(Part 3)

I always loved Christmas. The bright lights and the wonderful drinks always warmed me up after a long year. When I was younger, my family would stay up all night and watch the movie marathons of the old classic films. Drinking hot cocoa, and seeing who could stay awake the longest. Even after dad left, the holiday season always managed to keep me happy.

"I'm thinking, we can pick up a few things from the store the day before Christmas eve and we just kind of veg out? How does that sound Ken?"

"That sounds nice," I say, stretching as I finally get out of bed. The morning routine helps shake off the remnants of last night's dreams. Shower, coffee, breakfast – simple things that ground me in the present.

Cheri's already in the kitchen when I finish my shower, the smell of coffee and toast filling our small apartment. She's humming something under her breath – probably one of those Christmas songs she's been obsessed with lately. The decorations have been slowly multiplying around the apartment over the past week, thanks to her enthusiasm.

"I made you breakfast," she says, sliding a plate across the counter. "You seemed pretty out of it this morning."

"Just tired," I reply, focusing on the perfectly done eggs. Cheri always remembers how I like them – just slightly runny in the middle. "Work's been crazy with the holiday rush."

"The bookstore must be packed this time of year."

I nod, grateful for the mundane conversation. "Everyone wants their last-minute Christmas shopping done. You wouldn't believe how many copies of 'The Night Before Christmas' I sold yesterday."

"Speaking of Christmas," Cheri says, sitting down across from me with her own plate, "I was thinking maybe we could start our own tradition this year. You know, make new memories."

Something in her tone makes me look up. She's watching me carefully, the way she does when she thinks I'm having a bad day. But I'm fine. The dreams only come at night, and during the day, I'm just regular Kenny, assistant manager at Morton's Books and Cheri's somewhat functional boyfriend.

"New memories sound good," I tell her, and I mean it. The old ones are... complicated. But Cheri doesn't need to know about that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Great!" She brightens immediately. "I was thinking we could do a movie marathon on Christmas Eve, order Chinese food, make hot chocolate – the works. Just us."

Just us. Something eases in my chest at those words. Just us means no family obligations, no awkward questions about why I never talk about my mother anymore, no well-meaning inquiries about my brother.

"That sounds perfect, Cher. Really perfect."


The bookstore is quieter than usual when I arrive, despite what I told Cheri about the holiday rush. Most of our customers come in during the afternoon, leaving the morning shift peaceful. Just me, the books, and old Mrs. Henderson who works the register on Tuesdays.

"Morning, Kenny," she calls out as I hang up my coat. "Could you help me with these new displays? My arthritis is acting up something fierce today."

I spend the next hour arranging Christmas-themed books in the front window. It's mindless work, which usually I enjoy, but today something about the covers keeps catching my eye. A illustrated family gathered around a fireplace. A mother reading to her children. A brother and sister decorating a tree.

"You're doing that thing again, dear," Mrs. Henderson says, making me jump. I hadn't heard her approach. "Staring off into space. Just like your mother used to do."

I freeze, the book in my hands suddenly heavy. "You knew my mother?"