Once Upon a December: A Holiday Short Story Collection

by Sydney Logan

  Suddenly, my family appears in the living room, holding small bowls. Mom and Dad sit down on the couch while my sister finds a spot next to the tree. I catch a glimpse of the pattern on the tiny bowls, and my heart leaps in my chest.

  “Applesauce,” Xander says.

  My eyes flash to him. “How do you know that?”

  “I can smell it. It's my favorite food.”

  “It's my favorite food, too, but you can’t smell it from here.”

  “Sure you can. Try.”

  I roll my eyes but decide to humor the kid. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, and instantly, I’m ten years old again.

  “Cinnamon!” I whisper excitedly.

  Xander just smiles.

  “Homemade applesauce was always a Christmas tradition,” I explain quietly. “It’s an old recipe of my grandmother’s, and when I was little, I used to sit on the counter and watch as Mom chopped up the apples. When I got older, she let me help. Every Christmas Eve, we would sit around the tree and eat our applesauce before we opened gifts.”

  “You opened gifts on Christmas Eve?” Xander asked.

  I smile as memories flood me. My first bike. My leather jacket. The keys to my first car.

  “Yeah, but there were always more presents to open in the morning. Those gifts were from Santa.”

  Xander says nothing as I look through the window once more. Of course, my parents look older, but it’s not their age that depresses me the most.

  “They look so sad. I wonder why that is?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.

  “Because they miss you,” Xander replies simply, as if this is obvious. “You’re their only son, and your mom decorates every year and makes homemade applesauce, hoping that this year will be the Christmas you come home.”

  “She makes it every year?”

  “Every year.”

  My mom places her bowl on the coffee table and walks over to the Christmas tree. I hold my breath as she lightly traces her fingers along one of the ornaments. It’s red and gold, and I know without a doubt that it’s the ornament with my name on it. I’d made it in Sunday school class when I was eight years old.

  “She hangs it every year. Just hoping . . .”

  It’s too much. Too many memories and too much shame.

  I close my eyes and lean back against the cold brick of the house.

  Seeing my family so sad is complete torture. I thought they’d be happy that I’d stayed away all this time. I’d embarrassed them . . . shamed them. And I’d gone out of my way to avoid them for the past decade. How can they possibly still love me?

  “They love you because you’re their son,” Xander says. “They say the bond between a parent and child is nearly impossible to break, even in death. Do you really think a few thousand miles is going to change how they feel about you?”

  With wide eyes, I stare at this kid.

  “How did you get so smart?”

  He just grins.

  “I get it from my mom.”

  “This is a bad idea,” I mutter as we drive down Main Street.

  Paisley Springs looks just the same, except for a few new restaurants. When we were kids, Emma and I used to call it Mayberry, from the Andy Griffith Show. At the time, it wasn’t a flattering comment, but now that I’m older, I can appreciate the tranquility of my little hometown.

  Maybe Mayberry isn’t so bad, after all.

  “This is the best idea ever,” Xander says, bouncing in his seat. “You know you want to see her.”

  “Of course, I want to see her.”

  That’s when I realize I have no idea where to find her. Does she even live in Paisley Springs?

  “She works at the diner,” Xander says.

  “The Paisley Diner? She’s still there?”

  Xander nods, and in that moment, I feel a knife twist in my gut. If Emma’s still working at the diner, that probably means she didn’t go to college. She always wanted to be a lawyer. Why didn’t she go to law school?

  “Her high school GPA was crap,” Xander explains, reading my mind once again.

  “No, it wasn’t. She had a 4.0 before . . . before . . .”

  Before she miscarried.

  “She didn’t have a 4.0 . . . after,” he says.

  I don’t bother asking how he knows that. I stopped asking questions right after I smelled the applesauce.

  Emma’s still living in Paisley Springs and working at the diner—the same place she’d worked back in high school. Has she never worked anywhere else? Did her grades really suffer that much? And if so, how did I not know that? Had I honestly been so wrapped up in my own adolescent selfishness that I didn’t realize how much losing the baby affected her?

  I feel like such a fool. I’ve spent the last ten years avoiding everyone I love, thinking that’s what they needed in order to move on with their lives. But in reality, for all of them, time has stood still.

  Have they all been waiting for me?

  We reach the diner, and I park the car. Xander takes my trembling hand in his as he leads me up the gravel path and toward the entrance. The place looks relatively vacant, which isn’t too surprising since it’s late on Christmas Eve.

  “Are we peeking again?” Xander asks.

  “Yes.”

  He sighs and pulls me toward the window. The diner really is empty except for a few coffee drinkers sitting at the counter.

  “She could have gone to community college,” I whisper into the air. “Did she even try?”

  “Nope. She was waiting for you to come back. You’d made plans.”

  We had made plans. We’d planned to move away from Paisley Springs and attend college . . . together.

  I forced myself to move on without her . . . to live without her, and all this time she’s been waiting for me?

