Twenty-six
Maddox
I made it home with minutes to spare. Gave McKayla my truck keys and told her to drive herself home even though it’s only a few blocks between our place and the house she lives in with my parents. When she tried to insist on walking, I shove the keys at her and push her out the door. Truth is, I need her to take my truck because I’ve only been home five minutes and I’m already thinking about driving back to Lindburg. Knocking on Kris’s door. Demand an explanation now that I’m thinking halfway clearly.
I tell McKayla we’ll be there for Christmas dinner. She wants to ask me if Kris is coming with me. I shut the door in her face before she has the chance because I’m not ready to talk about it. I don’t I’ll ever be ready.
I assemble the bike Santa brought for Maggie and turn on the Christmas tree lights so she’ll clap and laugh when she comes downstairs. When she comes running down the stairs, just as the sun starts to push itself against the horizon, she launches herself at the mountain of presents under the tree, shredding paper and ripping ribbons while I make enough chocolate waffles to feed a small army and enough bacon to keep my daughter happy. For a while anyway.
Presents are open and breakfast has been eaten. Her mother even called—as short conversation filled with kissy noises and half-hearted I miss yous. Maggie says I miss you too and pretends to be excited about a visit over summer break she knows will never come. When she hangs up the phone, she asks about Kris.
“When’s Kris gonna get here, Dad?”
It’s no less than the twentieth time she’s asked me that in the past 3 hours.
Every time I give her the same answer. “She’s not coming, Magpie,” I tell her, trying to be as gentle as I can. “She’s with her family.”
“No she’s not,” she says, every time I say it to her, she gets a little more irritated. “We’re her family and she’s not here.”
Deciding we both need a distraction, I bundle her up and drag her outside with me. I tell myself it’s because she’s only six and needs almost constant entertainment, not because I need a distraction from my own miserable existence.
We build a snowman in the front yard, Maggie’s mug of hot chocolate sitting on the steps, getting cold behind us. The streets are deserted, our neighbors are gone. It’s just me and Mags. I try to tell myself that it’s good this way. Better. That we don’t need anyone else. That Maggie and I are just fine without her.
But I know that’s a lie because I can’t even think her name, let alone say it out loud.
“Kristmas!”
My head pops up and I shoot Maggie a quick look before re-focusing my attention on our masterpiece. “She’s not coming, Magpie.” I don’t sound gentle or reassuring anymore. I sound raw. Exposed. “She’s with her family.”
“We’re her family, Dad,” she says, darting away from me across the snowy yard. “I told you she’d come.”
I told you she’d come.
I jerk my head up and turn around to see her standing on the sidewalk, Maggie running at full speed, shouting her name like she’s known her her whole life and hasn’t seen her in years. I watch Kris hunker down and set the box she’s carrying down on the ground beside her to catch Maggie, rocking slightly on her heels to absorb the full force of forty-five pounds worth of six-year-old girl. Kris says something to her, smoothing a gloved hand over her hair and Maggie smiles. Giving me a smug I told ya so grin, Maggie darts up the walk and onto the porch, the screen door slamming closed behind her. We start walking toward each other and meet somewhere in the middle, the box I gave her stuck in the space between us.
“What are you doing here?” I say it carefully. Ten years is a long time. An entire lifetime between us. But I want to believe.
She pulls something out of her pocket and shows it to me.
A letter.
One of mine.
“I was invited,” she says, scanning the letter. “It says if I still love you and I’m brave enough to admit it, that I can knock on your door and nothing else would matter...” she frowns at the piece paper in her hand and shakes her head. “I don’t expect you to trust me, Mad. I don’t even want you to.” She looks past me and smiles. I don’t even have to look to know that Maggie is standing in the open doorway, watching us. “You have a daughter and she depends on you to protect her.” She chews on her lower lip for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I won’t say forever to her until you’re ready to trust me again but I’ll say it to you now. I love you, Maddox McAll—”
That’s as far as I let her get before I’ll pulling the box out of her hands and her into my arms. I kiss her, soft and sweet, the slow spread of her smile against my lips triggering one of my own. Behind us, Maggie lets out a whoop, the sound of it drowned out by the sound of the screen door banging shut followed by the pound of Maggie’s snow boots on the porch steps.
“What’s in the box, Kristmas?” she says, lifting the like to try to sneak a peek. “Is it dumb bubble bath?”
“Nope. They’re letters,” she says, giving me a smile that tells me everything else I wouldn’t let her say. That I’m worth it the risk—worth the risk. “120 of them—and your dad’s going to read them to me, every single one.”
The End