He really did mean box, singular. At my house, I had a line of plastic storage totes, each neatly labeled. Green for lights and wiring supplies. Red for outdoor decorations. Blue for indoor. I added to the collection every year, to the point where it took me a decent amount of time to carry everything down each year. But Paul was scarcely gone thirty seconds, returning with a single large box that had once held computer equipment.
“I remember that model.” I pointed at the label. “Talk about a blast from the past.”
“Yeah, that was Brandon’s first computer. Had to save a good few months, but he sure was excited that Christmas.” Paul set the box down and crouched in front of it. “There’s not much in here.”
“It’s okay.” My heart was hammering as I crouched next to him, struggling to keep my voice even as he revealed the tidy collection of treasures inside the box. In my head, I could hear my grandmother’s voice as she unwrapped a particular ornament, telling me where it had come from and why. I’d blithely demanded Paul share, but now I wasn’t sure I was worthy of this glimpse into his heart.
Part of me wanted to tell him he could pack it back up again, but then he unwrapped a heavy platter, holding it tenderly. It had a Norman Rockwell holiday scene in the center and a scratch on one edge.
“There was a fire,” he said softly. “Not much was salvageable. Few things of our mom’s favorites, like the stockings and this cookie plate. There’s only the one.”
“It’s beautiful.” I was shocked I had any voice at all. It went without saying that I was sorry, so terribly sorry, about his parents, but something about the moment felt eggshell fragile, as if the wrong words could shatter the immense trust he was placing in me here. “Your mom had good taste.”
“Yeah, she did, didn’t she?” His smile was faraway and heartbreakingly boyish. Setting the plate carefully aside, he revealed a small box full of craft stick and pipe cleaner ornaments, glitter raining onto his fingers. “These are a couple of things Brandon made as a kid. I didn’t have the heart to throw them out.”
“Of course not.”
When he set the small box of ornaments aside, I carefully replaced the lid. Next, he pulled out a tiny tabletop artificial tree and a wooden advent calendar.
“Man, Brandon always loved that countdown calendar. Think we got that on clearance. You’d approve.”
“I do.” My voice came out all thick and muffled, sinuses clogged and eyes burning. I picked up the calendar to admire it more closely. “I definitely approve. We’ll use all of it.”
“All of it?” Paul frowned. “That tiny tree isn’t gonna cut it for the proposal.”
“No, but it can occupy a place of honor on a side table.” I had the perfect end table hanging out in my own attic. “Trust me. Brandon will remember it.”
“And laugh at me keeping it.” He snorted like being sentimental was a character flaw, like he was vaguely embarrassed he’d dared keep these little treasures safe.
“I doubt that.” My voice came out all emphatic. I’d do battle for his right to be as sentimental as he wanted. Hell, I’d trade almost all of my loaded down storage totes if it meant keeping his precious memories safe.
“Gideon,” he warned, packing stuff back up. There were a few other items in there, and I truly did plan to use them all. “Don’t make more of this than it is. It’s just a box.”
“It’s not just anything,” I argued right back. I remained dangerously close to tears. I lacked the words for what his sharing this had meant to me. “Trust me, I know. My dad kept almost nothing of my grandparents. The couple of keepsakes I have, they mean the world to me. It’s okay to keep special things around, no matter how humble the items.”
“If you say so.” He gave a tired sigh as he finished closing the box. “Probably should just plan on buying all new.”
“Absolutely not.” I reached for my bossiest of tones. Paul couldn’t let himself admit how much these items meant and would undoubtedly shrug me off if I gave him the hug I so desperately wanted to, so I went for logic instead. “If nothing else, your sentimental future sister-in-law is going to love hearing Brandon’s stories about being a kid. Let her have that.”
“All right. I’ll carry this downstairs then.” His expression was stony as he hefted the box up, his granite jaw and resolute nose were bulwarks standing guard over the heart he usually hid so well. But now I’d seen it, and I wasn’t ever forgetting.
Understanding him far better now, shame swept through me. In my zealousness, I’d forgotten how truly painful the holidays could be for some. We all had our coping methods, and if he wanted to hibernate the holidays away, who was I to try to fracture what little peace he’d managed to find through boxing everything up tight?
“Let me help.” I had no clue how to apologize for any hurts I’d stirred up with all my efforts to get him to participate over the years, but I was going to give this decorating project my absolute all, give Paul and his brother the chance at some new memories.
“I’ve got it.” He gave me a sharp nod. And maybe he had everything under control, all his emotions locked down, but I sure as hell couldn’t say the same.
Chapter Nine
Big thank you to whoever left a tin of British cookies on the porch! First gift of the season! The kids loved them! ~Molly Reed posted to the What’s Up Neighbor app
Paul
Gideon was back to erecting statues in my honor. I could tell. He’d heaped compliments on my box of old decorations like I’d revealed a whole collection of mint condition rookie cards, and he’d sat on my living room floor with his stack of papers, adding my items to his plan. Finally, he’d headed back to his place, but not before thanking me yet again for trusting him to help.
Thanking me. He’d drawn diagrams of my various rooms, made lighting schematics for my exterior, and drafted a schedule for what decorating was happening when, and he was thanking me for the privilege of adding a hell of a lot more work to his month. And now, here he was, giant cheery smile on his face, crack of dawn on Sunday, two cups of coffee in his hands as he made his way to my truck.
“Thanks for humoring me,” he said brightly. More thanks from him. I might not survive this outing. I gave a curt nod.