  Just then, a waitress appears from the back. She’s holding a coffee pot and smiling at the customers. Her long red hair is pulled into a ponytail. And her eyes . . . her green eyes are still the most beautiful eyes in the world.

  Xander’s hand tightens around mine.

  “She prays for you every night,” he says as we watch her pour coffee into a man’s mug. “She prays that you'll come home, but if you don’t, she hopes that you’re at least happy.”

  Emma wasted her prayers on me. I haven’t been happy in more than ten years.

  “And she never loved another soul.”

  Neither have I.

  “She must hate me,” I whisper, the agony so intense that I think I might collapse under the weight of it. Xander just holds my hand a little tighter.

  “She still loves you. She’ll forgive you.”

  “She doesn't look unhappy.”

  But even as the words slip out of my mouth, I know it’s a lie. Even now, I know every curve of her smile and every sparkle in her eye, and I can tell she’s faking it.

  “It’s almost closing time,” Xander says. “You can’t walk through locked doors, so I suggest you get inside.”

  I look away from the beautiful angel standing behind the glass and down into the eyes of this crazy, green-eyed boy.

  “You'll come with me?”

  He smiles brightly.

  “Don't you understand? I'm already there.”

  I don’t understand, and I tell him so.

  “Don’t you see? I’ve watched over both of you for the past ten years. She prays for you every night and you think about her a thousand times a day. You’re still crazy about each other. I just wanted to see you guys together.”

  “I . . . don’t understand.”

  The child’s bright green eyes meet mine. “My name is Alexander, and I love homemade applesauce. I have my dad’s crazy hair and my mom’s green eyes, and all I want for Christmas is for my mom and dad to be happy.

  A tear trickles down my face.

  It all makes sense now.

  Is he an angel? A ghost? A figment of my heartbroken imagination?

  It doesn’t matter, because behind the glass, his mom is wai
ting for me.

  But first thing’s first . . .

  I kneel on the ground and place my hands on each side of his face. He really is a beautiful child. The spitting image of her. And of me.

  “I’ve always loved your mother. And you. I didn’t know it then, but I do now. Never doubt that.”

  My son smiles. “I don’t doubt it. We love you, too.”

  I lean close and kiss his forehead.

  “By the way, you should know that Mom isn’t able to have children. She never was.”

  “Never?”

  “The doctors said never. It wasn’t your fault.”

  I wrap my arms around my son and pull him close, hugging him tightly.

  “Mom’s waiting,” he whispers.

  With a nod, I climb to my feet.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “No.” Xander smiles and points toward the window. “I’m peeking.”

  I smile through my tears. “Will I ever see you again?”

  “You'll see me every day.”

  “But how?”

  “Anytime you feel like you’re missing me, you just have to look into her green eyes. I’m there. I think her eyes will be brighter now. Oh! Wait a sec . . .”

  Xander pulls a piece of mistletoe out of his pocket and hands it to me. I don’t even bother asking where it came from. Nothing makes sense tonight, but maybe it’s not supposed to.

  “Use this. You know, in case you need motivation to kiss her.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” I chuckle and kiss his forehead one last time. “Thank you, Xander.”

  He pushes me toward the door, and I take a deep breath before reaching for the handle. As I walk inside the diner, I take comfort in knowing that my son’s standing just outside the window . . .

  Peeking.

  The diner’s completely deserted now, so I gently turn the closed sign on the door before making my way to the counter. I sit down on a stool and wait. My entire body trembles with anticipation, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out just as Emma walks through the swinging doors, holding a bowl.

  “Sorry, we’re—”

  She stops talking.

  I stop breathing.

  Emma blinks a few times, looks down into her bowl, and then up at me again. She’s probably trying to decide if she’s finally lost her mind.

  I can relate.

  “Thomas?”

  “It’s me.”

  Suddenly, she smiles the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

  “Xander sent you?”

  “More like . . . dragged me, but yeah.”

  Emma laughs, and with that sound, every ounce of tension leaves my body.

  “He told me he would. I didn’t believe him.”

  Emma places the bowl in front of me on the counter. I don’t even look down. I can smell the cinnamon.

  “You see him, too?”

  She nods. I look behind my shoulder and through the glass, but I can’t see him anymore.

  “Will he come back?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I never know. But I have to believe he will.”

  I reach over the counter and lift my hand, letting my fingers drift along her face. Tears spill down the softest cheeks I’ve ever touched.

  “He will, if for no other reason than to make sure I’m not totally screwing this up again. That is, if you’ll let me try to make it right.”

  With a nod, she smiles through her own tears, her green eyes shining brightly.

  “I love you, Emma.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Still?”

  “Always.”

  I don’t really need the mistletoe, but I pull it out of my pocket anyway . . . just in case he’s peeking . . . and I hold it above our heads.

  We lean in, and I slowly brush my lips against hers.

  And with that kiss, I’m finally home.

  Last-minute shopping on Christmas Eve always struck fear in Melanie Taylor’s heart. The frantic customers. The exhausted cashiers. The long lines. All of it was mayhem, and the last thing she needed was more chaos in her life.

