Page 6 of Love Letters to Christmas

Cute…like a gnome.

Amelia

I’m cute. Brian thinks I’m cute. He said I was cute. I’m cute. Cute. Me.

I’ve not breathed correctly for the past few hours. Working side-by-side with him in the kitchen, listening to him laugh at his own jokes, hearing him hum the song I was singing back when my brain possessed the capacity to recall tunes… It has been such a blessing to exist today.

And now, here we are, on our adventure shopping for holiday decorations as though the day could get even better.

Brian, adorably, stares at an American eagle wreath made of fake feathers featuring the stars and stripes, and whistles. “Incredible.” He places it in our cart— our ! cart ! Because we are shopping ! together !—and continues perusing the patriotic aisle of Hobby Lobby.

My eye catches on a bag of hard candies wrapped in flag-printed plastic, and I pick it up. “Brian.”

He stops, tilting his whole body back when he looks at me.

Smiling, I present what I’ve found as though my heart isn’t racing. “For the candy dish you keep at the front door?”

His green eyes sparkle as a smile overwhelms him. “You don’t say my name a lot.”

Forget breathing correctly . There goes my ability to breathe period .

He dips his chin toward the cart, indicating that I should add the bag of candy, then he returns his attention to the displays, noting mildly, “You should say my name more.”

Okay, well. I have died dead. I’m gone. My spirit is floating somewhere else. I think, maybe, during our years apart, I forgot exactly how… Brian Brian is. He’s such a casual dream, and I’m not prepared for the attacks on my waking mind.

I know it means literally nothing. I know, logically, he is not flirting with me, at all.

I know, deeply, that there is no room left in his heart for anything other than mail.

When I started work with him in the mailroom just last week, I read thousands of words about his love of mail in the training manual he wrote, and I have since re-read parts as though it’s my favorite book, because it very well might be.

Moments of kindness and compliments mean nothing.

And I can’t treat them like something.

Because I know better.

I have watched countless girls think Brian’s Brianness means something only to see their confessions go up in flames as Brian apologized.

I don’t think I’d be able to survive it if I were the one confessing and had to watch Brian’s usual smile drift off his face before his eyes widened and he just…

awkwardly explained how he never meant to imply he was interested.

Natural-born lady decimator, that’s Brian Single.

Innocent to an impeccable degree…that’s Brian Single.

His mischief has never before been the type that fools with people’s feelings. Because mail is feelings , and he’d not disrespect the post like that.

“Ha,” he says, already well past telling me I should say his name more as he picks up a large patriotic gnome in a very tall American flag top hat.

“Look.” He shows me. “So cute.” He waves the spindly arms on the bearded fella, oblivious that my self-esteem has dropped below sea level.

“He can hug our mailbox. I think this fabric is water-resistant.” Preciously, Brian sits the gnome in the child seat, strapping it in with the seatbelt.

“I need a matching top hat.” He pulls his phone out. “You need one, too, A-mail-ia.”

I’m not sure top hats are my style…or that I want to look like a tiny man with a beard as long as his body.

I’m cute… Brian thinks I’m cute… Just like a gnome… Is this…colon, apostrophe, end parenthesis? Because. Yeah. That’s where I am emotionally at the moment.

Amid searching for tophats, Brian freezes, looks at me, looks back at his phone. His eyes flick between me and the device for a long moment. “Huh.”

I am afraid to prompt further words, but I dare to echo, “Huh?”

“I fell in a rabbit hole.” He shows me his phone screen, which is depicting a several hundred dollar steampunk dress with a cog-decorated top hat, asymmetrical and layered waterfall skirt, and a leather corset. “There’s a ren faire coming up in May.”

I blink.

“We should go together.”

My heart launches itself into my uvula. Together? As in together , together? Like right now? When we are shopping together ? My lashes flutter.

“And you should wear this.” He pulls his phone back and taps a few things.

“I’m ordering it so you can try it on. If you don’t like it, we’ll send it back.

I’ll get something that matches, so we can twin.

” Joy overwhelms him, shining in his every cell.

