Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. And that might be super cliché, but I don’t really care.

The decorations, the spirit, the merriment, the chocolate. I love that I get to pick out the perfect present for each person in my life, and wrap them up in beautiful bows and paper. I love that there is just this magical feeling around this time of year, like anything could happen. Hell, most of the world believes that a bearded man in a suit flies around in a sleigh led by reindeer and comes down your chimney.

If there were any other time of the year more susceptible to magic, I’m not sure what it is.

“Jingle Bell Rock” blares out of the record player as Dad dances around the tree, handing lights to a reluctant Joel. Every year, Dad and I force Joel to go to an actual tree farm and cut down a Christmas tree. The smell of the balsam, and the twinkle of the multi-colored lights, in a real tree just can’t be beat.

“I better get an extra special present for this.” My brother grumbles and I laugh, because he puts up this act every year.

Even though he protests, Dad and I know he really does love the magic of drinking hot chocolate by the fire and listening to Christmas carols.

“Are you about done making those popcorn strings over there?” Dad looks at my work.

“I may have ate more than I strung, but yes I’m almost ready with them.”

The shine of the holiday is dulled a little by the fact that we’re one person down. I never usually stress about being the only woman in this household, but around times like this, when I see every other family sitting four around their table, I get jealous. Typically, I never wonder where my mother is or why she left. But at Christmas, there is a tiny ache that springs open in my heart, crowding the feelings of hurt and abandonment inside the cracks.

I guess that’s why they said that Christmas, or the holiday season, was also the most depressing time. I understood that, what with my lack of motherly love. But I tried not to dwell on it. I had a father and a brother who loved me, and my love was as normal as it could possibly be. I didn’t need someone who didn’t want to be here weighing on my brain.

“Supposed to snow tomorrow.” Joel shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care, but I knew he was trying to count on it.

It rarely ever snowed here, but especially not on Christmas. The fact that the weather report was calling for some white flurries just as St. Nick was going to make his debut, had the whole town in an excited panic.

“I doubt it will, but one can dream.” I looked out the window, the darkness only illuminated by the moon floating on the waves.

These were the traditions. Decorating the tree on Christmas Eve, setting our presents under it. Watching a movie, usually one of the Harry Potter films, and drinking hot chocolate as the fire crackled. Then it was off to bed, and seeing who could stay asleep the longest before waking Dad from his slumber on Christmas morning.

Even as fourteen-year-olds, Joel and I were always going to be little kids on Christmas morning.

Two hours later, we are all sleepy on our third cups of hot chocolate, and the fire is dwindling.

“Alright, kiddos, time for bed. You better listen for the reindeer hooves on the roof.”

Dad sets the cookies and milk out, like we haven’t known for years that he’s the one who eats them.

“Pop, you told us Santa wasn’t real when we were nine.” Joel rolls his eyes.

“He isn’t?!” Dad feigns shock, putting a hand to his chest.

Yeah, it was quite all right that we didn’t have a mom. Because my dad had always been enough parent for the both of us.

I won’t say that I fall asleep with visions of sugar plums in my head, but Christmas is definitely one of the best nights of sleep I have all year.

The air smells different as I wake up. Living at the beach, being a child of the sand, the air around me typically smells the same. Salty, fresh and with a hint of sunscreen. Even in the winter, the smell doesn’t vary.

“Holy shit!” I hear a shout from down the hall, and I know my brother is awake.

“You can’t curse on Christmas!” I yell back.

“Look out your damn window!” His feet thump on the floor, and suddenly he’s in my room, pulling up the blinds.

White light shocks my retinas, and I know instinctively that this isn’t what the light usually looks like when it comes through my window in the morning. Running over to press my nose to the glass just like my brother is, my knees actually go weak.

Outside of my window, covering all of that beautiful sand, is white, fluffy snow.

“It’s a Christmas miracle!” I shriek, which is kind of girly, but come on. What kid doesn’t have the dream of waking up to a blizzard on Christmas morning, especially one who lives in North Carolina?

And just like that, presents and the morning traditions are forgotten. Joel and I clamber to wake our father up, and then we storm downstairs, into the storage closet that holds any and all winter gear.

I pull on old snow pants, ones that haven’t seen the light of day in probably four years. Joel digs out hats and gloves for us all, and then we head to the outdoor garage.

“I call the boogie board!” Running ahead of Joel and Dad, I’m a woman on a mission.

I grab the smaller body board and run out without checking if either of them is behind me. Because this is the best gift Christmas or the fat guy in the red suit could have ever brought.

Wading out of the garage, I’m hit almost up to my thighs in the cold, wet snow. More drifts down from the sky, but the sun streams beautifully over everything, giving it the perfect Christmas feel.

“Last one to the dunes is a rotten egg!” Dad yells, a surfboard dragging behind him.

We all run, the three of us laughing and kicking up snow as we raced for the hills that led to the sea. I could see them, just there, the dunes that marked so many days of our lives.

Joel reached them first, throwing his smaller surfboard down and running for it, slamming down on his stomach as it propelled forward and he disappeared over the other side.

When I made it to the top of the hill, Dad just stood beside me. “Can you believe this?”

He looped an arm around my neck, and we stood together watching as the big, endless ocean swallowed up the snow on the shore. I breathed in the scent of the snow, that cold winter smell that refreshes the lungs but burns at the same time.

“This is the best Christmas present ever.” I hug into him, something that I rarely do now that I’m a teenage girl.

And it is. We spend almost the entire morning sledding down the dunes, using our surf boards as sleds or just breaking out into random snow ball fights.