My True Love Gave to Me: Twelve Holiday Stories(92)

“This is for you.” Rick slides over a sheet of paper to me. My mom gets up and stands behind him, squeezing his shoulder. The paper is a list of numbers. No … it’s a bank statement. For a savings account with forty thousand dollars in it.

Under my name.

“How—what—where did this come from?”

“I told you,” my mom says. “Rick started saving the day we moved in. Every bonus, everything we didn’t need to live on.”

“But … I can’t … what about you two? The mine won’t last forever. You won’t have any savings!” Here I was, hoarding every penny I made so that I could run away to my own empty future. And here they were, saving every penny they made so that my future was a better one than their families gave them.

I am the worst person in the world. I’m crying, both out of gratitude and guilt.

“We’ll be fine,” my mom says. “The mine has a few years left.”

“We can find work anywhere.” Rick’s voice is soft and even. I always thought of it as monotonous, but it’s more like the rice pudding. Gentle. “Wherever you end up, we can move and get jobs.”

“But this is your home,” I say.

Rick raises his eyebrows, surprised. “Wherever you two are is my home. Tu … eres mi casa. That probably wasn’t right.” He frowns.

I smash them both into a hug. Rick clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, but I don’t care.

I was wrong.

I’ve been wrong for years.

Being wrong feels amazing.

*

On Christmas Eve, I show up at work to find Ben drizzling white chocolate onto peppermint bark. He’s muttering to himself again. It looks like he hasn’t slept.

“You’re incredible!” I throw my arms around him, hugging him from behind.

He startles. “What did I do?”

“The rice pudding! It was perfect!”

He puts his hands on top of mine, tentatively. “You did that, remember?”

“Only because you let me borrow your magic.” I’ve been hugging him for probably too long now. I don’t want to let go, but I begrudgingly release him and point at the peppermint bark. “What’s that for?”

“I thought maybe Candy might like it. I don’t know. I can’t—it’s not working. Nothing’s working with her.” He hangs his head, and his laugh has a note of bitterness that stings my heart. “Maybe I was never magic to begin with. Maybe this whole thing is stupid.”

“Ben, I need to tell you—”

The animatronic Santa announces an arrival. I go up on my tiptoes and see the top of Jerry’s head. “Candy!” he shouts.

I push through the kitchen door with a scowl. “Are you here to apologize?”

Jerry looks at me. His gaze is even but his fists are clenched. “For what?”

“For your bratty girlfriend! If she was going to ditch her Christmas Eve shift and make me take it when I requested it off a month ago, the least she could have done is let me know. Ben had to call me in when she didn’t show.”

“She isn’t here?”

I gesture at the empty diner. “If she were here, why would I be? Tell her if she’s a no-show again, I’m calling Dottie.”

He takes a step closer, looming over me. Don’t look scared, Maria. Look angry.

“Any idea where she is?”

I roll my eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend, dude.”

His nostrils flare, and he leans even closer.

“Maria.” Ben is leaning in the doorway, casually holding a thick rolling pin. “I need some help back here.” He nods at Jerry. “Tell Candy to call the next time she’s not coming in, okay?”

Jerry storms out. I collapse against the counter, my heart racing. “Thanks.” I gesture at Ben’s rolling pin.

“Where is Candy? What was that all about?”

“She’s halfway to an Amtrak station, on her way to live with an old high school friend. Rick picked her up at four this morning, while Jerry was still on the night shift.” When I told my mom and Rick about my new tip-funded escape plan, this time featuring Candy, they didn’t even hesitate. Thinking about it gives me a burst of affection for Rick—silent, strange, gentle Rick.

“She’s leaving?”

“Not leaving. Already gone.”

Ben follows me back into the kitchen. I dip my finger into the bowl of white chocolate and lick it. “You were wrong. You are magic. But people don’t need to remember how it felt to be happy and safe in the past. They need to have hope that they can get there again in the future. And sometimes the only thing to make that happen is, say, enough money to get away.”

His thick eyebrows lift. “You gave her your savings.”

“Turns out I didn’t need to leave so soon, after all.”

His whole face—eyes, mouth, eyebrows, even his crooked nose—is one big smile as he says, “You’re not leaving?”

“Not until this fall when I go to college. I guess I like Christmas, after all. Lately it’s been feeling extra … magical.”

He leans forward, and I tip my head up—waiting, waiting—when we’re interrupted by Santa. Ho freaking ho.