  In an attempt to avoid the crowds, Melanie had chosen a high-end department store to do the last of her shopping. There was only one gift left on her list, and it had to be special. And in her world, special was just another word for expensive.

  Melanie stood at a glass case, looking down at the selection of designer watches. The one that caught her eye was undeniably gorgeous, made of titanium ceramic, and equipped with enough functions to pilot a small plane.

  “May I help you?” The man behind the counter beamed. It was impossible to ignore the excitement in his voice.

  Melanie pointed at the silver watch. “I’d like to see that one, please.”

  “Oh, that’s a fine choice,” he said as he reached for his keys. The man lifted the watch out of the case and handed it to her. She didn’t bother looking at the expensive price tag. Instead, she gazed at the band, and then at the watch’s face, hoping either would trigger some recollection.

  Nothing.

  The man noticed her reluctance.

  “Shopping for your husband?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “What a wonderful Christmas gift! Your husband would be proud to wear a watch so beautiful and well-crafted . . .”

  The man continued his sales pitch, but it was easy to ignore. He had no way of knowing that the price of the watch wasn’t the cause of Melanie’s hesitation. It was the fact that, just last year, in this same department store, she had bought a watch for her husband for Christmas.

  And she couldn’t remember what it looked like.

  A desperate Melanie glanced at the man behind the counter. He didn’t look familiar, either, but that was hardly helpful. Still, she decided to ask.

  “Were you working last Christmas Eve, as well?”

  It was a long shot, she knew. But perhaps he remembered her, and if he did, maybe he could recall if she’d bought this exact watch.

  The manager looked confused.

  “No, ma’am. I just recently moved from . . . up north.”

  She smiled sheepishly. This nice man probably had a family and wished he could be with them on Christmas Eve instead of dealing with privileged customers like her—especially ones who couldn’t recall if they had bought their spouse this same ten-thousand dollar watch just last year.

  With a sigh, Melanie glanced down at her own watch. The store closed in twenty minutes.

  “I’ll take it,” Melanie decided. “I just hope I have time to gift-wrap it.”

  The manager smiled brightly as she placed the platinum card in his hand. Of course, he was ecstatic. The commission from this sale would probably ensure that his family had a very merry Christmas.

  “Do you have children?” Melanie asked.

  The manager handed her the receipt to sign. “Yes, I do. Two girls. Both blondes, just like their beautiful mother.”

  The pride in his voice made Melanie smile as she scribbled her name on the slip.

  “Well, I hope you, and they, have a lovely holiday . . .”

  “Nick,” the man said. “My name is Nick, and I wish you and your husband a Merry Christmas.”

  “Thank you, Nick. I wish for that, too.”

  He had no idea how much she wished for that.

  Nick handed Melanie a pretty gift bag. It was red and silver, and festive enough that she wouldn’t have to bother with gift wrapping at all.

  Her mission complete, she took a few moments to browse through the rest of the store. At one of the counters, she overheard a man and his son, trying to decide between a leather handbag and a bottle of designer perfume for the mom. Unlike Melanie, the two of them had smiles on their faces. They were happy customers, excited to find something that would brighten the eyes of someone they loved.

  Melanie, on the other hand, had just hoped to find something that would make her husband notice her, even if it was just for one day.

  On her way to
the elevator, Melanie couldn’t help but think about the nice store manager and his wish for her. As much as she hoped for a wonderful Christmas with her husband, her only concern right now was that he didn’t already own a watch just like the one in this bag.

  And that was the prayer she whispered as she stepped onto the elevator.

  The first thing Ethan noticed was her long legs. They were hidden beneath the fabric of her black dress and stylish overcoat, but they peeked out as she walked onto the elevator. Without acknowledging him, she pressed the button that would take her to the first floor.

  Ethan’s appreciative gaze swept over her. She was a beautiful woman, with long, dark hair that curled just slightly on the ends. For just a moment, he considered reaching out and letting his fingers touch the silky strands, but sanity prevailed, and he quickly stuffed his free hand in his pocket.

  Instead, he cleared his throat and Melanie jumped, turning toward the sound. Her eyes widened when she saw him. He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit and light blue tie—a perfect complement to his soft eyes. One hand was in his pocket while the other held a small gift bag.

  “Doing some last-minute shopping?” Ethan asked.

  Melanie blinked rapidly before nodding.

  “I am,” she replied stiffly. “You?”

  He lifted the gold bag, giving it a little shake.

  She nodded. “For someone special?”

  “For my wife. You?”

  “My husb—”

  Her reply was cut short when the lights dimmed, and the elevator lurched to a stop.

  “Fantastic,” Melanie mumbled.

  The emergency lights flickered on, and Ethan pushed the alarm button before grabbing the elevator’s phone. Melanie listened intently as he barked orders to someone before slamming down the receiver.

  “The entire block is in the dark,” Ethan grumbled. He removed his jacket before settling himself on the floor.