So I won’t either. I’ll eat the sad toast and wear the itchy sweater, all while listening to him make fun of the cafeteria décor as if he’s critiquing a new hotspot gallery in SoHo. Because it’s Christmas and he showed up. He traveled thousands of miles to seeme.
“It’s not Tahoe,” he comments eventually. “Or even Fred’s Diner near my place, but I figured cafeteria French toast is better than nothing.”
“It’s perfect.”
Christmas music plays faintly over the speakers. Jake tells me about the kids visiting family and volunteers in reindeer antlers handing out cookies. It sounds ridiculous and cheesy, but I’m glad to be here with my uncle.
He bumps my foot with his. “I don’t care what anyone thinks, you’re still the best gift I ever got.”
“Back at you.” I swallow around the knot in my throat. “Merry Christmas, Uncle Jake.”
“Merry Christmas, Teddy.”
My heart full, I continue eating, though my mind drifts somewhere else entirely. I wonder what Ivy’s doing right now. Maybe she’s sitting at a table with her family, laughing at some story, or stealing the last cookie from a tray before heading in for a shift later. Wherever she is, I hope she’s wrapped in warmth and people who make her feel at peace. She deserves that more than anyone for how hard she works to care for others.
As we’re getting ready to leave the cafeteria, a small voice pipes up from our left, a mix of reverence and nerves. “Are you…are you Teddy Seaborn?”
“Depends. Am I in trouble?”
A soft childish laugh fills the air. “No. My dad calls you a legend.”
“Then yeah, that’s me.”
The kid’s shoes squeak. “My dad is upstairs. He fell at work, breakingnearlyeverybone in his body. He loves watching your games and told me if I saw you, I should say hi.”
“Wish your dad Merry Christmas from me.” I turn my head toward his voice, offering a small smile.
“Once you get better, will you sign stuff for him?”
“Absolutely,” I promise without missing a beat. “It’ll be the first thing I do when I’m back to my old self. Deal?”
“Deal.”
There’s a shuffle, followed by a deeper voice. “Sorry to disturb your afternoon. Oscar, my grandson, nearly tackled a nurse when he spotted you.”
“It’s all good. I’m glad he came over.”
The older man hums. “His dad—my son—has had a rough go lately. Watching hockey games has kept him strong in the middle of it all. He’s a big fan of the Woodpeckers.”
“Mind if I grab your info? We’ll make sure something nice gets to your family,” Uncle Jake chimes in beside me.
“Oh, you don’t?—”
“I want to,” I cut in. “Let me do that for him and the rest of your family.”
The grandfather hesitates, then gives his contact details to Jake. “Thanks. This will mean the world to him.”
“We have you covered.”
Oscar speaks up. “Can I take a picture with you? It would be so cool to show it to my dad.”
“Sure.”
Jake positions me gently, fixing my collar, murmuring “you look great, kid” under his breath.
“Ready,” the boy exclaims excitedly. “One, two, three—cheese!”
There’s a small flicker of light in my periphery, which I assume is the camera flash. It’s not much, but proof that my world isn’t entirely dark. “Merry Christmas, Oscar.”
