Hotshot Doc(83)

Once that’s done, I light the tree and put out Josie’s “gift from Santa”. It’s tradition. I always wrap a few things for her, but the real present—the big kahuna, if you will—always sits unwrapped in front of the tree, waiting for her to run out and see it and squeal with delight. Last year, it was a Kindle. This year, I scrimped and saved and got her tickets to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child on Broadway. We’ll take a train into the city and make a whole day of it. I’m giddy just thinking about it. She’s definitely going to scream, maybe even cry. I should set up my phone to record the whole thing.

After everything is arranged in the living room, I head into the kitchen, AKA where the real magic happens on Christmas morning.

I flip the light on and the quiet, empty room sends a pang straight to my heart. I’m careful around the holidays. After so many years without my parents, I’ve learned it’s a slippery slope to dwell on their absence too much this time of year. The first years without them, Josie was so young, to her it didn’t matter so much that our parents weren’t with us as long as there were presents waiting for her under the tree. Dollar store trinkets lit up her eyes and a frozen turkey dinner was as good as any. Meanwhile, all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cease to exist, but with Josie relying on me, I pulled myself together and cranked up the holiday spirit.

In the years since, we’ve slowly started to incorporate my parents into the festivities more and more. It doesn’t scare me as much as it used to. Now we hang my mom’s vintage ornaments on the tree, and every time Feliz Navidad comes on the radio, we sing along at the top of our lungs just like my dad used to do. My favorite tradition is baking on Christmas morning. It’s something my mom and I used to do together. She and I would wake up first and take care to be extra quiet as we padded into the kitchen so we wouldn’t wake up my dad and Josie.

Her maple-glazed cinnamon rolls were out of this world. To this day, Josie talks about them every day of December, discussing ad nauseum every little detail that makes them so dang delicious. The thought makes me smile as I pull the recipe card out of a tin box and run my finger pad across it. I know I shouldn’t. My mother’s instructions are written in pencil and they’re already fading, but I just can’t help myself. Being in here now makes me feel closer to her, as if she and I are still doing this together.

God, I miss her.

“Ugh, I could have sworn I already smelled cinnamon rolls, but I must have been dreaming.”

I jump out of my skin and whip around to see Josie standing at the kitchen door, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her blonde hair is sticking up in every direction and there’s a little drool dried on her chin. Her sleeping shirt says, All I want for Christmas is you food.

“Oh no. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

She wraps her arms around herself to keep warm and shakes her head. “No. I was just too excited to sleep.”

I quirk a brow. “You didn’t go into the living room yet, did you?”

Her eyes light up with the realization that there are presents with her name on them waiting just in the other room. She turns as if preparing to sprint.

“Wait!” I plead. “Help me bake first. Please? We’ll go look at your gifts in a minute.”

She groans and I can tell she really wants to go see her presents, but something in my tone must tip her off to the things I’m not saying, to the memories we tiptoe around so carefully, because she relents and walks over to me. Her arms wrap around my waist and she rests her head against my shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, Bailey,” she says wistfully.

I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Merry Christmas, Josie.”





I’m excited to go to Matt’s parents’ house for Christmas, but I wish he’d sprung it on me a little earlier, like maybe before all the stores closed. I would have liked to bring his mom something: a candle, a tea towel—I don’t know. I’ve never had a boyfriend, therefore I’ve never had to impress a boyfriend’s mom, so I’m just going off of what I think Reese Witherspoon or Joanna Gaines would do, and they’d sure as shit bring a gift for Mrs. Russell.

Matt assures me it doesn’t matter, but when I persist, he caves and we swing by his place for some wine on our way to their house. I feel a lot better cradling that bottle on my lap. Josie also helped me bake snowball cookies after breakfast, so between the two gifts, Mrs. Russell will have to like me. Right?

At least I look the part. I’m wearing a red cashmere sweater. I’ve never owned anything cashmere before and holy heck, how is this material so soft? The sweater was a gift from Josie. When I opened it this morning my first thought was, OMG I LOVE IT. My second thought was, Oh god, how did Josie afford this? I might have accused her of petty theft before she clued me in to the fact that she’s been shoveling the snow off Ms. Murphy’s sidewalk and taking out her trash for the last two months so she could afford to buy me something. It was such a sweet gesture that I cried. Josie told me to get it together, but the tears just kept coming. This morning has been one emotional gut punch after another. Like for instance, Matt somehow managed to sneak away long enough in the last few days to get both Josie and me a gift. I wasn’t expecting anything, but when he produced a present for each of us, the tears were back.

Josie groaned. “Honestly, do you need a minute to compose yourself?”