A Snowflake Wish

by Renee Harless

  “Just promise me that you’ll try. I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet,” Deckard pleaded, and regardless of her reservations, she nodded with a watery smile. In his joy he sealed her mouth with his, reminding her how explosive they were together with the simplest of touches.

  Their tongues dueled, sliding past each other as they explored. January felt Deckard’s hands land on her waist, then suddenly she was lifted in the air and settled on his lap, but he never broke their connection.

  “January,” he whispered, pulling away from the kiss and resting his forehead against hers. She watched his chest rise and fall as he took heavy breaths, the buttons on his shirt almost busting loose with each intake. But then Deckard spoke and all of her attention fell back on him. “I wish that I could give you everything that you love. When I came here, I wasn’t prepared to find you, and leaving tomorrow is going to be one of the hardest things I’ll ever do.

  My grandma used to tell us to make a wish on the first star we found in the sky. And you don’t know how many days since meeting you that I wished that I could give you everything that you love. Almost every day for the last ten days.”

  “You really did that for me?”

  “Every day. You’re worth every wish I could possibly have granted.”

  He softly kissed her again as he stood, gently placing her back on her feet. This was their last night together and the weight of that knowledge was crushing on January’s breaking heart. She knew he had to leave early in the morning, far earlier than she normally woke, but he wanted to spend the night with her instead of his own family.

  “Go get ready for bed. I’ll be there in a minute,” he suggested.

  She washed her face ignoring the shade of red lining her eyes caused by holding back the tears that threatened to spill over. Her dress came off her body in a swoosh and January laid it on the chair in the corner. She considered wearing something sexy and seductive for Deckard’s last night, but she remembered that he loved when she wore oversized T-shirts. She collected a few of his, at her request, and donned her favorite one for the night. A blue, worn-in shirt with a baseball team logo emblazoned on the front.

  He sauntered in just as she was working her way under the covers and stripped himself free of his clothes, only leaving his boxers on as he joined her in bed.

  “What took you so long,” she joked.

  Pulling her against him, Deckard explained, “I turned off the fireplace and found the perfect spot for that ornament that had fallen.”

  “Dead center of the tree?”

  “Of course. There was no better place.”

  He skimmed his hand down her back, slowly moving it under the hem of her shirt as the silence lengthened between them. January didn’t want to break the moment, too afraid that if she spoke she would erupt in tears. But Deckard seemed to be just as pensive.

  The moonlight slipped through the curtains of her bedroom, leaving a glowing strip of light across the bed. It was enough to help their eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. January thought how similar her relationship with Deckard was to the light – just a tiny sliver of hope remaining.

  “What can I do to make this better, sweetheart?”

  January thought of a million answers: stay, turn back time, elope. Tons of crazy ideas that wouldn’t work.

  Instead, she said, “Make love to me, Deckard.”

  He eased between her legs effortlessly and made love to her until both of their bodies were well sated and used. January watched as her small clock changed to midnight. She was afraid that she wouldn’t fall asleep, too scared to lose one more second with Deckard. But as his breathing evened out, her own body began to settle against him, and her eyes closed.

  Before she was fully encompassed in the darkness, January whispered, “I love you, Deckard.”

  And just as January succumbed to sleep, Deckard whispered in return, “I love you too.”

  The few days of no slumber fell on January like the weight of an elephant. She vaguely remembered saying goodbye to someone and wishing them safe travels during the night, but she was too out of it to recall much. The only other time she had felt this lethargic was when she was in seventh grade and came down with the stomach flu. January remembered not being able to move because everything hurt, and that included moving her eyelids to blink.

  Her eyes felt like lead weights as music filled her bedroom. Usually, Deckard turned off the annoying sound, but as it continued to play, she reached across the bed to shove him awake. The bed was cold where he slept. She pried open one of her eyes and noticed that his side of the bed hadn’t looked slept in much at all.

  Then her dreams filtered through the back of her mind like a series of snapshots and she realized that they weren’t dreams at all. She had slept through Deckard leaving. Or she wasn’t coherent during Deckard leaving.

  God, did she even kiss him goodbye? She asked herself.

  She tried to remember all she could from the time they crawled into bed, but it was mostly small clips of him saying good-bye and kissing her fondly. The music in the background was distracting, so she reached across the bed to turn off the alarm.

  But her hand paused mid-air. The chorus from “I’ll be Home for Christmas” played through the speakers. Her heart paused and breath caught. Blood began pumping through her veins at record speed.

  January jumped away from the alarm clock as if it electrocuted her. She had to be imagining things. Shuffling off the bed, her feet tangled in the sheets and she fell on the floor, smacking her chin on the hard surface. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She had bit the inside of her cheek as she fell. January only had the chance to wince at the pain as she scissor kicked her legs free from the sheets.

  Her house was small, the hallway narrow and short, but as she ran, January felt that the floor beneath her feet continued to grow more planks of wood - it seemed never ending. Finally, her hands gripped the corner of the wall where the hallway met the opening to her living room.

