Page 32 of Love Letters to Christmas

Busted.

Brian

Mail. Letters. Hundreds. Seals. On all of them. Bubbling the rows. Making them uneven and perfect and lovely. Each one stamped. Each one taunting me.

The massive box before Amelia bursts with letters for me . Perfect, beautiful letters for me . The colors dance before my eyes, and I lower myself—trembling—to my knees.

“I started as soon as I could write,” she whispers. “So many of these are atrocious.”

“No.” I swallow hard. “Don’t say that. They’re beautiful.”

Her head shakes. “They aren’t. One is just poetry about your eyebrows.”

“My…eyebrows?”

She covers her face with her hands. “They’re very specific. Very…expressive. I don’t know. I was maybe ten.”

My very specific eyebrows rise.

“The point is if I can’t even confess to you properly when I’ve had hundreds of chances, if I can’t stop focusing on myself for five minutes, if I can’t shake this feeling of worthlessness, I should not come to rely on you.

You cannot be my courage. You cannot be my self-esteem.

You shouldn’t have to be. It’s not fair to either of us. ”

I…

I swallow hard.

Right now, I do not think I care what is fair to either of us. I want to open letters. I want to savor Amelia’s words and feelings every day for however many years she has blessed me with. My itching fingers reach. “M-may I?”

She covers the box with her entire body and looks at me, terrified, as though completely oblivious to the fact that she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Eyes wide, waves cascading around her and over my mail, she says, “No. Please. They’re stupid. And embarrassing.”

I need to know more about my specific eyebrows.

That’s not the kind of thing you can just tell a man and leave him hanging with.

Chest tight, I pin my hands under my arms and clamp them down against my body.

“Amelia. I… I really don’t know how to say this eloquently. ” I find her weepy eyes. “I love you.”

“Do you love me, or the box of mail?”

“You. I have said so before.”

“Are you just trying to get the box of mail?”

While she remains a part of it, yes. If she were to separate herself from it…I think I’d choose her. In a heartbeat. And not just because I understand that it’s smarter to obtain the source of beautiful things over obtaining a handful. Teach a man to fish, and all that.

Having her means love letters for the rest of my life.

Having her means folding tiny origami letter notes to her and perhaps getting a few with miniature seals in return.

Having her means battling over who makes the other breakfast. Having her means never coming home to an empty house again, never going into a vacant mailroom that lacks employees who want to be there.

Having her is everything.

But I can’t force her to understand that.

I can’t force this overwhelming gratitude and adoration into her blood.

I can’t.

And it is breaking my heart.

Voice raw, I say, “How can I help support you?”

“You shouldn’t have to take on the brunt of this, Brian.”

“I’m not asking just because I want you to be happy and healthy, Amelia. I want you . And I will do anything to close the distance between where we are now and wherever we need to be so I can have you.”

Her lips part, broken eyes filling with confusion. “I…I don’t understand.”

“I’m selfish. I’ve told you that. I’m just at peace with all my horrible pieces. I’d like to help you reach that same serenity in any way you think I can. So we can live happily, horribly, ever after.”

“People keep telling me that it’ll take time.”

“It will. But it takes less time with support.” I fill my lungs with air. “So. How are we doing this? What’s the game plan? Shall I write you letters of affirmations every morning, noon, and night?”

“That would get exhausting.”

I laugh. “Oh, precious girl. Mail never gets exhausting.”

Her eyes widen. “I meant the affirming part, not the mail.”

“Oh.” Yes, that makes sense. I’m too used to dealing with unbelievers, I suppose. “I think it sounds like fun.”

“I think it sounds like conditioning…”

I frown. “Like you haven’t already been conditioned to hate yourself.

Your parents have done an awful lot of conditioning , Amelia.

They’re the ones who raised you in an environment that has twisted your kindness and concern for others into some sort of horrible obligation.

They’ve imprinted in your brain a focus on making sure you look good so you don’t make them look bad.

You are already conditioned toward guilt and shame and never being good enough.

So what if I’d like to condition you toward joy and peace and love?

Wouldn’t you prefer to settle your self-worth into the hands of someone who loves you more than they love themselves? ”

A tear traces down my beautiful Amelia’s cheek, and she whispers, “Yes.” She turns her face so I can’t see her cry.

Buried in my box of letters, she no doubt lets her teardrops fall onto the paper.

“I keep having moments where things seem possible, and I swear I’ve figured it all out.

But they slip away, leaving me back here in this place I don’t know how to escape. ”

“Healing is a process of two steps forward and one step back.”

“It feels like one step forward and a dozen back. Because I should just be done already and stop bothering people with this nonsense.”

