Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Do you want a peppermint latte or are you still pretending you don’t love Christmas?
I do not pretend. I simply enjoy denying joy on principle.
I know you do, which is so weird given you are literally named after joy. So, peppermint latte it is then.
You didn’t even wait for my answer.
I know you.
Also, it’s cold and you’re sad in that quiet way you do.
Rude. Accurate. But rude.
Five minutes. Don’t go anywhere.
Your latte has extra whipped cream because I love you.
I don’t deserve you.
Correct. See you soon
My apartment door sticks when I unlock it. Inside, everything looks the same at first, and then it doesn’t. The life I built here, the one I carefully designed, feels suddenly distant from who I am in this moment, after everything I carried back with me from Pineview this Christmas. It’s beautiful in an intentional, aesthetic way, but what it lacks is grit. Heart.
I study the photographs lining the wall, each one thoughtfully chosen and carefully curated, and realize how little emotion they hold. I imagine what it would look like to have my mother there instead, or any of the moments I found tucked away in that box of photographs, lives and histories caught mid-beat.
I drop my bag by the door and shrug out of my coat. The quiet settles in around me, louder than Pineview ever was.
Lena knocks twice and then lets herself in like she lives here, balancing two peppermint lattes in one hand and her tote bag slung over her shoulder. I don’t know how she keeps getting past building security, but at this point I assume she’s been unofficially adopted by them. Her charm has always been disarming, especially when paired with the certainty that this is her apartment too, just slightly less often.
“Delivery,” she announces. “And surprise, I got your favorite.” She pulls a paper bag from her tote and dangles it in front of my face like she’s presenting a rare artifact.
Dobbs Bakery. Home of the best croissants I’ve ever had in my life, the kind where you can actually taste the care baked into every flaky layer.
I take the cup she offers and wrap my hands around it, holding on like it’s something I can tether myself to. I look up at her over the rim and shake my head. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m a hero,” she corrects, toeing the door shut behind her. Her eyes flick over me, my coat tossed over the chair, my hair still half-wrong, the way I’m standing like I haven’t fully landed yet. She settles onto the edge of the counter like she’s bracing herself, laptop already halfway out of her bag.
“Okay, so…” she begins, dripping with impatience. “You’re home. You’re upright. That means you’re about to emotionally destroy me. Start talking.”
I take a sip, the bite of it keeping me here in the present.
“I went to Pineview to sign paperwork,” I begin. “That was it. Release the house. Final signatures. In and out.”
Lena snorts. “Sure. Pineview is famous for its efficiency.”
“I know.” I shake my head. “Aunt Carol had already packed everything. Every room stripped down and boxed, all of it stacked neatly along the walls like the house was trying not to fall apart. She’d set a few boxes off to the side for me. The things she said were only for me to see and to know.”
Lena’s expression softens. “That’s Aunt Carol. She sounds wonderful. I want to meet her someday.”
“She came over that night with soup and sat with me as I sobbed on the floor of my childhood bedroom for one last night. I was so overwhelmed that I just started opening boxes,” I continue. “Just trying to get through it. And one of them wasn’t labeled at all.”
She leans in hanging on my every word.
“It was photos,” I say. “Stacks of them. Bundled by year.”
I swallow. “The Christmas Kindness Drive. The one I grew up thinking was just… what December looked like.”
Lena nods slowly. “Your normal.”
“Yeah.” I breathe out. “But what I found out was that my mom started it. With Erik’s family.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Wait. Erik Erik?”
“His mom was struggling one winter,” I recount the story, pausing for emotion when it boils up. “Money, food, everything. His mom just packed up the boys with the clothes on their back, heading for safety. I don’t know how but my mom found out and just… did what she did. Showed up with boxes. No announcement. No credit. Just help.”
Lena’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Of course she did.”
“And it changed his life,” I add. “That’s what he told me. That someone seeing them, really seeing them, shifted everything for him.”
I stare down at my cup. Lena wipes a single tear from her eye.
“He helped, Lena. Every year. Especially after I left.”
Lena exhales slowly. “Sav…”
“When Mom got sick, he stepped in,” I say. “Fully. Organized it. Ran it. Made sure it didn’t disappear just because she couldn’t be there the way she used to.”