Chapter 17
The next morning, Tessa woke to the sound of her father moving around in the kitchen earlier than usual. She could hear him humming under his breath, something she hadn’t heard since she was a child. The melody was familiar but distant, like a half-remembered dream.
She quickly got dressed, headed to the kitchen, and found her father already dressed and drinking coffee at the kitchen table. His eyes held a brightness she hadn’t seen since her arrival, and he looked up at her with something that resembled excitement.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, the endearment falling easily from his lips. “I hope you don’t have any big plans today.”
She poured herself coffee, still adjusting to this version of her father who used pet names and made plans. “Nothing specific. Why?”
“We’re going to get a Christmas tree today. All three of us. I haven’t bought my daughter a tree in years, and it’s high time I did.” Her father’s voice carried a determination that said he would accept no argument.
She hadn’t had a Christmas tree since her mom died. Her dad never wanted to put one up. Then she moved to Denver, and her small apartment had never seemed to warrant the effort, and working holiday shifts at the hospital had made it easy to skip the traditions that reminded her of what she’d lost.
“Dad, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interrupted firmly. “Your mother loved Christmas trees. She’d spend hours getting the lights just right, making sure every ornament had its perfect spot.” His voice softened with memory. “She’d want us to have a tree.”
Beckett appeared in the doorway. “Morning,” he said quietly, glancing between them as if sensing the emotional undercurrent.
Her father stood with more energy than she had seen from him since his stroke. “Perfect timing. Go get your coat, Beckett. We’re going tree shopping.”
“Stan, you sure you’re up for this?” Beckett asked, concern evident in his voice.
“I’m sure.” Her father’s tone left no room for debate. “Doctor said I need to stay active, didn’t he? Besides, it’s about time we acted like a family around here.”
Her throat tightened at hearing the word family.
She watched her father bustle around the kitchen, cleaning up his breakfast dishes with purposeful movements.
This was the man she remembered from before her mother’s death, the one who had made pancakes on Saturday mornings and helped her build snowmen in the backyard.
Twenty minutes later, they were driving through town in Beckett’s truck. The tree lot was set up in the parking lot behind the hardware store. The lot was strung with colorful lights and filled with the sharp, clean scent of pine.
“Now, we need a good one,” her father announced as they walked among the rows of trees. “None of these scraggly things. Your mother always said a Christmas tree should be full enough to hide a few imperfections but not so perfect it looked fake.”
She found herself smiling at the memory. Her mother had indeed been particular about their Christmas tree, walking the entire lot twice before making her selection. She watched her father examine a Douglas fir with the same careful attention her mother used to show.
“What about this one?” Beckett called from a few rows over. He stood next to a tree that was tall enough to fit in their living room but not so large it would overwhelm the space. Its branches were full and even, with a perfect triangular shape.
Her father walked over and circled the tree slowly, nodding his approval. “That’s a beauty. Good eye, Beckett.” He looked at Tessa. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
The endearment still caught her off guard, but she was beginning to welcome it. “It’s perfect,” she said, and meant it.
While Beckett and the lot owner secured the tree to the truck, her father pulled Tessa aside. “I know this might seem sudden,” he said, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. “But I’ve been thinking about what we talked about yesterday. About all the years we lost.”
“Dad—”
“Let me finish,” he said gently. “I don’t want to waste any more time being afraid. Your mother would be furious with both of us for letting Christmas pass by without a tree. I’m surprised she hasn’t haunted the house until we got our act together.”
She laughed despite the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. “I’m surprised she hasn’t either.”
“So we’re going to do this right. Tree, decorations, the whole thing. Like we used to.”
The drive home was filled with Stan’s stories about past Christmases, memories Tessa had pushed away because they hurt too much to remember. But now, sitting in the warm cab of the truck with the scent of pine filling the air, she found herself adding her own memories to his stories.
Back at the house, setting up the tree proved to be more complicated than any of them had anticipated. The tree stand was ancient and temperamental, and it took all three of them working together to get the tree straight and stable.
“Little more to the left,” her father directed from his spot on the couch, where she had insisted he supervise rather than crawl around on the floor. “No, too much. Back the other way.”
She and Beckett exchanged amused glances as they adjusted the tree for the fifth time. She was struck by how natural this felt, the three of them working together toward a common goal. When had she last felt part of something like this?
“There,” her father said finally. “Perfect.”
