Page 40 of Seashells and Other Souvenirs

“Why are you standing so far back? Afraid the door’s gonna latch on us?”

I watch Jude move the last few boxes from the dusty corner of the laundry room and drag out the large, upright one.

“I’m afraid another palmetto bug is going to run out.”

He jostles the box back and forth as he scoots it across the cement floor. “It’s entirely possible. I haven’t pulled this out in years. I hope it’s still in decent shape.”

“If not, we’ll just spruce it up Charlie Brown style.” My phone buzzes on top of the washer, and I jump, still skittish from my encounter with the giant insect.

“That has to be the most active group text in existence. What are your cousins up to today?”

“Nothing as fun as putting up a Christmas tree.” I pick up my phone. “But this is my daddy.” I squint at the screen. “Checking in to see how my week went and if I had fun on our date the other night, which I did not tell him about yet. Sutton must have been over there.”

He dusts his palms off on his pants and leans against the dryer beside me. “That was me, actually.”

“Huh?”

“I told your dad.”

“When?”

“On your birthday, before you and your cousins got back from dinner. I told him I’d asked you out and that I wanted him to know what my intentions were with his daughter and all.”

“Are you for real?”

His hand shoots up to his glasses, and he tenses. “Is that okay? It felt like the right thing to do; it was important to me for him to know how I felt about you. How I feel about you.”

“Which is?” I prompt.

“That I care about you very deeply and that I respect you a great deal. And that I will always treat you in accordance with those two truths.”

That would explain the way my parents acted when they left last weekend. “Sometimes I think you’re too good to be true, Jude.”

He blushes. “Me? I’m still not convinced this whole summer hasn’t been a dream.”

“Well.” I grab one side of the tree box. “Let’s go celebrate Christmas before we wake up.” I meant it as a joke, but the words taste sour in my mouth. Jude’s face crumbles. “Jude, I—”

“I know,” he says. “Let’s just enjoy today. I don’t want to waste a single second, okay? In fact, I’ve already lined someone up to cover my housekeeping shift next Saturday. This morning was torture.”

He lifts the opposite end of the box and backs out of the tiny room, his eyes trained on mine, trusting me with where we’re going.

But I bear the weight of something he doesn’t know yet. Next Saturday, I won’t be here.

Jude hefts Donovan’s limp, sleeping form onto his shoulder as Kelsey turns off the third stop-motion Christmas classic of the night.

Donovan’s fingers are still wrapped around his new race car, and his cheeks are sticky with candy cane residue.

Kelsey brushes her son’s bangs aside and kisses his head before Uncle Jude, who has made this a day he’ll never forget, carries him off to tuck him in.

As Kelsey watches them disappear down the hall, she says, “I’m mad at myself for keeping those two apart for so long.”

“I love seeing them together,” I tell her. “And I’m glad you’re both here now.”

She sets her empty hot chocolate mug on the coffee table. “I’m going back to look at that apartment Monday, and I think I’m going to go ahead and sign a lease. It’s right by a fantastic elementary school and still close enough that we’ll only be ten minutes from here.”

“When do you start at Mr. Bruce’s office?”

“They want me to start this week if possible. Mrs. Becky said she could keep Donovan.”

I find a stray piece of wrapping paper and toss it in the bag with the others. “He could hang out with us.”

She pulls her feet up under herself. “No. This is y’all’s time. Have you talked to him yet about—”

His footsteps and a quick shake of my head silence the rest of her question. He looks from me to his sister and back. “Everything okay?”

“Yep,” she says. “Today was so much fun. Thank you for making it magical for Donovan.”

“I adore that kid.”

“The feeling is very mutual.” She stands. “I’m going to turn in. Y’all don’t stay up too late.”

“Night, Kelsey.”

Jude settles beside me next to the tree, colorful lights dancing in his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Alex.”

He reaches beneath the branches and hands me a small rectangular present, but I pull out the green gift bag and place it in front of him. “You first.”

He moves the tissue paper aside, extracts the Lego surfboard set, and turns it over in his hands. “I love it. You’ll help me build it?”

“Mmhm. Think it’ll rain this week?”

“Not sure, but I don’t think Donovan would mind if we built a fort anyway. Okay.” He sets his gift aside. “Your turn.”

