Chapter 24
Stella
Christmas Eve at the shelter is always a blast. I started working at their sister shelter back home when I was in high school.
I helped provide free childcare to women who needed to work in the evenings.
We would do homework, play games, have dinner together, and the best part was seeing them run up to their mom when they came back, seeing the joy and love on their faces.
I could always see how it affected the women there, reaffirming their decision to try for something better for their families.
Instead of childcare today, though, I get to serve Christmas dinner.
A local grocery store donated some turkeys, which we spent all day cooking, and the farmers market has been collecting potatoes, squash, Brussels sprouts, and loaves of bread for the last week.
Combined with some donations from locals, and dessert provided by Maria and Booze & Brews, this is turning out to be our most successful Christmas yet.
I quickly snap a selfie of me and Vivian and send it off to Nessa, who I know has a difficult time around the holidays, checking in with her.
Vivian is the centre’s lead volunteer and working with her has been a dream.
I don’t get to come here as often as I’d like, but she makes it a lot easier.
The crinkles in her brown skin highlight her smile, and the grey hair threading through her tight, coarse curls gives her an air of dignity that only comes with age.
“Are you ready to go home?” Vivian asks me as I store my phone in my jeans pocket.
“I could stay a little longer if you want? Wash some dishes?” As much as my feet are aching for a break, I don’t want to go home to my empty apartment just yet.
Vivian has always seen right through me.
“It’s okay to be sad. This is your first Christmas on your own, isn’t it?”
“I’m visiting Dad tomorrow,” I mumble.
“Ah,” she nods her head. “But it’s not the same, is it?” I shake my head. Vivian wraps her arm around me in a brief hug.
“Well, girlie, staying here isn’t going to make that go away.” Hands on her hips, she stares me down, even though she’s at least three inches shorter than me. “Go home, let your heart feel what it needs, and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Thanks Viv,” I quickly kiss her cheek before grabbing my coat.
Now infinitely cozier in my neon pink bubble, I brave the cold walk back to my apartment. I love this coat. It’s one of the first good thrifted items I ever found. Even with the stretched seams and coffee stains (at least I hope it’s coffee) on the sleeves, something about it makes me feel safer.
Pink was always my mom’s favourite colour. It’s familiar, warm, and never fails to bring a smile to my face. The flash of pain that accompanies the memory isn’t as sharp as it usually is, which I’m grateful for.
This may be my most difficult Christmas in my short life, but I’m determined to make the best of it, no matter what.