Page 31 of Love Letters to Christmas

If only I weren’t such a coward.

Amelia

I should die.

Why couldn’t I just be brave enough to tell Brian something he so very clearly already knows? What is wrong with me?

Staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, I watch as morning light streams in through my windows to illuminate the shadows. I have lain here, watching those shadows live and die. I was here, at their inception, and now I am here at their end.

Ah, how fragile is life… How cruel…

Tired, my poor eyes close and open, and maybe it’s brighter, maybe I slept some just now, who knows?

All I know is that my self-loathing remains, and were I less of a coward, I might bite off and swallow my own tongue.

A knock sounds at my door, and I jump out of my own skin as the first rap descends into a pattern timed to “Jingle Bells.” Holding my breath, I stare. Time slips by, then my door cracks to reveal Brian, one hand holding my breakfast tray, the other covering his eyes.

He peeks between his fingers at me, and our eyes lock, so he drops his arm. “Oh. You’re awake.”

I am. Yes. I am awake, and I’m gripping my blankets, and I can’t breathe, and—

Warmth suffuses in his smile as he approaches. “Breakfast today is avocado toast, apple slices with caramel, and a blueberry muffin.”

Air enters my lungs like a saw blade. “I…thought you said until the ball? Which was yesterday. Don’t things go back to normal now?

” And, if they have, why am I still in bed when it’s breakfast time?

Here I am, yet again, thinking only about myself and allowing kindnesses to turn into complacency.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’ve slept in. ”

“Hey.” Brian sits beside me and pushes locks of my hair off my cheek. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m early. It’s early still.”

“It…is? It’s not breakfast time?”

He shakes his head. “No, I know how you think. I had to beat you before you could get right back into old habits. You see, it is the day after the ball, and I am supposed to let things return to this ‘normal’ you speak of, but I still happen to love you, so I still want to take care of you. Too bad, so sad.” He kisses my hair and lets it flutter from his fingers. “You’ll get over it. Eventually.”

My chest squeezes, and it’s probably the sleep deprivation that loosens my lips. “What do you mean when you say that word?”

His innocent wide eyes deepen. Then, practically sultry, he asks, “What word?”

Oh… swear words .

I sink into my pillow and cover my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry…”

“A-mail—”

“I’m so, so sorry. I’m so stupid.” Tears gather in my eyes and spill.

“You’ve known. You’ve known for a while, haven’t you?

And I— I’ve known that you’ve known for a while, and it’s not like you haven’t made it obvious, but I couldn’t just—” I gasp for breath that burns.

“—I couldn’t just get over myself and tell you .

Even though you were waiting. All night. ”

His fingers wrap around my wrist, pull my hand from my face so he can meet my tear-filled eyes.

I must look awful. Pathetic.

“Hey,” he soothes, swiping his thumb across my cheek. “I’ve been waiting longer than all night, precious girl…”

“What?” I croak.

Half a smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “You’ve been sending me letters for, what? A few weeks? So I’ve been waiting at least that long knowingly. Who knows how long I’ve waited unknowingly.”

My stomach sours, and I cave in on myself. “Was I really that obvious? From the very start?”

“You have a very distinct handwriting.”

I whimper. “No, I don’t. My mother has always said it’s bland and boring, like a child still learning how to write.”

Brian frowns. “Your narcissistic mother was even threatened by the fact you have a cuter handwriting than her? That’s…gross.”

“She isn’t…” I can’t finish whatever I was going to say when I see Brian’s expression. He is quietly angry. Calmly upset. A silent force to be reckoned with. And I can’t bring myself to finish contradicting him.

Firm, he says, “She is.” He releases the strictness. “But that’s not important right now…” He scratches his cheek and clears his throat. “What happened last night, Mail-ia? I thought I made the requited nature of my feelings apparent.”

I hide beneath my comforter. “You did. I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Just talk to me. If you’re not ready for anything, okay. We’ll continue as we have been, and I’ll apologize if I’ve pressured you. If there’s something else going on, I need to know.”

“You’re too good for me,” I blurt.

“How so?”

“What do you mean how so ? You’re everything I’m not. You have a good job, a nice home, loads of friends. You’re thoughtful. Kind. Compassionate.”