  “Oh my gosh,” January murmured as she took in her space. Her hand covered her slack-jawed mouth as she looked around the room.

  It was still decorated for Christmas, not much had changed, but then again, everything had changed. In the corner sat a beautiful Christmas tree, but it was missing the bucket and handmade decorations that she and Deckard had spent hours creating. Instead, a stoic classic tree her mother had placed and adorned with family ornaments took its place. The black and white string lights were switched for traditional white lights. Above the fireplace on the mantle, her mother’s Christmas village lit up proudly.

  Everything was as it had been. January’s hand moved from her mouth to sink in her own hair as the realization of it all began to settle. Christmas had returned. Somehow, everything was as it was before.

  January worried she had been living the worst kind of dream.

  The snowflake ornament that had caused the transformation hung proudly in the center of her tree – staring and mocking her. She wanted to rip it from the branch and smash it into diminutive pieces, but as she approached and held it in her fingers, January couldn’t bring herself to do it. The only difference she noticed was the small brown tag missing from the ribbon.

  Her shaking hand settled the ornament back in place and she continued to circle around her room in shock. January didn’t even know what day it was. Maybe nothing had changed and she really had been dreaming, but as she sprinted into the kitchen, her hope was quickly diminished. By a series of Xs marking down the days, the calendar clearly read that today was Christmas.

  From the corner of her eye, January caught a glimpse of a bright red color coming from her dining area. The large buffet table was still sitting in the spot reserved for her smaller dining table, but the series of red and silver swirled candles sat where she had left them yesterday. Instead of the twigs of pine from the tree she and Deckard had chopped down, a row of fake pine garland wrapped around each of the centerpieces.

  The idea that ev
erything changed back to how it should have been was quickly diminished as January touched the candles she had grabbed at Nick’s Knacks. She didn’t know what to think.

  “Deckard!” she called out, hoping against all hope that maybe this meant he was still there. When there was no reply, she walked out to her living room and called out again. January knew that there was little chance of him still being in her house, but nothing was as it seemed.

  Dismayed, January hung her head as she shuffled back to her bedroom. What hope she may have had moments ago disappeared, and as she sat on the edge of her bed, January focused on the wood grains of the floor. She pondered what all of it meant. When she had wished away Christmas, everyone had gone on living as if it had never existed, but she had remembered everything; she pondered if this was the same scenario all over again.

  The song switched on the radio and “Last Christmas” began to play. January laughed sardonically at the choice. Deckard definitely took her heart with him.

  Instead of shutting off the music, January crawled back under her covers, staring up at the ceiling as her head hit the pillow. She was afraid that she had truly gone mad. Impulsively, she turned her head and looked at the spot Deckard had slept the night before, or so she thought. The pillow and crumbled sheets looked as if someone had been there, but January couldn’t be sure, there was only a slight indentation where a body would have laid.

  The tears began to build and spill over before she could stop them. As if her heart breaking last night wasn’t enough, she had to relive it again today. Her body curled into itself as she reached over to cradle the pillow where Deckard had rested his head against her chest.

  Minutes passed as January cried for the loss of her love and time she couldn’t get back with him. These were soul-crushing sobs that left January exhausted and her eyes drifted closed as her mind lulled her back to sleep.

  Darkness soothed her in a way nothing else could.

  A ringing noise woke January with a start, and she tried to blink, but her crusty lids were sealed shut. The pitfalls of falling asleep while crying. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand then reached out to grab the phone, pressing the answer button without looking.

  “Hello,” her scratchy voice greeted.

  “Where are you, sweet pea?” her father asked.

  In confusion, January asked, “What?”

  “It’s Christmas, we’re all waiting on you.”

  “Oh!” she sat up in bed with panic. “I’m sorry, I just. . .” she said, then she remembered what she had woken up to an hour ago - the loss of Deckard.

  Somehow her father seemed to understand and he soothing said, “Just get here when you can. Though I’m not sure how long the little ones will wait.”

  “I’ll be there soon. I’m sorry,” she tried to stifle down another sob, but the tremors escaped her voice.

  “Hey, it’s okay, sweet pea. We’ll wait for you. And we all want you to know that we enjoyed dinner last night. It was a nice change of pace.”

  The confirmation that she had hosted dinner last night gave her a little peace of mind.

  They ended the call and January clicked the music off her alarm, noting that she had fallen back asleep for about thirty minutes before her father had called. Forcibly, January had to pull her body away from Deckard’s pillow that she still held against her body.

  In the corner of the room sat the red dress she had worn last night and she remembered the look Deckard had given her when he saw her standing by the fireplace. No man had ever looked at her like that. She wished she had taken a picture of it as a keepsake.

  “No more wishes,” January scolded herself as she scooted off the bed.

