9. Let It Snow
CHAPTER NINE
LET IT SNOW
T he night of the Christmas play arrived faster than Aniyah expected.
Two weeks earlier the production had been little more than scattered scripts, misplaced props, and a classroom full of second graders who could not remember whether they were supposed to enter stage left or stage right.
Somewhere between rehearsals, costume fittings, and the quiet rhythm of nightly phone calls with Trevor, everything had slowly come together.
Those phone calls had become… their thing.
Every night after Zara went to sleep and Aniyah finished grading papers, her phone would buzz.
Sometimes they talked for twenty minutes.
Sometimes it stretched past midnight. They talked about everything and nothing.
Movies. Poetry. Zara’s latest observations about the world.
Which student had forgotten their lines that day and which one had suddenly remembered them.
The conversations had settled into a comfortable habit so easily it almost scared her.
And now here they were.
Aniyah stood near the side curtain with her clipboard pressed lightly against her chest, watching the controlled chaos unfold with the kind of quiet pride only teachers understood.
Tonight the stage looked like a real set.
The cardboard fireplace had been reinforced and repainted so the bricks looked almost convincing.
Cotton batting draped along the back curtain to resemble snowbanks beneath a sky of construction paper stars.
The borrowed spotlight from the high school theater department cast a warm glow over the center of the stage where the student playing Scrooge would soon sit in exaggerated misery.
Parents filled the folding chairs in the audience, bundled in coats and scarves.
Aniyah scanned the cast one more time.
“Remember,” she called softly from the wings, her voice calm but firm. “Project your voices so the audience can hear you. And if someone forgets a line, you help them find their way back.”
A small hand shot up from the row of ghost costumes.
“Ms. Henderson,” Christopher whispered loudly beneath his gauzy sheet. “If I float too fast, will I still be a ghost or will I turn into a superhero?”
A ripple of laughter traveled through the children backstage.
Aniyah crouched down and adjusted the paper chain draped around his shoulders. “You will remain a ghost, Chris,” she assured him gently. “But a very enthusiastic one.”
The curtain rustled softly as parents settled into their seats.
Across the stage Trevor stood near the lighting controls, sleeves pushed up to his forearms while he checked the brightness levels one last time.
Even surrounded by the bustle of volunteers and parents, his presence carried a steady focus that somehow calmed the room rather than adding to the noise.
Their eyes met briefly across the stage.
The moment was quick enough to look accidental.
It wasn’t.
There had been too many quiet conversations between them lately for that.
Zara appeared beside him wearing her ghost costume, the translucent fabric tied neatly at her shoulders so it floated around her small frame. She lifted both arms dramatically.
“Daddy, I practiced floating at TT Mac’s house and Uncle Jackson said I looked professional.”
Trevor crouched down so he was eye level with her. “That’s because you are a professional.”
Zara beamed and spun in a slow circle causing the fabric to flutter around her ankles.
Aniyah watched them for a moment longer than she should have.
It had become impossible not to notice how naturally Trevor moved through fatherhood.
The way his attention always settled on Zara even when a dozen other things demanded it.
The way he listened to her explanations about ghosts and stage cues like they mattered just as much as any film premiere he had ever attended.
Her chest tightened with something she didn’t bother naming.
The house lights dimmed.
Parents quieted.
Aniyah straightened and lifted her hand toward the curtain.
“Places, everyone.”
The play unfolded with the uneven magic only children could create .
Tiny Tim delivered his line about blessings with such dramatic sincerity that the audience burst into laughter before the scene was even finished.
One of the boys playing a townsperson forgot his cue entirely and wandered across the stage holding a lantern while whispering loudly to another student, which only made the parents laugh harder.
When Zara’s moment arrived she stepped forward with absolute commitment, lifting her arms as if the entire future of theater depended on her.
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” she declared proudly. “And I remember when you were mean, but you can be nicer now.”
The audience applauded.
Aniyah pressed her lips together to keep from laughing and clapped softly along with them.
