Page 7 of Love Letters to Christmas

I know what to fill a sheath with. These feelings! Nyeh!

Amelia

I’ve never been to a renaissance faire before. Probably because I’ve never been to much of anything before. My parents didn’t really like me hanging out with anyone, because for some reason no matter what friends I tried to make, everyone was a bad influence.

Looking back on it all, I wonder if they believed half of what they told me, or if almost everything was just lies meant to control what I did while protecting themselves from outsiders who might learn that something in our relationship wasn’t entirely right .

After all, it didn’t take long for Ceres to casually mention things that made me question how normal it was for them to treat me the way they did. Even though she was always somewhat impartial, it’s because of her I started compiling a list, reviewing it, and wondering.

It’s because of her I began searching for answers and recognizing less-than-healthy behaviors, and it’s because of her help and support that I got out.

Without her, I wouldn’t have moved in with Brian.

Without her, I wouldn’t be here, looking ahead at a massive renaissance fair, and thinking…how nice it is to be free .

These kinds of feelings come and go, surrounded constantly by an overpowering guilt mixed with dread, but for right now, I’m grateful.

I’m glad. I don’t care if I never speak to my parents again.

I’m not sure I ever want to be anywhere near them again.

I’m scared of being in a place they can even reach me.

Now that there’s some distance, it’s all so much clearer.

They hurt me. A lot. Constantly. And it wasn’t my fault .

Because Brian doesn’t hurt me. And Ceres doesn’t.

And no one at work treats me like they did.

Even if they are an era past, the future is so, so bright.

So… so bright.

Sun shimmering all around him, Brian turns toward me, tips his newsboy hat, and grips his leather mail bag as he rubs at some grease makeup on his nose. “What do you want to do first, A-mail-ia?”

Breathe.

I want to breathe.

While I manage my breaths, I scan the stalls scattered up and down the dusty streets. Booths manned by fairies. Furnaces roaring beside blacksmiths. Turkey legs half the size of my body roasting on spits.

People in mushroom hats pass elves in long cloaks. Knights on horses trot down the throughway.

There is so much going on.

I have no idea where to start.

“What do you want to do first?” I ask.

Brian’s smile shines brighter than the sun, and he reaches into his bag to pull out a small faded yellow envelope, barely a few inches wide and tall. Green wax seals the parchment, and I perk.

Green?

Casual correspondence?

Tiny letter?

I want it. I want a handful of them. I want a whole stack of them to play with.

I—

Brian approaches a woman in a wide-brimmed mushroom hat and flourishes a bow. “Afternoon, madam. A matter of utmost importance requires your attention.”

I want to kill her.

I want to wrestle a sword from a dwarf blacksmith’s hands and fight this woman to the death.

It destroys me to watch her gasp and take the letter, frantically breaking the seal to retrieve the card within. Bits of precious, beautiful wax fall to the dusty ground, and I take personal offense. When she giggles, I decide I hate her.

It’s not impossible that I blackout picturing ways to murder the mushroom lady until Brian is beside me, reviving my brain by offering me a letter. “Do you want to deliver one?” he asks.

My fingers flinch around the worn paper, and I think my eyes are pleading when they meet Brian’s. No , they say, desperate and pitiful. I do not want to deliver one. I want to keep one.

He laughs, so open and bright. “You can have yours later. Promise.”

“Mine?”

He pats a pocket on his thigh, where a letter I assumed was decorative pokes out. “Yours. For later.” He lifts his mail bag. “These are more…generic. They’ll make strangers happy. This one…” He grazes the letter in his pocket with his fingertips. “…this one is for you.”

My heart squeezes, and I think I’ll die if I don’t get that letter soon, turn it over, and see what color the wax seal is. Imagine…if it’s blue …

No.

No, there I go again. Wanting more .

I can’t be grateful for even five minutes?

I will be patient. I will be content. I will calm down .

I will calm down and pass out little letters to strangers, watch joy light in their eyes, and…let everything about this wrap around my soul.

Nothing can ruin this.

Nothing .

Not even the cruel, condemning words in my brain.

Brian and I spend the afternoon passing out letters, taking in the sights, petting dragons, contemplating purchasing fairy wings, and determining that Liam would absolutely, completely, entirely not allow us to come into work with swords.

That is to say, Brian called him to ask. And he barely got hey, boss, is it against regulation out of his mouth before Liam said, affirmatively, yes .

Seated under a tree in a copse strung with chimes that catch the dying rays of the rainbow sun and throw it everywhere, Brian sighs. Nibbling his turkey leg, he leans back against the bark, stares through the branches at the sky, and watches a plane go by. Soft, he murmurs, “Metal dragon.”

Sipping lemonade out of the belly of a pineapple, I force myself to relax against the tree, too. No matter how hard I try, though, I can’t drag my attention off Brian as his gaze follows the plane.

“I think HR’s gonna hate me,” he says.

How could anyone hate Brian ? “Why?”

“Loopholes.” His gaze flicks to me. “I can’t bring a sword to work, but I can bring a sheath and a hilt.