They stepped back to admire their work. The tree stood in the corner of the living room where her mother had always placed it, near the window so the lights would be visible from outside. Even without decorations, it transformed the room, making it feel more like home than it had since her arrival.
“We need to get the decorations down from the attic,” her father said. “You two will have to brave the spiders up there.”
“I can handle spiders,” she said, surprising herself. A week ago, she would have been planning her escape route back to Denver. Now she was volunteering to decorate Christmas trees and face attic spiders.
“Good.” Her father reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wrapped box. “But first, I have something for you.”
She stared at the box, wrapped in paper that was clearly older than this Christmas season. The tape was yellowed, and the bow was slightly crushed, as if it had been waiting for the right moment for quite some time.
“Dad, what is this?”
“Open it.” He nodded at the box.
With trembling fingers, she unwrapped the small box. Inside, nestled in faded tissue paper, was her mother’s locket. The gold heart was just as she remembered it, delicate and beautiful, with tiny flowers engraved around the edges.
“Oh,” she breathed, lifting it from the box. The chain was fine and elegant, and when she opened the locket, she found her parents’ wedding photo inside, just as it had always been.
“She’d want you to have it now. I should have given it to you years ago, but I...” He paused, searching for words. “I guess I wasn’t ready to let go of another piece of her.”
Tears blurred her vision as she held the locket. “Dad, I can’t take this. It’s yours.”
“No, sweetheart. It’s yours. It was always meant to be yours.” He stood up from the couch and walked over to her. “Your mother wore that every day of our marriage. She used to say it held all the love in our family, and that someday she’d pass it on to you so you could fill it with your own love.”
Her hands shook as she fastened the chain around her neck. The locket felt warm against her skin, as if it still held some of her mother’s presence. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Her father pulled her into a hug, and for a moment they stood there holding each other beside their Christmas tree, fifteen years of hurt and misunderstanding beginning to heal in that simple embrace.
When they separated, her father turned to Beckett, who had been quietly observing from near the doorway, giving them space for their private moment.
“Beckett,” her father said, his voice carrying a gravity that made both Tessa and Beckett pay attention. “I need to say something to you too.”
Beckett straightened, wariness flickering across his features. “Stan, you don’t need to—”
“Yes, I do. I need to thank you for being there when I needed help. When I was too stubborn and scared to ask my own daughter to come home, you showed up. You’ve been taking care of me, taking care of this house, and taking care of things I couldn’t manage on my own.”
She watched the exchange, seeing how uncomfortable Beckett was with the praise, how he seemed to shrink away from acknowledgment of his kindness.
“You didn’t just help me with daily tasks. You helped me remember how to be part of something bigger than my own grief and fear. You showed me that people can change, that second chances matter, and that family isn’t always about blood.”
Beckett’s jaw worked silently, emotion clearly struggling beneath his composed exterior.
“So thank you. For everything. For being the son I needed when I was too proud to admit I needed anyone.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. She felt her heart clench at the sight of Beckett’s carefully controlled expression, the way he was trying so hard not to let the emotion show.
“Thank you, Stan,” Beckett said finally, his voice rough. “That means more than you know.”
Her father nodded and turned back to Tessa. “And you,” he said, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’m proud of the woman you’ve become. So proud. I’m sorry for how I tried to shape you with fear instead of love. Your mother would have done it better.”
“Dad—”
“She would have helped you find your strength without making you feel like you had to be strong all the time. She would have let you be scared sometimes, let you make mistakes without feeling like the world would end.” His voice broke slightly. “I failed you in that way, and I’m sorry.”
She felt the locket warm against her chest, and for a moment, she could almost feel her mother’s presence in the room with them, approving of this moment of honesty and love.
“I’m staying through Christmas,” she said suddenly, the words coming from somewhere deep inside her. “Maybe longer.”
The smile that spread across her father’s face was like the sunrise after a long night. It transformed his entire face, erasing years of worry and sadness in an instant.
“Best medicine a man could have,” he said, his voice full of joy.
As Tessa looked around the room at the three of them standing beside their Christmas tree, she felt something she hadn’t experienced in years. She felt the sense of being exactly where she belonged.
She was looking forward to making new memories that could coexist with the old ones. She was looking forward to Christmas morning, to whatever came after, and taking life one small thing at a time with these two men who had somehow become her family.