I know it’s a book as soon as I pick it up, but when I tear off the paper, I don’t recognize the title.

“It’s kind of obscure,” he explains. “But it was one of my favorites in high school, and I really think you’ll like it. I left you notes in every chapter.” I instantly flip open to a random page, but he folds the book shut. “You have to wait and read them as you get to them.”

More than the gift itself, it makes me happy to think about Jude sitting down to write notes just for me, about him thinking of me when we weren’t in the same room and making sure I had a reason to do the same. I hug the book close. “I can’t wait.”

“But first you have to finish The Fellowship of the Ring .”

I grimace. “Do I have to?”

“What if I read it to you? I think you’re just imagining the voices all wrong.” I like this idea very much, and I think he can tell. “We’ll make a whole day of it. We’ll wear no shoes, and after Second Breakfast, we’ll cozy up at home and read all day. Next Saturday. Yeah?”

I swallow. I need to be honest with him, but I don’t want to have this conversation right now. I focus on the gift in my lap, tracing the gold letters of the title with my index finger.

“What is it, Al? What’s going on?” I should have known I couldn’t keep something from him for long; he’s always been able to read me.

“Elle.” I inhale. “She’s flying back to Spain next weekend.”

Jude tenderly removes the book from my grasp and sets it aside. He gets to his feet and reaches a hand down, pulling me up into his embrace. “I’m sorry. I know it’ll be hard for you having her so far away again.”

I push back against his chest, feeling sicker by the second.

I can’t look at him. “Sutton invited us all to her house Thursday night for one more slumber party. And since there’s only two weeks after that before teacher workdays start, it just makes sense for—” I make the mistake of glancing up.

The sight of his face absorbing this information is even worse than I’d imagined.

“You’re leaving on Thursday?” He blinks.

I nod and try to say something else. But all that comes are tears that make me feel even more horrible because now he’s holding me again, whispering comforting words when I know mine have just left him reeling.

I hate that I always cry, that my emotions are so quick to spring to the surface, burying his even deeper.

“I’m sorry,” I finally compose myself enough to say.

He catches my last tear with his thumb. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. It’s still Christmas for a few more minutes.” It’s the kindest, costliest gift he could have given me.

I shake off my dread and try to pull myself back to this moment. “Today was wonderful, Jude. Donovan’s face in those pictures . . . I can’t wait to print them in the photo book.”

“So you think I’ll be okay at creating traditions for a living then?”

“Absolutely.” I look around the room. “The only thing I was disappointed about all day was that you forgot to hang mistletoe.”

His eyes, still slightly guarded, soften. “We could pretend.”

I should be careful, more considerate of his heart, but right now all I want to do is pretend.

Pretend that we don’t both know what’s coming.

Pretend that we’re not continuing to set ourselves up for heartache.

Pretend that Thursday is more than five days away.

That time doesn’t exist, and that right now is all there is.

“I’d like that.”

Jude frames my face with his hands and leans in. Where our first kiss had been tentative, this one is anything but. It’s less of a question he’s asking without words and more of a statement, a declaration, a case he’s arguing for us. He kisses me until all other thoughts are chased from my mind.

Afterward, I stand there, breathless and bewildered.

“We should get some rest.” Jude steps away and unplugs the Christmas lights.

I reach for the book on the coffee table. “Goodnight, Jude.” I climb the stairs, sure of little other than the fact that I can’t come back down to the kitchen tonight to write. I can’t trust my heart to hold back the kinds of things I should probably stop saying to him now.

I pull the covers over my head, cradle my new book close, and cry myself to sleep.

Mementos are lovely things to collect.

But I want more than shells of things that once lived.

I want:

The warmth of a touch, a certain smile, blood rushing into cheeks

The feeling invoked by three words, eight letters lined up in

a row

Treasure buried under an island in my quiet kitchen

Standing next to you on the shore of a sea of possibility—

The same ocean I once tried to capture,

Back before I realized that the most beautiful things cannot be

contained in a box

or the palms of my hands,

no matter how badly I never want to let them go,

no matter how much it hurts to watch them elude my grasp and

slip away.

Even still, give me the moments that cannot be held,

And let them, like the ocean, hold me instead.