That night, Christmas Eve didn’t smell much like cinnamon and pine needles like I always thought it did. It smelled more like cardboard and dust.
My hands were sore from going through old moving boxes to find the special trinkets Mark and I had gathered in our first year of marriage.
The dim lighting in the basement made the concrete floor have long shadows that made the stacks of boxes look like tiny versions of buildings in cities.
“May I put the star on top, Mom?” Katie rang down the stairs. Her favorite holiday was Christmas when she was five years old. She had been so excited since Thanksgiving that she was counting down the days on her paper chain like a holy ritual.
“Come on, baby. I’ll find it first. As I dug deeper into another box, my fingers touched a smooth surface. It’s a picture, not the star.
I held my breath. Mom and Dad smiled at me from the shiny surface. I barely remember the happiness that was on their faces at that moment. Dad had his arm around Mom’s waist, and she was laughing at something he said.
There was a date stamp in the corner that said December 1997. He was last seen eight months ago.
“Ella?” Mark’s words came down from the second floor. “Are you okay down there?” “If we don’t finish that tree soon, Katie is going to blow up.”
“Yeah, just…” I forced the lump in my throat down by swallowing hard. “I found some old stuff.”
The picture moved around in my hands. The pain of finding Dad gone when you woke up one morning after twenty-four years had not gone away. There was nothing left to explain why.
Mom never got better. She forgot to eat and smile for two years and walked around like a ghost.
It felt like cancer was just the end of what sadness had begun when she died. I ended up going from foster home to foster home with questions that no one could answer.
“I found it!” Mark’s words of victory could be heard before he walked up the stairs. “The whole time it was in the hall closet.” He showed up at the bottom step with our broken cardboard star in his hands. When he saw my face, his smile went away. “What’s wrong?”
The picture was put back in the box. “Nothing.” History from long ago. Katie, honey, help Mommy hang these candy canes while Daddy fixes the star. I forced a smile as I yelled at her.
Mark gave me a look that meant we should talk later, but he didn’t make me. One thing I liked most about him was that he knew when to wait.
We were just finishing up the bottom twigs when the front doorbell rang. There were three sharp raps that sounded like gunshots in our entry hall.
“I’ll get it!” Katie moved forward, but I grabbed her arm.
“Wait a minute, honey.” It was almost eight o’clock at night on Christmas Eve. Not exactly the best time to visit.
It happened again, this time with more force. I slowly walked up to the door and peered through the side window. A boy, maybe 13 or 14 years old, stood on our porch with his back to the wind in December.
Snowflakes were in his dark hair, and his jacket looked too thin for the weather.
I barely opened the door. “May I assist you?”
When he lifted his head, his hand shot out with the palm facing up. It was a faded and frayed braided friendship band that I knew right away.
I worked on the pattern for weeks to get the red, blue, and yellow threads to fit together just right. When I was six, I made that simple band for my dad and was proud of it more than anything else I’d ever made.
“I found you at last,” the boy said, his voice getting a little rough.
I held on to the doorframe with my hand. “Where did you get that?”
“May I come in?” Please? It’s really cold outside.” He shivered, and I saw that his lips were a little blue.
Mark showed up behind me. “Ella?” Is everything okay?”
I gave him a blank nod and stepped back to let him in. He walked over to us and stomped snow off his boots as he did so.
He rubbed his hands together and said, “My name is David.” It was cold, so his fingers were red. “I’m also your brother.”
The world was leaning to one side. “That’s not possible.” “I’m an only child.”
David took a crumpled picture out of his pocket.
“Christopher was the name of my dad.” This was in his pocket.
He gave me a picture of himself sitting on friendly shoulders when he was about ten years old. On Dad’s shoulders. Dad’s grin. David held up a cotton candy cone, and the two of them were smiling for the camera.
I could no longer stand on my legs. I fell asleep on our couch with the burning picture in my hands. “He’s still alive?”
David’s face turned down. “Was.” He passed away two weeks ago. Cancer.” He took a deep breath. “He fought it for almost a year, but in the end…” His speech stopped.
Mark led Katie upstairs in a quiet voice, saying something about getting her ready for bed. He always knew what I needed, even when I wasn’t sure.
“He didn’t just disappear,” David said as he leaned back in our chair. “I’m sorry, but he left you and your mom.” For my mom.
Each word hit the still water like a stone, sending pain waves outward.
The words hit hard. “He had another family?”
David said “yes.” “Dad didn’t tell me any of this until the very end.” I promised him I would find you and tell you he was sorry. He had a mean laugh. “My mom and I broke up when I was nine.” I guess she got bored with housework.
“So you’ve been by yourself?” It seemed like my voice didn’t sound right.
“Help people.” David gave me a shrug, but I could tell his shoulders were tense. “Not good.” More or less the same as other people.
“I understand what you mean.” That is where I went after my mom died.
He gave me a serious nod, and I felt like we were related, and my shock went away. I wasn’t sure if this kid really was my brother yet, but the fact that we were both hurting made us feel like we had a connection.
During the night, we shared bits and pieces of the same man: Dad’s laugh, his bad jokes, and the way he hummed while he cooked. David told me about baseball games and fishing trips. I told him about puppet shows and stories to read before bed.
We had all had slightly different experiences with Christopher, and none of them were quite complete.
I knew what I had to do by morning. Mark agreed right away and understood without me having to say anything.
Three days after Christmas, the DNA test results showed up. I opened them by myself in the kitchen, my hands shaking.
There is no match at all.
I read it again and understood how it bloomed like frost on a window. It wasn’t my brother David. That meant he wasn’t even his dad’s son. Everything you remember about those years was based on a lie.
After David went to sleep in our guest room that night, I told Mark, “Karma has a weird sense of humor.” Dad left us for another woman, and she told him a lie that David was her son. How you treat other people, right?”
David shook like a paper bag when I told him the truth.
“So I’ve got no one,” he whispered, and I saw myself as an eight-year-old standing in front of a social worker with a toy animal in my hand and trying not to cry.
“That’s not true.” I took his hand.
“Listen, I know what it’s like to be by yourself.” To feel like you don’t belong anywhere, ever. But you found me for a reason, even if it wasn’t because of DNA. We can make this official if you’d like. You are welcome to stay with us and become a part of our family.
His eyes got bigger. “Really?” But I’m not… “We’re not—”
Mark spoke from the doorway. “Family is more than blood.” That’s choice, that’s love, and that’s deciding to show up every day and stay.
David’s answer was a hug that was so strong it made me gasp for air.
We hung ornaments together a year later while laughing as Katie led us from her perch on Mark’s shoulders. There was an old picture of my parents on our mantel next to a new picture of David, Katie, Mark, and I all dressed in similar Christmas sweaters.
It felt a bit like a Christmas surprise that we were now all together as a family. What kind of wonder doesn’t need magic? Just hearts that are open and the courage to say yes to love.
I saw David and Katie putting the star on top of our tree while their faces were lit up by Christmas lights. I felt the last bit of old pain melt away into something warmer. Like peace.
This work is based on real people and events, but it has been made up for artistic reasons. To protect privacy and make the story better, names, characters, and circumstances have been changed. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, or real events is completely accidental and not on purpose by the author.
thecelebritist.com is the source.
