperwork goes through.”
I peek inside, and immediately wish I didn’t. The numbers on the check make my head swim.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Dane says, “but I’d understand if it’s all a bit much.”
I nod, and he looks relieved.
“Enjoy your holiday,” he gives me a smile and then walks out of the room, leaving me alone.
That’s when I realize what the empty feeling inside me is.
We just had Christmas. That was it. It’s done. We had a meal. We exchanged gifts. There’s nothing more to come, and I know it as sure as I am standing there with that ridiculously huge check, alone in my uncle’s study on Christmas Eve. It’s over and done.
There’s a stinging behind my eyes and I can’t stop the tears as they blind me and then flood out over my lashes and down my cheeks. All these years; my whole life, I’ve waited to have something as special as Christmas with my family, and now I’ve had it and I realize that it’s just not all that it’s cracked up to be.
I walk upstairs to my room through the darkened, silent house, and go to bed. As I lay there on the thick, luxurious pillow, I feel hollow on the inside. As hollow as my aunt looked when she saw my photograph.
When I open my eyes, I look around in surprise for a moment, having forgotten where I am. But then I remember, and I remember that it’s Christmas morning. I look at my new phone and see messages from both Blair and Wills. They’ve sent me all kinds of fun, sweet holiday wishes, and photos of themselves; Blair is holding mistletoe over his face, looking for a kiss from me, and Wills is wearing a Santa hat and no shirt, winking at me. I love my boys so much.
As I look at their photos and messages, I remember what Wills and I talked about. They are my family, truly. They’re not blood, but they are my chosen family and I am theirs. I miss them so much that it aches, and I know in my heart that I should be with them.
I send a sad-faced selfie to Wills. “I miss you so much,” I write and send it to him.
He replies instantly. “Please come have Christmas with me.”
My heart races. I really want to, more than anything. I get up and shower, then dress quickly and head downstairs. My uncle is sitting at the dining table alone.
“Good morning,” I say, wondering where my aunt is. There’s not even a place set for her; just him and me. “Merry Christmas.”
“Good morning,” he replies, reaching for his coffee.