For a second, neither of us moved.
Then Helena clapped once, delighted by nothing except the fact that her tea party had not resumed quickly enough. “Tea.”
I stayed longer than I meant to. The room stopped feeling so foreign after a while, and Helena slowly forgot she was supposed to be cautious around me. She began speaking as if I had always been there to answer. Twice, she leaned against my arm without thinking, and both times I had to keep my face under control because the urge to put my hand on her back hit me so hard it almost hurt.
The second time it happened, Edwina noticed.
Our eyes met across the room while Helena arranged Snowy beside one of the dolls. Too much sat in that look to namecleanly. Gratitude, guilt, grief, and history all moved between us, along with the old hurt neither of us had figured out how to put down.
A few minutes later, Helena became distracted by the Christmas tree and ran off to show Snowy a glass ornament she had decided was “for fancy people.” Edwina came closer and stopped beside me, her voice lowered.
“She likes you.”
I kept my gaze on Helena because looking directly at Edwina while she said that might have done something stupid to me.
“She likes the gift I bought.”
Edwina was quiet for a beat. “You know that’s not all.”
That made me look at her. She stood close enough that I could have reached for her wrist if I wanted to, touched the inside of it, felt her pulse, and reminded both of us in one reckless second that the softness between us had not died.
I stayed where I was. “I don’t know what to do with that yet,” I said.
Her face changed a little. “You don’t have to know everything today.”
“No?” My voice came out darker than I meant it to. “That would be a new fucking experience.”
Pain moved through her eyes. Regret hit me at once. I left the words where they were anyway, and the silence between us carried the weight of them.
“We’re both trying,” she said.
I let out a breath without humor. “Aren’t we always?”
Her gaze dropped, then lifted again. “Hayden…”
Before she could say more, Helena turned toward us and announced, “Mommy, Uncle Hayden is good at tea.”
Edwina smiled. A real smile this time.
By evening, the city beyond the windows had gone dark, and the lights in the room glowed brighter around the tree. Helenadragged Snowy from one adventure to another while Edwina and I moved around each other with the careful unease of two people trying not to step on the same wound twice.
We ate together. Awkwardly at first, then less so. Helena filled every silence she thought had lasted too long with questions, stories, or firm declarations about how Christmas was supposed to work. Snowy needed a plate at dinner. Reindeer might prefer music. Santa probably liked biscuits better than cookies because biscuits sounded “more fancy.” I answered every question with the seriousness it deserved. Her world demanded that kind of respect, and every second she gave me felt too precious to waste.
Later, when Helena grew sleepy, Edwina carried her part of the way down the hallway. Helena yawned, then reached one tired hand back toward me.
“Uncle Hayden?” she said.
“Yes, little star?”
“You come tomorrow too.”
She said it with the absolute certainty of a child who had already decided how things should be.
Something thick moved through my chest.
“I will,” I said.
Satisfied, she let her head fall against Edwina’s shoulder, Snowy clutched tight in one arm. Within minutes, she was asleep.