He interjects, “I’ve let you write me love letters for weeks because I’ve wanted genuine wax seals from you. I’m no saint, A-mail-ia. Not even close.”

“That’s just how passionate you are!”

He tugs my blanket down off my head so I’m once again forced to weather him directly. Brows dipped, he sighs. “I think, maybe, you give me way too many allowances.”

I jut my lip. “I do not. You simply have never done anything wrong ever, and I am constantly messing up.”

“Earth to, A-mail-ia… Reality has been trying to reach you, but you’ve been adamantly shredding its letters…” Concern ripples in his eyes. “I mess up all the time. I just pretend I haven’t or resort to a backup plan. I’m human. Promise.”

“I know that,” I whisper. “Logically, I know that…but I can’t bring myself to believe it.”

“Ah…” He lets go of my blanket. “And since you recognize that your mindset involving me isn’t healthy, you’re refusing to entertain what we could be.”

Oh, if only. If only that were the issue.

I don’t care if I over-adore him. He is dear .

He deserves loyal admiration at unhealthy levels.

There’s nothing wrong with loving someone so much it distorts the world around them, so long as they can be trusted.

And I trust Brian. Completely. Folding my arms over my eyes, I sniffle.

“No…” he murmurs. “That’s not it. You’re too sweet to care about over-loving me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not good enough,” I whisper. “I don’t feel good enough.

I’m scared I’ll become a burden. I’m scared I’ll rely on you too much.

I’m just…scared. What am I supposed to do with myself if the thing I’ve been chasing for most of my life suddenly becomes mine ?

Wanting you has been the only good part of my personality…

for years. What am I supposed to do without it?

How am I supposed to be worthy of you if it’s the only good thing in me? ”

Brian watches me, green eyes steady. “A-mail-ia,” he says, in a tone that suggests he has the answers to all my problems, “once we’re in a relationship, you don’t have to stop wanting me.

I think, probably, wanting one another is a foundational part of being together.

” He sets my food tray down on the other side of my bed, then braces his elbow beside my shoulder.

Hovering over me, he combs his fingers through my hair.

“I plan to keep wanting you, even though it is more than clear I have you heart…” He touches a fingertip to my chest. “…mind…” He kisses my forehead.

“ …and soul.” His lips pause just before mine.

His breath—pepperminty and Christmas—warms them.

“Do you think you could adopt some hubris for me and understand just how good enough you really are?”

Shivering, I say, “I-I’d become unbearable.”

“Have you ever considered that I’d like you to be unbearable?” He kisses the corner of my mouth, and my eyelids become too heavy to keep open. “ I’m unbearable. It’s so lonely being the only one.”

“You’re…not.”

“I once spent thirty minutes telling Liam about this season’s stamps, only for him to get a roll of one hundred American flags in the futile attempt to maintain a professional business front and save a rough total of twenty-five cents. I judged him for weeks after that. I’m still judging.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“For people like us, maybe.” His forehead settles against mine. “A-mail-ia…am I not allowed to like you just the way you are? In the same way that you like me just the way I am? Blinded to faults? Consumed by nothing but the idea of making you mine?”

My hands close into fists, and I brave the sight of him, so near. “You don’t understand how much I like you. You don’t understand how pathetic I am. I’ve spent years like this. Years , Brian. Decades even. I…I need to show you something.”

He kisses my cheek and frees me from my blankets.

Slipping out of bed, I smooth my shaking hands down my nightgown, round my footboard, and kneel in front of my secret box of Brian love letters.

My fingers graze the cardboard, then I pull it from the shadows.

Keenly aware of him watching me, I open the flaps.

Rows upon rows, all chronologically organized. Colors upon colors. Seals upon seals.

Hundreds of unsent letters.

Eyes teary, I look up at him. “I’ve been writing love letters to you…for decades. I’ve withheld mail from you. For decades.”

His eyes widen, flicking between me and my box of sins.

“I’m a coward, Brian.” I grip a fist in my hair and let my head fall forward. “I struggle so much with what people think of me. I don’t know how to get rid of the things my parents have taught me. I’m…not ready. I’m just not ready .”

Silence fills my bedroom, and the tension weighs in my chest. It is so heavy I’m sure breathing under water would be easier than whatever this is. But this is all I have to drown myself in. So that is what I do.