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Samira hadn’t meant anything by it.
Honestly, she hadn’t even realized she’d said it out loud.
It was after a double shift, her nerves frayed, hands still smelling faintly of soap and latex. Abbot was driving her home, snow falling in waves, threatening to pile up on the windshield despite the wipers’ best efforts. The silence stretched comfortably between them as they drove. Christmas lights decorated the light poles. It was that time of year again. At a stoplight, she watched a family hurriedly tow a wagon bearing a wrapped tree. Their child brought up the rear pure delight on the part of the face not covered by his hood. She’d been half-asleep, forehead against the cold glass, when the words just slipped out:
“I’ve never had a Christmas tree.”
Jack glanced over.
“Never?”
She shook her head.
“My dad had wanted to get a Christmas tree after we immigrated here, but then he got sick and he died before we ever got one. And, Amma…” She hesitated, searching for the right phrasing. “Christmas wasn’t her culture. It wasn't something she knew how to do. I think my mother felt silly trying. So, we just…didn’t.”
A tired laugh.
“I used to picture one, though—coming home to twinkly lights and presents.”
There was a softness in Jack’s eyes she didn’t see—she’d already drifted off.
By morning, she didn’t even remember saying anything.
Jack did.
A week later, after another shift that drained every ounce of energy out of her—one code blue, a heartbreaking SIDS case, and a hallway full of flu patients—Samira trudged up her apartment steps. Her scrubs were stiff with dried sweat; her shoulders ached from sixteen hours of tension.
She pushed her front door open. She froze.
Her apartment glowed with golden, warm, and impossibly gentle light.
A Christmas tree stood in the corner of her living room. It was tall, crooked in an endearing way, with branches glittering with lights. A handful of ornaments hung carefully: some elegant, some silly, all chosen with intention.
Samira’s breath caught.
Jack was kneeling at the base of the tree, sliding a wrapped present under the lowest branch. He froze mid-motion when he heard her.
“Oh,” he said, jumping to his feet. “You’re home a little early.”
She stared at the tree, then at him, “What…what is all this?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. Jack Abbot was suddenly shy.
“You said you never had a tree.”
A beat.
“And that you wanted one. With twinkly lights and presents, specifically.”
His gravely voice softened, “So I figured… maybe this year, you could come home to that.”
Samira swallowed hard. Her eyes filled before she could stop them. She reached out, first touching an ornament, then a branch, then the front of her boyfriend’s cotton t-shirt. Grounding herself in the reality of it. Afraid it was some sort of exhaustion induced illusion.
“You did all this for me?” she whispered.
He smiled, soft and earnest. “Yeah, of course. Everyone deserves a Christmas tree.”
She kissed him before he could say anything else—slow, grateful, achingly deep. On instinct his hands found their way to her waist. She carded her fingers through the curls at his nape.
When she finally pulled back, she noticed the stack of presents beneath the tree. She wiped her eyes.
“There are so many presents.”
“Well,” Jack said, kneeling once more to reorganize some of the packages. “This being your first and all I thought it only fitting, but no peeking until the 25th. It’s tradition. Also, one is from Dana. She felt the need to contribute to your inaugural Christmas tree experience after I picked her brain for ideas.”
She snorted. “It’s probably a sarcastic mug.”
“Almost definitely.”
Samira sank onto the floor beside him, letting the glow of the lights wash over her. Her head fell onto Abbot’s firm shoulder. For the first time since she was a child, since before grief hollowed out her holidays, she felt something warm, bright, and safe settle inside her.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for giving me a Christmas I couldn’t have before.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.
“Anything for you, Mohan.”
And surrounded by the glow of the twinkling lights on her first Christmas tree, Samira finally believed Jack Abbot when he said anything.