  Rushing through a shower, January tried not to remember how Deckard had taken her in the small compartment a couple of days ago. She pulled on a blue sweater and her favorite pair of denim, adding her trusty knee-high brown boots to complete her outfit.

  She did her makeup and tried to cover up the dark circles and puffiness around her eyes, a result from hours of crying, but there was only so much that the concealer could accomplish. Quickly, she dried and curled her hair into soft waves and took one final glance at her appearance in her full-length mirror.

  Something was missing, but January couldn’t put her finger on it. Then she remembered the gifts Deckard had given her, or she had hoped he had given her.

  An antique silver jewelry box sat on her dresser, and when January opened the lid, she found the snowflake earrings and bracelet nestled inside. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief that they were where she remembered placing them. If they were missing, January was afraid that Deckard was just a figment of her imagination. And right now, her mind wasn’t something that she could completely trust.

  The earrings sparkled against the lobes of her ears as they caught the sunlight peeking through the curtains of her bedroom. With a gentle hand, she took out the bracelet and brought it close to her face to reread the inscription. It hadn’t changed, and that was the first thing that gave January a reason to smile.

  It took a few attempts to get the clasp to close, and January never understood why bracelets had to be so difficult for one person to attach.

  Now when she looked back in the mirror, she felt put together. The jewelry had been the missing piece. It made her feel as if Deckard was still with her even though he was probably already back in Atlanta.

  Grabbing her phone, January pulled up his number and pressed the call button. She didn’t know what she was going to say to him, but she wanted to hear his voice. But as the phone rang repeatedly and no one answered, she felt dejected. He was the calm in the hurricane of her life. Instead of leaving a voicemail, January shot off a text message wishing him a Merry Christmas and that she hoped he had a pleasant flight. Hopefully he’d call her later and she was going to hold onto that sliver of hope with both hands.

  As she was leaving, the photo in the hallway by her front door caught her eye, the same one Deckard had stared at the first time he had been at her house. It had seemed so long ago that he had barged into her life, but had only been two weeks. She tried to see what he did when he looked at her family. He saw beyond her fake smile and saw the sad woman that felt like an outsider. He saw her.

  She longed to go back and make things right with herself and her family. Time and happiness was lost due to her petulance.

  But maybe she could use this chance to make everything right.

  ~

  The drive to her parents’ house was quick since there were very few people on the roads. Her father opened their front door to her and hugged her tightly before unleashing her toward her nieces and nephews.

  Everyone had gathered around the large dining table as they waited for her to arrive drinking coffee and snacking on the brunch her mother had prepared. January apologized for being late, but the group sent sad looks in her direction.

  They knew.

  They all knew that her heart was breaking and she was here only to make appearances. But they didn’t realize how much she yearned to be here with them. She had a turning point as she left her house and come hell or high water January was going to make sure that her shattered heart wasn’t going to ruin their Christmas.

  She smiled and waved at the group, doing her best to make it as sincere as possible, and the group collectively smiled in return, their shoulders relaxing in relief.

  January moved into the kitchen and found her mother standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. She walked up behind her and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, hugging her in a way that silently professed her apologies for all the years she had put a damper on her mother’s holiday celebrations.

  “Merry Christmas, sweetie,” her mother murmured as she twisted around and kissed January’s head.

  “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

  With her niece’s insistence, January made a batch of hot cocoa despite the mock devilish glare April, the girl’s mother, was sending her way. She left the adults to ta
lk in the kitchen as she went into the large den to see some toys the kids received from Santa, but she knew they were all excited to open the presents from her parents.

  It took a few more minutes for everyone else to trickle into the den and the kid’s excitement grew ten-fold. The adults took their seats on the couch and single chairs. Everyone was paired together, even her mother sat on the arm of her father’s chair as they watched Augustus hand the kids their gifts.

  January took a few steps backward toward the corner of the room and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. There weren’t any more open seats and no one moved to make a spot for her. It was moments like this that made her feel like an outsider in her family, but maybe she had been looking at it all wrong. She had always isolated herself from everyone making little attempt to join them. They knew about her disdain for the holiday, so they never asked her to join them.

  Augustus was crouched under the tree and reading out the names on each of the labels as he passed the gifts out. He startled and almost knocked the tree over when January grabbed the present in his hand.

  She noticed that the room had grown quiet as she had deserted her spot against the wall and moved toward the tree.

  “Can I help?” she asked her brother. He blinked at her with a blank gaze then his smile grew as he let January take the present in his hand.

  It was a family tradition to allow the youngest child to go first, and January held her youngest niece in her lap as she helped the toddler tear into the wrapping paper.

  It was the most fun January had on Christmas since she could remember.

  An hour later, the carpet was covered in hundreds of pieces of multicolored wrapping paper as the kids played with their new treasures. She particularly enjoyed helping her eldest niece put on the makeup that January had gifted her. The cross expression on her brother-in-law’s face was easy to ignore as she applied another layer of lipstick on the almost-teenager.