Tyler loved Christmas morning.
Bing Crosby’s Christmas album played on a small bluetooth speaker, and the whole house smelled like the cinnamon and apples he’d sautéed in butter. Rowan had torn through the wrapped presents under the tree, and was fully immersed in playing with the set of wooden farm animals that Tyler’s mom had mailed them. They were still in their pajamas, and had no plans to change anytime soon.
The scraggly tree they’d gotten on sale was set up in the corner, rainbow lights glowing beside strands of popcorn and cranberries they’d made a few days ago.
Dotty and Sandra had come upstairs earlier with a French toast casserole and half of a glazed ham. They’d also brought presents for both of them: a pair of butterfly wings for Rowan that strapped onto his back, and a beautiful matcha bowl and a whisk for Tyler. Tyler and Rowan had worked together on the crochet-hooked potholders they’d made for their downstairs neighbors, picking Muskies colors for Dotty and a combination of pinks and purples for Sandra.
The women had left a while ago to volunteer at the local soup kitchen, a Christmas day tradition they’d shared for as long asthey’d been together. Someday, when Rowan was a little older, Tyler hoped to join them.
His mom had called, and, after theMerry Christmas’s andWe miss you’s, his mom had, once again, brought up moving back home. Tyler had wished, for a moment, that she and his dad could acknowledge the magic he’d created for himself and Rowan this year. That they could see him doing exactly what he’d set out to do: providing for himself and Rowan on his own.
Tyler’s phone buzzed on the couch beside him. He picked it up, and smiled as soon as he saw who the message was from.
Jamie
Merry Christmas! When you get a chance, go look outside
Putting his phone in his pocket, Tyler grabbed their jackets. “Kiddo,” he said, shoving his feet into his snow boots. “I think there’s something outside.”
That got Rowan’s attention. His head shot up. “Reindeer?”
Tyler laughed. “Maybe. Let’s get your boots on and check it out.”
They climbed down the stairs and out the door, Tyler following right behind Rowan.
“Papa, look!”
There, in the middle of the front yard, was a snowman. It was imperfect, as the best snowmen should always be–the bottom ball a bit lopsided, and one of the stick arms significantly longer than the other.
But it had a long carrot nose and two round, black, button eyes, and wore a now-familiar hockey jersey with the white C embroidered on the chest.
Rowan ran down to get a closer look, laughing and jumping as he chattered about how amazing the snowman was. Tyler’s whole body felt warm as he watched, content in the knowledge that his son was happy, that he’d pulled off Christmas on their own.
Only, he wasn’t on his own. Not this year. Dotty and Sandrahad played a part in their day, and now, here was a snowman–a fucking snowman–made by the man who’d crashed into their life with a broken hand and a flimsy right hook. Jamie was a part of it now. A part of the life Tyler was building for himself, and for Rowan.
“Papa, there’s something on the steps!”
Tyler looked down, and sure enough, there was a red gift bag tied with a green ribbon. He picked it up and looked at the tag.For Tyler, it read.
He pulled apart the tissue paper, and when he saw what was inside he inhaled sharply, his hands trembling as he held the gift closer.
It was a small notebook, bound in soft leather. As Tyler carefully opened the cover, several pieces of paper fell out of the pages inside. He picked them up.
The first: an annual pass to the Children’s Museum.
The second was a printed photo of Tyler and Rowan. It was artfully blurry, but it was clearly them.
A hand covered half of Tyler’s face, doing a poor job of concealing the curve of a smile. His eyes were closed, deep laugh lines extending from their corners, like he’d been captured mid-laugh. He looked joyful. Rowan was right beside him, his cheek pressed against Tyler’s face and a big grin showing off his teeth.
Jamie must have taken the picture at the Children’s Museum. Instantly, it became Tyler’s favorite picture of them.
One last paper fell out–a handwritten note.
Merry Christmas, Tyler.
Maybe you can write some words here, when the time is right.
XX
