61. Lily
LILY
Lily had never missed anyone before. Even though Sebastian was only gone for a week, his absence drilled a permeating ache into her unconscious.
Everything made her think about him; everything made her miss him.
She’d thought she was made of sterner stuff, but here she was, moping around the house, wondering how time had managed to grow so endless.
His texts came in sporadic bursts. Sometimes her phone was silent for nearly an entire day, and then she’d get six notifications in a row. He was sorry. He was busy. He couldn’t wait to see her too. She felt like an anchor on the other end of his line.
She counted minutes, willing night to come faster so she could sleep hours away by the handful.
But each night she stared at her dark ceiling, her bed and body feeling empty without his weight, even though they’d only shared a bed the once.
When she closed her eyes, it was to imagine his hands on her stomach, his lips on her neck.
When she dreamed, she dreamed of him, and letters she hadn’t read yet, and secret passageways she hadn’t yet found.
The renters were gone, and the house was quiet for the holidays.
Lily made cookies with her Gran, putting exacting care into the decorating process, which previously she’d found a tedious chore.
She went to the tree farm with her mom, and they sawed down a modest fir, feeling equal parts guilty and festive.
They decorated it, listening to Christmas jazz and drinking Prosecco. Lily hung her ornaments, the nineteen she’d acquired over the years—the baby-themed baubles morphing into animals when she’d gotten old enough to choose her own, then ballerinas, then back to animals.
This year she’d agonized among the rows of boxes in the store. After all, it was going to be the last one—one of the only things her mom would have left of her. In the end she’d chosen something simple: an infinite knot, styled like a tree branch, embellished with pale buds.
Her mom placed the star on top of the tree, and her Gran placed the final ornament, which was always the final ornament, with a trembling grief that had become closer to nostalgia over the years.
It was a photo ornament—an oval frame containing a faded photo of the father she’d never met.
Lily contemplated it as her family cleaned the kitchen.
In the photo, her father posed outside the old cottage.
He was about her age, skinny and unfinished-looking.
They had the same, rust-colored hair, the same slouch, the same predestined early death.
They went to the Nutcracker, and watching the pas de deux made her miss Sebastian all the more.
She took photos with her phone and sent him a barrage of blurry images.
Afterward, in the lobby, congratulating the performers, she felt like she’d fallen sideways into an alternate dimension—one she’d previously inhabited, but had no recollection of.
Surely she hadn’t looked this gangly and coltish herself?
It snowed on Christmas morning, the first dusting of a storm that was supposed to ebb and flow over the next several days.
When she woke up, she had a single text on her phone.
Even though she was the early riser, Sebastian had messaged her a full hour earlier.
It said merely, Tomorrow. She grinned, closing her eyes and listening to the flakes whisper against her windows.
Tomorrow. One more day, with Christmas to distract.
She skipped downstairs in her favorite pink flannel pajamas and her coziest socks—one of the few pairs that didn’t have holes from too many piqué turns.
When she arrived in the kitchen, her mother greeted her with a kiss and an eggnog latte.
As they cooked, then settled in the living room, texts from Asher, Tori, and even Daphne trickled in, bringing with them a small, warm glow. No one had texted her last year.
There were too many presents under the tree.
That was the first thing Lily noticed as she sat down.
Presents in her family were rarely a surprise.
Perkinses were practical people. Gifting was never a lavish affair.
Each year, three lists hung on the fridge, populated by such extravagant requests as “new garden gloves,” “replacement hiking poles,” “black capri leggings.”
Lily knew, for example, that the lumpy package near the front of the pile was the sweater in a Faroese pattern that her Gran had been knitting for her for months now.
She did not know what the flat box, sleekly wrapped in matte charcoal paper, was, nor the artfully arranged bag that seemed to have an entire ornament as the gift tag.
“Where did those come from?” Lily said through a mouthful of food, jerking her chin at the mystery items.
“They were on the porch this morning.” Her mother’s smile was too knowing.
Lily gaped.
“I thought we said no presents,” Lily said desperately over the phone as her new laptop installed its operating system. Absently, she fingered the disc, which she’d looped onto a chain around her neck.
The laptop was the same one Seb had—slickly designed, top of the line, with all the attendant bells and whistles—complete overkill and completely wasted on her. It sat accompanied by a small pile of presents from Tori and Asher.
“I know. Sorry. Not sorry.” She could hear his grin through the phone.
“I don’t have anything for you!”
“It’s fine,” he assured her.
“It is not.” All day she’d been trying to imagine what she could possibly do for him on such short notice and such a short budget. Each of her ideas felt painfully inadequate. “And I definitely don’t have anything for either of them. I can’t possibly accept these.”
“Sure you can.”
Lily groaned. “Anyway, how’s your Christmas? I can’t believe we haven’t gotten to actually talk until now.”
“It’s fine,” he said, his voice acquiring that sudden distance that it always did when he talked about his family. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Still want to check out the library?”
She let the redirection slide, too excited about their reunion and their next phase of exploration to press him. Around her, the afternoon darkened into dusk.