Once Upon a December: A Holiday Short Story Collection Read Free

again.
    “Cinnamon!” I whisper excitedly.
    Xander just smiles.
    “Homemade applesauce was always a Christmas tradition,” I explain quietly. “It’s an old recipe of my grandmother’s, and when I was little, I used to sit on the counter and watch as Mom chopped up the apples. When I got older, she let me help. Every Christmas Eve, we would sit around the tree and eat our applesauce before we opened gifts.”
    “You opened gifts on Christmas Eve?” Xander asked.
    I smile as memories flood me. My first bike. My leather jacket. The keys to my first car.
    “Yeah, but there were always more presents to open in the morning. Those gifts were from Santa.”
    Xander says nothing as I look through the window once more. Of course, my parents look older, but it’s not their age that depresses me the most.
    “They look so sad. I wonder why that is?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.
    “Because they miss you,” Xander replies simply, as if this is obvious. “You’re their only son, and your mom decorates every year and makes homemade applesauce, hoping that this year will be the Christmas you come home.”
    “She makes it every year?”
    “Every year.”
    My mom places her bowl on the coffee table and walks over to the Christmas tree. I hold my breath as she lightly traces her fingers along one of the ornaments. It’s red and gold, and I know without a doubt that it’s the ornament with my name on it. I’d made it in Sunday school class when I was eight years old.
    “She hangs it every year. Just hoping . . .”
    It’s too much. Too many memories and too much shame.
    I close my eyes and lean back against the cold brick of the house.
    Seeing my family so sad is complete torture. I thought they’d be happy that I’d stayed away all this time. I’d embarrassed them . . . shamed them. And I’d gone out of my way to avoid them for the past decade. How can they possibly still love me?
    “They love you because you’re their son,” Xander says. “They say the bond between a parent and child is nearly impossible to break, even in death. Do you really think a few thousand miles is going to change how they feel about you?”
    With wide eyes, I stare at this kid.
    “How did you get so smart?”
    He just grins.
    “I get it from my mom.”
     

     
    “This is a bad idea,” I mutter as we drive down Main Street.
    Paisley Springs looks just the same, except for a few new restaurants. When we were kids, Emma and I used to call it Mayberry, from the Andy Griffith Show . At the time, it wasn’t a flattering comment, but now that I’m older, I can appreciate the tranquility of my little hometown.
    Maybe Mayberry isn’t so bad, after all.
    “This is the best idea ever,” Xander says, bouncing in his seat. “You know you want to see her.”
    “Of course, I want to see her.”
    That’s when I realize I have no idea where to find her. Does she even live in Paisley Springs?
    “She works at the diner,” Xander says.
    “The Paisley Diner? She’s still there?”
    Xander nods, and in that moment, I feel a knife twist in my gut. If Emma’s still working at the diner, that probably means she didn’t go to college. She always wanted to be a lawyer. Why didn’t she go to law school?
    “Her high school GPA was crap,” Xander explains, reading my mind once again.
    “No, it wasn’t. She had a 4.0 before . . . before . . .”
    Before she miscarried.
    “She didn’t have a 4.0 . . . after ,” he says.
    I don’t bother asking how he knows that. I stopped asking questions right after I smelled the applesauce.
    Emma’s still living in Paisley Springs and working at the diner—the same place she’d worked back in high school. Has she never worked anywhere else? Did her grades really suffer that much? And if so, how did I not know that? Had I honestly been so wrapped up in my own adolescent selfishness that I didn’t realize how much losing the baby affected her ?
    I feel like such a fool. I’ve spent the last ten