And, lucky me, people are making swords here.

I can buy a hilt and a sheath, sans sword.

” He knocks his shoes together. “But…what should I put in the sheath, I wonder…” His eyes close. “Maybe a water gun.”

I giggle.

His lips tip into an even brighter smile. “How’s the lemonade?”

“Amazing. Thank you for getting it.”

Brian waves a hand. “Of course. This whole thing was my idea, and you’re in the middle of saving money for your future. It’s only right that I treat.”

My stomach dips as I swallow, brutally reminded that living with Brian was never a forever situation even if my job might be.

Technically, I’m pretty sure I could afford my own place to stay right now.

Whirlwind pays well, and that bonus I got would cover three months of rent.

I could get an apartment easily. Right now .

I just hate the very idea of leaving my blue room in Brian’s home.

It’s the first place I’ve ever felt like…like I’m actually home .

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his turkey leg.

Fighting emotion, I say, “No, thank you.”

His eyes fix on me, polished emeralds and field grass beneath dipped brows. “What’s wrong?”

I focus on my drink, trace the bumps of the pineapple cup. “N-nothing.”

“A-mail-ia.”

I wince. “It’s just…I forgot.”

“Forgot?”

I stare at the bottom of my pineapple cup. “I…forgot that I need to be looking for apartments or some place to rent.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Sorry. I know it’s stupid of me to forget the whole entire point, but you’re so welcoming, and I’ve really enjoyed being around you, and—”

“You don’t have to look for somewhere else to stay.”

“What?” I find Brian’s face, bathed in sunlight and scattered rainbows.

He lifts the hand not holding a giant leg of turkey and swipes a knuckle beneath my eye, catching a stray teardrop. The awkward, distressed expression I saw him make during countless love letter rejections crosses his brows. A thread of pain ripples in his eyes. “Sorry.”

My heart rate accelerates as panic takes hold.

He pushes back the lock of hair not trapped in the extravagant braided bun I put together to go with this outfit, tucking it behind my ear. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like you had to leave.”

I know. I know he wouldn’t. Brian isn’t the kind of guy who would kick me out before I’m ready. But, still. “I’m positive I have enough money to move into my own place. I shouldn’t continue imposing on your kindness.”

“ My kindness?” He blinks. “You cook. And clean. And bake. I didn’t know so many muffins existed before you started making them for us to take as breakfasts.

My kitchen floor was a different color until you bleached it.

I thought it was supposed to be faded yellow until you made it white like a fresh envelope.

What do you even mean my kindness? You’re working full time and doing an entire salary’s worth of housekeeping as though you owe me something.

You don’t, Amelia. You just don’t. I should be paying you for your services. ”

My mouth opens, but I can’t find words for the longest moment. When I finally do, they’re not exactly eloquent. “I…but… I’m not doing much of anything. It’s the least I can do to thank you. I…I used to do the same for my parents.”

Brian—my ever happy-go-lucky Brian—frowns. “I’m not fond of your parents, Amelia.”

My heart drops like a rock into my stomach.

“They didn’t treat you right.” He sets his turkey leg into the paper bowl that the fries we shared earlier came in. Wiping his hands on a spare napkin, he mutters, “It’s written all over you.”

“It?” I whisper.

“Abuse.”

My throat closes. “They…weren’t… They didn’t…”

“They were, and they did. You apologize for nothing every day, multiple times a day, several times in the same breath. You keep busy, constantly, as though you’re afraid I’ll be upset if you don’t make yourself useful.

You flinch when Ruby gets too aggressive with Will, which is often. Loud noises make you jump.”

“Isn’t…that normal?”

“No.” He drops his napkin beside his leftover meat and shakes his head. “Not like this, Amelia. Not like this.”

“I’m…” Sorry .

“It’s nothing you need to apologize for.”

I have never seen Brian so serious before in my life. There’s always, always been this air of wonder and childlike joy around him. He has never been upset about anything to a degree that it’s felt quite like… this .

Taking in air, he settles, rustling his hair in the rainbow rays.

“All this is to say, you aren’t an imposition, Amelia.

You’re not. I don’t think you know how to be.

I…would love it if you learned.” He finds me and smiles; it is starkly beautiful.

“I would love it if you imposed on me. Everyone deserves to feel safe enough to be taken care of.”

Hair prickles along my arms as a shudder works through me.

“And another thing,” he says, lifting the letter from the holster pocket strapped to his thigh. Tapping it to my head, he tilts his chin down and meets my eyes. “You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you want. Even forever if it suits you.”

“Forever?” I whisper as my shaking fingers reach for my letter.

“Sure.” He lets go once I grasp the spotted paper. “I like having you around. And not just because you spoil me something nonsense.” He returns his gaze to the pink and orange sky. “It’s just…you know. Because you’re you. I like you.”

Heart beating in my throat, I watch him until my trembling fingers have lowered my letter to my lap. It takes all my strength to drag my gaze down to the envelope, the seal.

There…against ripples of my manilla and leather skirt…rests blue .