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“You think Santa accepts late Christmas wish lists?" Milner groaned. It had been another win for Brighton, one which put them on top of their group, but he was still left feeling drained despite only playing twenty-five minutes of the match. “Because now I think I might write one.”
Lallana whipped his head around, staring at Milner in shock. “I thought you said you don’t believe in Santa. Caffeine or decaf?”
“Decaf.” Milner stared into his favorite tea mug. The kids back in Liverpool had painted it as a going-away present for him last May. It was a colorful, chaotic mess, a far cry from the bone china Milner preferred, but it had still wormed its way into his heart. “Look, Ads, nobody likes me here.”
Lallana nearly dropped the boiling hot teakettle on his foot. “Are you insane?!”
“The Brighton guys think I am.”
“Milly, you know that’s not true. I like you, and so do Danny and Ansu.” Lallana added two teabags into Milner’s cup and poured hot water into it, ruffling the Yorkshireman’s hair. “Plus, some people just don’t understand you.”
“The guys understand me.”
“I thought you said they didn’t?”
“You know what I mean, Ads. The guys, our guys. Our brothers in all but blood who we adopted, blind to the fact that one day the system would rip us away from them.”
“Oh, James.” Lallana took his own mug and sat next to Milner, opening a tin decorated in snowflakes and gingerbread houses. “Want a biscuit?”
Milner looked into the tin. The biscuits in question were rectangular and pale yellow, with fanciful scrolls and two diamonds engraved on them. “These are Custard Creams.”
Lallana smiled crookedly. He’d always been an empathetic soul, and he caught people’s emotions like they were viruses. “Thought you could use a taste of home.”
Milner picked up a Custard Cream, staring at it lifelessly. Before he could plunge it into the tea, though, he sighed and put it down.
“I can’t look at this without thinking of Andy. What’s he thinking now? What’s everybody thinking now? Does Ali still worry about stuff, does Joel still try to finish that song of his, is Darwin still an annoying little devil?” He laughed bitterly, pushing his tea to the side. “I’m—I’m a flipping mess, Adam. Why do you even bother?”
“Because you’re my friend, okay? Now drink your tea, old man.” Lallana cupped Milner’s face in his hands, turning him so that their eyes met. “Look, you are not a mess. You’re homesick, and it’s perfectly normal. You played there for eight years, you made friends.”
“I should be happy. I’m here with you. Why can’t I be normal?”
Lallana sighed, pushing a piece of paper and a pen towards Milner. “Why don’t you write your Santa letter? It’ll make you feel better.”
“I doubt it.” But Milner took up the pen and began to write.
Dear Santa,
I walked into the bus today and everybody groaned. I went into the locker room and everybody stopped talking. I helped solidify the defense for today's game, but nobody's even realizing that.
I miss being appreciated. I miss being seen the way the others back up north all saw me. I miss Harvey’s pranks, Robbo's laughter, Mona's cooking. (Even the tempeh.) I miss Ali’s hugs and Bobby’s smiles and the gaffer’s crazy ideas. I miss going crazy whenever somebody touched one of the youngsters, I miss getting yellow cards, I miss winning our lactate test competitions.
I know I should be appreciative that I’m with Adam again, but I don’t want to be here anymore. Nothing feels right anymore. I just want to go home and be with my friends and my bosses. I just miss them all so much.
Yours truly,
James
Milner didn’t even realize that Lallana was hugging him until he felt a warm embrace around him. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself looking into Lallana's eyes. They stood, embracing each other, for a few moments before Lallana pulled away.
"You needed that."
"I can still punch you in the face whenever I want."
"You're still my old man."