I touch her shoulder, and she tenses beneath my fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Maybe…I do need therapy. I just don’t know how I would bring myself to do it when nothing I’ve experienced holds a candle to the abuse some people deal with.

And I know that comparison doesn’t help anyone, and if something affected me, it affected me, but…

comparison is what I’ve been raised in. I couldn’t be tired without my mother telling me she was more tired.

I couldn’t work hard without her explaining how she was working harder.

Every single moment of my childhood feels like some sort of exhausting and twisted game.

I don’t know how to stop playing when it has been my life since forever.

I’m so afraid of becoming my parents. I’m so afraid, all the time, of everything.

I don’t want to live like this. I promise I don’t.

But it’s all I’ve ever known, and I don’t know who I’d be without it. ”

“Free,” I say.

Her eyes meet mine, wet lashes fluttering.

I push hair back from her cheek, over her ear, and repeat, “You’d be free.” Wiping the streaks from her face, I ask, “Would you like that?”

“Yes.” Her gaze falls. “But I don’t know if it’s possible to change quickly enough, and I refuse to ask you to keep waiting for me.”

“You don’t need to ask. And I don’t need to wait. You…are staying with me, aren’t you?”

“You still want me to?”

“Always. My life is better with you in it. And even though you aren’t where you want to be right now, that’s still the truth. I can only imagine how much better it’s going to get.”

Pink fills her cheeks, and her lips part. “I want to love you like this.”

My head tilts. “Like this?”

“Selflessly.”

“Oh, Mail-ia. You already do. This would be a non-issue if you didn’t. I don’t know how to get you to understand that.” I jut my lip. “I’ll keep trying, though. Probably come up with a few schemes for it…”

A frail smile touches her mouth, then realization steals it. Lifting her attention, she looks at the neglected tray on her bed. “I’ve let the breakfast you made for me go cold.”

Rising, I offer her my hand. “And that’s why some guy invented the microwave.”

Angelic, Amelia slips her fingers into mine. She rises, and her nightgown splays. Pale green against flushed skin. Mercy, she’s pretty.

“You deserve kindness,” I say.

Her fingers flinch in my hand. “Is the affirmation bombardment starting already?”

“Yep. Consider it the beginning of your cognitive behavioral therapy. We’ll ease you toward seeing a professional who can do it correctly, lest I launch you fully to the other side of the spectrum whereby you consider yourself to be as perfectly flawless as I consider you.

Just imagine how insufferable we could be, though.

Thinking so highly of ourselves and one another.

” I click my tongue. “Could be fun. Maybe we should.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Perhaps I’ll spend my afternoon scribing an essay for you on why it’s a very good idea. You’ll receive it in a few business days.” Before I can continue, my phone begins to ring, so I reluctantly release Amelia’s hand and pull it out of my pocket to look at the caller ID. “Liam?”

Well, that’s surely not a great sign.

I answer, “Hiya, boss. How’s Europe treating you?”

“Why is the office decorated for Christmas, Brian?”

I clear my throat. “Is…it?”

“I am staring at a snowman taller than me in the lobby right this second.”

He’s back already?

Well.

That’s…

Not good.

Turning my back on Amelia, I comb my fingers through my hair. “An adorable snowman, perchance?”

“I expect to see you in my office in thirty minutes.”

I glance back at Amelia, who still hasn’t had her breakfast or the chance to get dressed. “Thirty minutes is cutting it a bit tight, don’t ya think? It takes that long just to make it to the penthouse office in our elevator.”

“You have one hour, or you’re fired.”

My heart plummets, but before I can open my mouth, he’s hung up.

“Is…everything okay?” Amelia asks, nerves tight in her voice.

I blow out a breath and look at my phone, at a picture of my boss hugging a stuffed animal I technically got for his wife during our Countdown to Valentine’s Day event, which he loved. A lot.

Ah.

I see.

He’s upset that I threw an adorable celebration without him. Understandable.

“I’m sure everything’s fine.” I pop my phone back in my pocket. “I’ll warm up your food while you get dressed.”

“You don’t have t—”

“I want to.” Lifting her tray, I use my free hand to flick a finger between us. “What we have isn’t a transaction. What we have is better, okay? I will do what I want for you, and inevitably you will adore me, won’t you?”

A swallow moves her throat as she wets her lips. “Y-yes.”

“Perfect. Love you.”

Her sharp intake of breath makes me smile.

So I add, “Dearly.”

Her hands wring before her nightgown as I turn toward the door, and I don’t at all expect it when, “I love you, too,” hits my back.

Halfway out of her room, I face her again.

Beautiful, shy, scared, she stares at the floor, vibrantly red, vibrantly Christmas . “So, so much.”

At the sight, peace fills me.

Because whatever’s about to happen hardly matters…so long as I can stay near her .