“There’s a size chart in inches.” He presents his phone to me again. “What looks right?”

Right about now? A hole. A hole for me to hide in looks right. Meekly, I say, “This is…over three hundred dollars.”

“I’m getting it for you. Don’t worry.”

That does not assuage my worries, but I still give in and say, “S-small. According to that chart, I’m a small.”

Brian’s green eyes glitter as his brows lift. He scans me, smiling, then nods and proceeds to check out. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“It sounds like things are going great,” Ceres says, as though I’m not having a minor breakdown, on the floor, in the crevice between my bed and the wall, on video call.

“Going to a ren faire this weekend is an adorable date plan. Get me pictures if any hot guys are dressed like dark fairies please.”

Beyond Ceres, on her couch, Mars states, “Do not do that.”

“I need it for research, for my clients,” Ceres offers, as though that will change Mars’s opinion.

His scrunched nose and frown informs me it does not .

My entire being droops, and I miss the days when Ceres and Mars weren’t together all the time. Their love borders toxic in a way that is both concerning and beautiful. It’s hard to explain, but I am glad she seems happier when he’s around. I just wish he wasn’t a part of quite so many girl talks.

Flopped, I pout at my phone. “If I see any dark fairies, I will send pictures to Mars, so he can dress up in your preferred archetype.”

Mars’s frown turns into a smile as he flicks a playing card into something outside the video angle.

Ceres rolls her eyes. “He’s not tall enough to be a dark fairy.”

“I’ll wear heels.”

Pulling her attention off her computer, Ceres faces him, threads of ecstasy glistening on her face. “Femgoth boy?”

“Femgoth fairy boy,” he confirms.

When Ceres faces forward again, she’s smiling and fiddling with her padlock necklace.

I swear. They’re so cute in a “made for each other” way.

Makes me want to join a nunnery, because I’ll never have whatever it is they do.

I say, “It’s May , Ceres. May. I’ve been here for a day short of a month, and everything is so…

so nice. I’ve yet to screw it all up. No one is mad at me, ever, which gives me anxiety.

My savings is steadily growing, which also gives me anxiety.

Everything is amazing and I’m so happy , which just results in anxiety .

” I cover my face with my hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I should be grateful. Instead, I’m anxious and afraid.

I want to be excited about this not-date, but I can’t stop thinking that I’m going to ruin everything I have by wanting more .

I…” I hate saying this with Mars sitting right there , but it’s impossible to pry these two apart these days.

“I love Brian. I love him. I can’t…” My chest hurts.

“I can’t even express how deeply I love this man.

” Tears bead in my eyes. “It’s not just an infatuation and obsession over the memory of an angel anymore.

Brian is so… kind . He’s the sun.” My voice breaks.

“He’s…the sun. I’ve been freezing without him. I didn’t realize how much.”

Ceres glances my way and arches a brow. “I don’t know how to help you with a sunshine male lead.

You’re desperately out of my genre with your sunshine/sunshine on top of a she-falls-first trope.

What are you supposed to do? Confess? First?

Risking rejection instead of trying to escape from his fervent and constant displays of bone-breaking affection—and also, possibly, his basement? ” Her eyes narrow. “Can’t relate.”

Yeah, I know you can’t, you darling lunatic. “He bought us matching outfits,” I say.

Mars cuts his eyes toward me, allowing a dry smile to possess him. “Wow. How very not in love of him.”

“Brian and Jupiter might need a support group,” Ceres offers.

Mars begins, “I agr—”

“To support me. Since I could not have either of them. My woes abound.”

Mars’s eye twitches while Ceres smiles, proud of herself.

If I could shoot myself, I think it would be less painful than whatever third wheeling I am being subjected to…

It’s nice to see Ceres so happy after years of seeing her working alone in her house and trying, desperately, to understand what it is I see in Brian, who happens to be the stark opposite of her type. I’m glad for her. I am. I just wish I weren’t also jealous.

How does someone who doesn’t leave her house more than once a month wind up in a storybook romance?

It’s not exactly fair. And I hate myself for thinking like this.

I hate myself for not just being grateful and counting these many, many blessings.

