The restaurant blurs a little at the edges as I talk, replaced by memory.
“She did it all,” I say softly. “She cut pine boughs and gathered holly from the edges of our property. Hung mistletoe in every doorway. Wrapped presents exclusively from Santa so I wouldn’t see her handwriting and connect it. Baked sugar cookies and let me drown them in sprinkles. We’d hang icicles on the tree last so they’d catch the lights.”
In my mind, she’s there, holding up the tiny blown-glass hummingbird to the window, tilting it so the winter sun turns the living room walls green and blue.
A bit of magic, Tally,she’d say.Even in the coldest month.
My voice drops to a whisper. “It was…special. It felt like the whole house turned into this little pocket of magic she built just for me.”
“I’m sorry, Tally,” Bran says quietly. “I know you miss her.”
I blink hard; a tear threatens at the corner of my eye, and I swipe it away before it can fall.
“Mom died a couple of years ago,” I say. “Metastatic breast cancer. She fought it for a long time—years of chemo and remissions and ‘we think we got it this time,’ and then…she didn’t. By the end, she was so tired.” My throat tightens, memory and grief twisting together. “She still tried to hang the hummingbird, even when she could barely stand up. I had to help her loop it on the branch.”
I can hear the little chime of glass as it bumped the lights.
“She told me to make sure it went on the tree every year,” I finish, voice thin. “Said as long as it did, some part of her would still be there. Watching.”
The last word cracks.
Bran’s hand reaches across the table, covering mine where it curls around my fork. His palm is warm and broad, thumb rubbing once along my knuckles.
He doesn’t sayI’m sorryagain, orit’ll be okay. He just holds on.
We sit like that for a moment in the quiet bubble of our booth, the sounds of other people’s holidays muffled around us.
“I have an idea,” he says eventually.
I sniff, dragging in a shaky breath. “Uh-oh.”
“Let’s get a tree,” he says. “With all the bells and whistles. Lights. Tinsel. A place of honor for your hummingbird. I’ll send someone to get it, bring it here.”
I blink. “What?”
“A Christmas tree,” he repeats, lips quirking. “You just spent two minutes telling me how your mother alchemized the worst day of your life into something magical. Seems only right to keep that going, yeah?”
I hesitate. The idea sends a little flare of warmth through my chest and a corresponding stab of guilt.
Because I know what tomorrow is.
“I need to tell you something,” I say. “About tomorrow.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “That tone doesn’t sound good.”
“Can we get the tree for my house instead?” I ask.
“We need to stay here—”
“We can come back.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I promise, we can come right back. I just…I need to go back to Lucy Falls. Just for a day or two.”
His jaw tightens. “Why?”
“Because I gave my word,” I say, shoulders squaring. “Mrs. Yates at the toy shop downtown? She asked me years ago to be one of Santa’s helper elves for Black Friday. She said I was short and skinny and looked like an elf, and it kind of stuck. I’ve done it every year since. The kids expect it.”
I huff out a breath, the ache I’ve been ignoring all morning sharpening.
“I realized earlier that it’s tomorrow,” I say. “Black Friday. If I don’t show up, they’ll be swamped. And the kids will be disappointed. I can’t…after everything else that’s happened this week, I can’t add myself to the list of things that let them down.”
