Fwahaha, Kris… I found your basket. Do you remember?
Kris...
I came home, kicked off my boots, and there it was, sitting right by the old TV in the corner. The same TV we used to watch those cheesy holiday specials on, remember? You always said they were boring, but you never changed the channel. You'd just sit there, pulling at your sleeves, while I rambled about the reindeer.
I opened the note before I even touched the flowers. And I read that line, "my Best Holiday Ever," and I just… stopped.
Do you remember that winter? The one where we built that terrible snowman behind the church? It was lopsided and missing an eye, and you gave it your scarf anyway. Your mom yelled at you later for losing it, but you just shrugged. I gave you half my hot chocolate that day. You didn't say thank you, but you sat next to me the whole afternoon. That was the first time I thought, this is what a holiday should feel like.
And then there was that other time, the festival, the lights, the way you grabbed my hand when we got separated in the crowd. You didn't let go until we found my dad. I never told you, but I didn't actually mind being lost. Not with you.
You always acted so quiet, so distant. But you showed up. You always showed up.
And now this? Flowers. A note. "If we ever get together again."
Kris… we live in the same town. We go to the same school. Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?
I don't want to read this like a farewell. I want to read it like an invitation.
So here's me inviting you back, to that corner of the TV, to that old snowman, to whatever weird holiday thing you want to drag me into next. You don't have to say anything. You never do. Just show up. Like you always did.
Because you were right. I am your Best Holiday Ever. I always have been.
So please. Let's get together again.
— Noelle 🌼