When the curtain closed, the children were buzzing with adrenaline and parents were already standing to take photographs.
The room filled with congratulations, coats rustling, and the excited chatter of students explaining the plot to adults who had literally just watched it happen.
Aniyah stepped out from the wings to help gather props when she noticed Trevor walking toward the audience.
Only now she saw how many people were waiting for Zara.
Mackenzie and Jackson stood near the front row, Mackenzie clapping proudly while Jackson held up his phone to record Zara bowing dramatically with the other children.
Beside them stood a man she recognized as an older Angelou with a toddler balanced on his hip while another little girl clung to a woman she recognized as Mackenzie’s business partner, Nina.
Nina leaned down to whisper something to them that made both girls giggle, their tiny braids bouncing as they laughed.
Behind them stood Leon, Zara’s grandfather, his chest puffed out with pride as if his granddaughter had just won an Oscar instead of reciting a ghost speech in a second-grade play.
She only knew this because of her Google search.
Aniyah noticed two older couples standing nearby as well, just as excited as the rest of the group.
The group looked less like separate families and more like one big, joyful village that had gathered to celebrate a seven-year-old girl pretending to haunt Ebenezer Scrooge.
Aniyah stood there for a second longer than necessary.
Zara had an entire room of people who loved her.
Parents. Grandparents. Aunties. Uncles. Cousins.
A whole support system orbited around her like she was the center of the sun.
Aniyah felt something quiet and aching move through her chest. She wished her family had ever looked like that.
She was even happier that Zara was not losing out on love just because her mother abandoned her.
Trevor eventually found her near the prop table where she was folding the makeshift curtain.
“That was impressive,” he said, his voice carrying genuine admiration.
Aniyah glanced up at him; the exhaustion in her shoulders softened by pride. “They did the work. I just made sure they stayed pointed in the right direction.”
“They adore you,” he said.
Her gaze drifted back toward the stage where Zara was now explaining to the twins how ghosts floated with intention.
“They’re good kids,” she murmured.
Behind Trevor, Mackenzie approached with Jackson beside her and Zara skipping happily between them.
“Miss Henderson,” Mackenzie said warmly, extending her hand. “I’ve been hearing about you for weeks.”
Aniyah froze for half a second.
She had seen Mackenzie Levi Smith’s work in galleries and magazines. She had even assigned one of Mackenzie’s photo essays to a writing prompt earlier in the semester.
Now the woman stood in front of her wearing a cream wool coat and smiling like they had known each other for years.
Aniyah shook her hand carefully. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Jackson nodded beside his wife with an easy grin. “Zara has been rehearsing her ghost speech at dinner every other night.”
Zara puffed up proudly at that.
“We’re stealing her tonight,” Mackenzie continued gently. “Sleepover at our place. That way Trevor can relax after all this production work.”
Zara pumped both fists in the air, “Sleepover!”
Trevor laughed quietly, “Okay, I will see you tomorrow , Superstar. You did an amazing job tonight.” He leaned over and kissed Zara’s forehead before she turned to leave, bouncing happily on her toes between her aunt and uncle.
When Mackenzie, Jackson, and the rest of the family began gathering coats and shepherding the kids toward the exit, the room slowly emptied around them.
Aniyah watched Zara disappear into that big, laughing group of people who loved her.
Trevor noticed where her attention had drifted.
“She’s lucky,” Aniyah said softly.
Trevor glanced toward the door where his family had just walked out.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
Aniyah looked back at him.
Trevor studied her for a moment before speaking again.
“Dinner?” he asked.
“Tonight,” he clarified. “Now that the star of the show has abandoned me.”
She hesitated just long enough to feel that familiar flutter in her chest.
Then she smiled, “Okay.”
“I’ve been teaching here for years but never stopped to eat here,” Aniyah admitted as they were seated at their table.
The restaurant Trevor chose was small and warm, tucked between two narrow storefronts downtown where Christmas lights wrapped around every lamppost outside. Inside, amber light reflected softly against dark wood tables, and the low hum of conversation drifted through the room like background music.