Page 18 of All About Christmas

I have always hated the smell of hospitals. The pungent smell of disinfectants and the knowledge that there are a lot of people lying there with something wrong with them just doesn’t make it a very inviting building.

Throughout my whole life, I have been in the hospital only once.

When I was eight years old, my appendix ruptured, and I needed emergency surgery.

My fathers were both in tears because, at first, they thought it was just a stomach flu.

They felt so guilty that when I returned home, I was able to demand pancakes for dinner for three months.

Papa—who used to volunteer as a clown doctor with the Clown Care charity—had managed to get ten of his colleagues to perform a skit from The Wizard of Oz in which, of course, all sorts of things went wrong. I had never laughed so much in my life.

Olivier walked in with me and now remains tentative, still looking very worried. During the car ride, he had muttered reassuring words that did help somewhat. I’m still very flustered, but a little calmer.

He looks around helplessly. “Um... good luck,” he says after a pause.

I smile and nod. “Thank you.”

He slips his hands into his pants pockets and nods briefly. “No problem.”

I have no time for other pleasantries, and so I turn to the counter. “Good evening,” I say. “I’m here to see Hubert Winters.”

The woman nods, types something in, and names a room number.

I mutter a “thank you” and follow the signs to the various departments.

My heart pounds in my throat as I carefully push open the door, expecting to find Dad hooked up to all kinds of equipment, accompanied by scary beeping noises or someone yelling “code blue!” very loudly.

But nothing of the sort happens. When I cross the threshold, he’s sitting upright in bed and laughing hard at something Peter says.

His leg is in a cast and hanging above him in some kind of hoist and lift contraption.

Papa chuckles and looks even more relieved than when he opened his Christmas present last year and realized the concert tickets weren’t for Rammstein, as we lead him to believe, but for Céline Dion.

“Hey?” I say and look, wide-eyed, at the threesome. Then my gaze lands on Dad and I frown. “What is this?” I manage to exclaim incredulously.

“Holly!” exclaims Dad, smiling broadly. “How nice that you’re here, my girl!”

“Couldn’t you have just said it wasn’t that bad?” I ask and look at Papa, pissed off. “I was worried!”

“I’m only just finding out now, too,” he says apologetically. “At one point, he was briefly unconscious, but the damage doesn’t seem to be too bad.”

“Yep!” Dad points proudly at his leg. “Just a broken ankle!”

Papa shakes his head, chuckling. “And he’s had some pain medication. But other than that, he seems completely the same. He’s already flirted with two nurses.”

Dad frowns. “Not true,” he says. “They were flirting with me.”

“Sure, honey.”

Dad seems very pleased with that acknowledgment and is not sharp enough to detect the sarcasm in Papa’s voice. A laugh escapes my mouth. What a relief. I plop down on an empty chair at the edge of his bed and shake my head.

“How did you manage this?” I say and nod at his leg.

Papa rolls his eyes. “Do you want me to tell the story?” he asks Dad.

Dad makes an indulgent hand gesture. “Yeah, fine. I’ve already had to repeat it three times.”

“Well, so Dad cycled back home from work,” he begins. “You know him...”

“I’m always very careful in traffic,” Dad concurs with him, already seeming to have forgotten that he said he would not interrupt. “I always stop at a yellow traffic light.”

Papa shakes his head pityingly, but his gaze is full of warmth when he looks at Dad. “Exactly. You’re always very careful in traffic. Except when...”

Dad stubbornly folds his arms. “… There’s a donut stand on the other side of the road,” he confirms reluctantly. “I barely had time for lunch today, and when I smelled that deep-fried deliciousness...” He heaves an entranced sigh. “Let’s just say, I got a little reckless.”

“And then he drove through a stoplight that turned red a few seconds after he cycled through.” Papa looks at him sternly, concern returning to his face. “You’re not going to pull this on me again.”

Dad makes a dismissive gesture. “No need to tell me twice. I’ve learned my lesson.” He’s silent for a moment and then turns to me. “Say, Holly?” He looks at me as innocently as he can.

“Yes?”

“Well... When I came here in the ambulance, I saw from the window that there’s a donut stand not too far away. Be a dear and—ouch!” He rubs his upper arm and looks at a head-shaking Papa, offended. “What the hell was that for?”

Papa tucks him in extra snug. “You just get yourself back on your feet first, old Burgundian man of mine.”

With a smile on my face, I walk toward the exit again.

A weight has lifted from my shoulders. Events like this put everything into perspective.

I truly want that promotion, but the things that really matter are not something as trivial as a good job or financial success.

What really matters are the people around you who love and support you through thick and thin.

And I am one lucky person who still has them all in her life.

I’m almost to the revolving doors when I hear a voice behind me.

“Holly?”

I frown and turn around. Olivier has shed his coat and is sitting on one of the benches near the exit with a magazine in his hands. He puts it back with the other reading material and stands up.

“Olivier?” I say, surprised. “What are you still doing here?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t know how it would go and how you’d feel.” He picks up his bag from the floor. “How is your father doing?”

I look at him, perplexed, as he takes another step closer with a sweet and concerned look in his eyes. I shake my head, confused. “Um... well. It’s not too bad, thankfully.”

He smiles. “That’s a relief. And how are you feeling?”

“Um... Fine,” I say, still a little stunned. “But... you had a date, didn’t you?”

He buttons up his coat and gives me a small, apologetic smile. “I cancelled it. I was late anyway.” He looks at his watch for a moment. “Shall I take you home?”

With that question, he manages to surprise me for the fourth time in three hours. “Um... Can you?”

I break eye contact for a moment and try to tuck my hands into my pants pockets. Something I can’t do because I’m wearing leggings.

He frowns. “Yes. Otherwise, I wouldn’t suggest it, would I?” He looks at me inquisitively.

It makes me a little nervous and my cheeks begin to flush with colour. “Um... Okay. Yes, please. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Olivier tosses his keys in the air and catches them again. “Let’s go.”