Chapter 1 My gran loved all holidays, but her favorite by far was Christmas. Every year, when December rolled around, she’d take out the Advent calendar she’d made herself, repurposed from an index cabinet discarded by a library after computers rendered the card catalogue system obsolete.
Gran polished that cabinet until the grain was tiger-striped and golden. On each one of the twenty-five tiny drawers, she hand-painted a date in December, and below each number, she added a Christmas-themed flourish—a snowflake for December 3, a Santa hat for December 12, and for Christmas Day, the three Magi, heads bowed, each wise man cradling a glorious gift in his palms.
When I was a child, and well beyond, Gran would fill each of those twenty-five drawers with a wondrous treasure she’d scavenged for all year long and had saved just for me—a soft-pink seashell, a cherry chocolate wrapped in red foil, a miniature silver spoon.
On December 1, she’d bring home a fresh-cut Christmas tree given to her by the Coldwells, the last family she’d worked for as a maid. We’d haul that tree up several flights of stairs, dragging it into our apartment and festooning it with popcorn garlands and an assortment of homemade ornaments.
Then, on Christmas Day, we’d wake up early, and still in pajamas, we’d open our presents. One year, Gran made me an entire crate of orange marmalade, my absolute favorite. Another year, she gave me a silver necklace, a gift, she said, given to her by a dear friend decades earlier. I gasped when I opened the box and saw the chain shimmering against the white cotton batting.
“But it’s your necklace, Gran,” I said. “I can’t accept this.”
“Of course you can. It will look lovely on you.”
And so it did. I wore that silver necklace from that day forward.
But no sooner had I received the beautiful gift than I recognized a new problem. “Oh dear,” I said.
“What’s the trouble?” Gran asked.
“The gift I got for you is useless now,” I replied.
I picked up the parcel I’d wrapped for Gran in brown paper and topped with a red satin bow. My gift to her was a heart-shaped jewelry box I’d thrifted from a nearby store. Pure brass, it was filthy and tarnished when I bought it, which is why I got it for next to nothing. I polished and buffed that heart until it gleamed and glowed.
“Oh, Molly,” Gran said when she opened it. “It’s a beautiful jewelry box.”
“Beautiful but useless,” I said. “You have nothing to put in it now.” We both knew that the only jewelry Gran possessed was the necklace she’d just given to me.
“No matter. I shall treasure this gift always.”
She placed that heart-shaped box on her bedside table, where it remains to this day.
Each year when the holiday season rolls around, I find myself taking stock of my life and ruminating about Christmases past. Gran died several years ago, and yet here I am, remembering her fondly at this special time of year. After Gran died, I thought I’d never know joy again, that I’d spend the rest of my existence living like a mushroom in the dark. But it is not so. I live with my beloved boyfriend, Juan Manuel, who reminds me how to shine. He’s a beacon of light adding hope and good cheer to all of my days. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself. My life is so good, I wonder if it’s actually real. And if it is real, will it last?
It’s silly, I know. And I try not to let doubts like these take hold, but they do get the better of me at times. Still, the truth is that Juan and I have lived together harmoniously for these past few years, sharing our modest little apartment and happily working at the Regency Grand Hotel. Whenever the calendar changes over to December, as it did about three weeks ago, Juan’s natural enthusiasm dials up even higher than usual. He infects everyone—including me—with his buoyant Christmas spirit. His joy is contagious even in the darkest of times. For this reason, and for countless others, I cherish him so much that I don’t know what I’d do without him.
With every Christmas that passes, Juan adds a new tradition to our holiday—a tradition à la Juan, as he likes to say. His fanciful rituals are wholly concocted by him, expressions of charity, mirth, and above all else, joy.
The first Christmas we spent together, I told Juan about Gran’s Advent calendar tradition, and since then, he’s kept that custom alive.
“I declare this the Month of Molly yet again,” he said on December 1 of this year. “A gift for my love, every day. What could be better?”
Each year he stocks Gran’s Advent calendar with daily treasures chosen especially for me. When I behold the childlike glow on his face as I open one of Gran’s cabinet drawers, I’m reminded of what she always taught me about gift giving: for the pure of heart, the giving is greater than the getting.
On our second Christmas together, Juan and I added cookies to our seasonal ritual, baking together in our tight and tidy kitchen, decorating each cookie with sugar icing, though Juan’s creations always come out prettier than mine. Once the cookies are iced and boxed, Juan dresses up as Santa and I as his elf, and we give a box to every neighbor we know in our run-down apartment building, leaving extras at the doors of strangers we feel could use some holiday cheer.
On our third Christmas together, Juan had a new brain wave. “Our apartment window looks out onto the street. Some of the other tenants put up lights. We should, too!” he announced. Before I could stop him, he marched to the hardware store down the street, bought a set of multicolored twinkle lights, and installed them around our living room window, creating a blinking wonderland that could be seen from a mile away.
And then there was last year’s tradition à la Juan, by far his wildest yet. On the day of the first snowfall in December, he burst into the living room, where I was sitting on our threadbare sofa, and said, “Let’s take a ride in a horse-drawn carriage—jingle all the way! I’ve always wanted to do that—a romantic ride through the city streets with my Molly by my side.”
“What a nice idea,” I replied. “Let’s look into it sometime.”
“Look into it?” he answered. “Let’s do it right now!”
And so I found myself bundled in a warm coat, Juan cradling a flask of spicy hot chocolate he’d brewed himself. Down to the city’s main square we went, where the holiday carriages were circling. Juan’s face fell when a driver told him the price of a short ride—far beyond our meager means. His hand went to his wallet, but I stopped him before he could pay. “Juan, it’s too much money. Surely, there’s something else we can do instead.”
His eyes lit up then, and that devious little dimple on his cheek made an appearance as it always does when he gets an outrageous idea. “You’re right, Molly. I have a better plan.”
This is how I found myself back in the main square the day after. This time, I sat in a discarded children’s sleigh fished from a dumpster by Juan Manuel, who was wearing an old fur coat that once belonged to Gran, dollar-store reindeer antlers on his head, and a red clown nose. He pulled me around the main square on the sleigh—twice!—and I laughed the entire time, as did everyone else who witnessed our silly, joy-filled spectacle. A photo of this moment sits on Gran’s curio cabinet to this day. My head is thrown back in laughter, and Juan is looking back at me—expectant, jubilant, and maybe (I hope) a little bit in love. Who knew a reindeer could cherish a carriage ride so much?
Now, as I lie in bed struggling to sleep through the early Sunday morning hours, I watch Juan in the shadowy light, slumbering peacefully on his pillow. So many memories of Christmases past swirl in my mind. Soon, we will spend our fifth holiday season together—may it be as merry and bright as all the ones we’ve shared before.
Juan’s face is soft and so dreamy sweet. Even though it’s nearly eight o’clock, I won’t wake him. Not yet. He deserves a good lie-in. He’s been so tired lately. That man of mine never stops. He’s always seeing to some chore or another, making sure everyone’s okay—taking care of friends, family, colleagues, guests at the hotel, and me.
Yesterday, we worked a long day at the Regency Grand, me toiling in guest rooms as Head Maid and Juan doing double duty in the downstairs kitchen. He was promoted to Head of Pastry a couple of years ago. This means that during the holidays, he’s in charge of many more preparations, all of them above and beyond his regular responsibilities.
When we arrived home after yesterday’s shift, I was totally exhausted. I took my shoes off, wiped the bottoms, put them away in the front closet, then immediately flopped on the sofa in the living room.
Copyright © 2024 by Nita Prose. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