I hate, hate, hate myself for the way I’m behaving and the way my brain isn’t satisfied with something so. unbelievably. perfect.

Why can’t I just be…happy? With what I have? With the peace? With…this environment that is so soft, and gentle, and kind?

Why am I waiting for everything to break? Why am I searching for something wrong to grumble about?

It…really leaves me wondering if things with my parents were actually as bad as I made them out to be…or if I just can’t stop myself from complaining loud enough that other people go up in arms for me.

Maybe their negativity was never actually the issue.

Maybe mine was.

Softly, I say, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Have you tried explaining that you’re willing to bear his mail-loving babies?” Ceres asks.

My face implodes. “No. I can’t say that I have.”

“Hm.” She types something on her computer, keys clacking. “Maybe start there.”

I think that starting there would kill me.

But it wouldn’t even be a merciful death.

“I’m serious, Ceres. I don’t…I don’t know what to do.

I don’t want to live like this, always wanting more.

I want to be happy with what I have. I want to feel…

safe. Secure. I—” My voice cracks. “I don’t know what I want.

Everything. Nothing. I just…don’t know.”

Deathly serious, Ceres focuses her attention on me and softens her tone in a way that suggests she’s pouring effort into the interaction.

“Sweetheart, you’ve left an abusive household.

Feeling safe and secure is going to take time.

You’re not used to it. You’re used to people who use good emotions to manipulate you.

You’re used to cleaning up messes that aren’t yours.

You’re used to an entirely different way of life.

And that doesn’t mean you aren’t grateful right now.

It just means you don’t yet believe it’s actually happening.

You’re in a state of too-good-to-be-true.

Because, let’s face it, literally none of your behavior has changed.

You’re still calling me to talk about how much you adore Brian.

Now, you’re just facing the guilt of adoring him in close proximity while the rest of your life isn’t garbage. ”

I…guess that’s not entirely untrue. But. “Adoring Brian from afar never felt attainable. I was little more than a fan fainting over a movie star. Things are…so different now. So much more complicated.”

“So much more real. So much more in reach.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m deluding myself into thinking that something between us could be possible.”

“Yet you’re scared you don’t deserve it, so you’re cutting yourself off by choosing guilt for wanting more instead of hope that you could have everything.”

May…be? I wrap myself in a hug and refuse to look at the screen. “Loving him is…so easy it’s hard. And terrifying.” Breath shakes through my lungs. “I know you don’t get it, Ceres, but he is just…such a beautiful person.”

“I get it,” she says. “Being captivated by how beautiful a person can be…that I get.” Her gaze is fixed on Mars when I find the strength to look at her.

Watching him, she continues, “It’s hard to feel like enough when someone else’s beauty seems to shed light on your flaws.

” Her attention returns to me. “I think the most astounding part, though, is when that person looks at you and sees who you are. Every flaw included. And says you’re the most beautiful person they’ve ever met, too. ”

A tear falls down my cheek as another catches on my lashes. I cannot even begin to picture that happening with Brian. After all, one of my biggest flaws where he’s concerned is the fact that I am flesh and blood, not mail.

To him, nothing could possibly be as beautiful as mail.

My heart skips a beat as the sound of the front door opening informs me that Brian is back from his work outing with all the department heads. Chest tight, I snatch my phone and sit up to whisper, “I’m sorry. He’s back. I gotta go.”

“Okay. See you.”

“I miss you,” I say, quickly, swallowing hard.

Ceres looks at me for a long moment, probably thinking about how we would only see each other once a month whenever she’d pick up her grocery order at Walmart and I’d bring it out to her car.

Nothing else about our relationship has changed with distance.

Nothing else at all. We never went out .

We never did anything together . And, yet, not being in the same town as her feels like a canyon has opened up between us.

At least.

To me.

Sincerely, there’s no reason for Ceres to nod and say, “Yeah. I miss you, too, Mellie. We’ll see each other soon, though, okay?”

“Soon,” I echo, and force a smile, because in a month and a half when she gets married isn’t exactly what I’d consider soon , but if it saves my sanity, I’ll pretend it is.