Felix

They sat at the kitchen table together, staring at the piece of paper between them. The number handwritten at the top of the page—filled in with many zeros—drew most of their focus. The number of zeros was meant to be motivating, a representation of the fact that Hugo wanted a quick decision and quick possession. He had even included a bonus to help with moving their belongings.

Despite the very generous offer, his mother's expression was grim.

"I don't know," she said for what seemed like the millionth time. She had been paralyzed by indecision ever since Hugo had handed over the stack of paper. "I just don't know. Do you think we should accept this offer?"

"I can't tell you what to do," Felix said. "This is your house."

"This is our house," his mother said, reaching out for him. He watched her other hand move to the always empty spot at the head of the table—his dad. Her fingers grazed the edge of the coffee cup stain. "The family's house. I want to know what you think."

"It's a good offer," Felix said. "A very good offer. We're unlikely to get an offer with more money than this."

"I don't care about the money," his mother said, spitting the last word like it was dirty. "I've got more than enough money to survive in the savings account your dad and I put together. What I want is to know that the farm will be going to good hands."

Felix pressed his lips together. He couldn't lie to his mom and tell her that Hugo would take care of the place like she—and the many generations that came before—had. Georgia's warning had been correct. The offer contained explicit language that they had no say in what happened to the property after the purchase was final. Hugo might very well gut the place, replacing its warm charm with cold stone...

Or he might bulldoze the place.

If they signed the contract in front of them, he'd have every right to.

"Does it matter?" Felix managed at last. "It won't be yours anymore."

"Of course it matters," his mother said, her voice going quiet. "It matters because this place means a lot to me. It matters because this place meant a lot to your father. He grew up here. You grew up here. He wanted to see it passed down, appreciated, enjoyed by people who would carry on the legacy of his family. Not replaced, erased, or..." she swallowed, "torn down."

"And what if that doesn't come along?" Felix asked. "You may have your retirement fund now, but you might not get to keep it if you keep waiting around for the perfect buyer."

His mother stared at him. He knew what she was thinking. He was the one that was supposed to come along, change his mind, and save the farm. It would be too easy to say the words and appease his mom, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

"I can't do this," his mother said, pushing away the paper with Hugo's offer on it. "Not now. Not on Christmas. How many days do we have to make a decision?"

"He gave us until the end of the year," Felix said.

"Then I am going to pretend it doesn't exist, at least for now," his mother said, pushing back from the table, her chair squealing as it scraped across the floor. "What I am going to do is do my darndest to enjoy my last Christmas here. Then we'll take a look again after the holidays." She turned and left the kitchen, heading into the living room.

Felix sighed and got up from the table, too. If he was honest with himself, he didn't want to think about it either. Having the offer in hand made it all the more... real. And there was something else at the back of his mind, holding him back—a pair of bright hazel eyes warning him about what Hugo might do.

Maybe he should just let himself enjoy Christmas, too. It could very well be the last one here, after all. He owed it to his mom to make it a good one. He knew she'd want to do all the old traditions, and he felt like he wanted to indulge her.

As he stepped into the living room, he found his mother on the couch, already holding a present wrapped in simple brown paper. He didn't recognize it.

"Who is that from?" he asked as he went to sit by his mother.

She brushed her fingers along the red velvet ribbon that had been tied around it. "Georgia," his mother said, her voice soft and sad.

Hearing her name made his heart beat a little harder. He looked away. How he had left things with her still stung.

Why hadn't I just apologized when I had the chance? he thought. He still felt stupid for the way he had snapped at her when she had just been trying to help. And she had even been right.

Now, with her gone, the house felt strangely cold and empty. It was hard, but he had to admit to himself that having Georgia in the house was the first time he'd enjoyed his time at the farm since he'd left all those years ago. It had given him a taste, a reminder, of what he had loved about this place.

And now...

He wished he could reach out to her but, stupidly, had never gotten her number. And besides, she was finally with her sister and the new baby. He didn't want to disturb her.

"Should we bring back the old tradition?" his mother asked, looking over at him and interrupting his thoughts. "Of opening one gift on Christmas eve?"

When Felix had been a kid, Christmas eve had always been the big day of celebration, not Christmas day. For his father's family, it was tradition to have a big dinner on Christmas eve, go to church, and then when they came home, open one gift before going off to bed.

"Sure," Felix said, settling back into the couch. "Go for it." He was curious to see what Georgia had given his mom.

His mom gave him a smile before starting to unwrap the gift. She was careful with it, untying the bow and carefully peeling back the tape and paper. Inside was a large, forest-green gift box, a box that Felix could've sworn he had seen in the back room at some point...

As his mother lifted the lid off the box, she gasped. Inside was an album, the white reindeer figurine, and a note.

Sue, the note began.

This is a small thank you for everything you've done for me. From saving me from the snow to taking me into your home and all the immeasurable kindnesses along the way. Your farm was a magical place, and I'll always remember it. Hopefully, these things will help keep the farm's memory alive for you, too.

The note was simply signed, Georgia.

His mother put the note aside and opened the album. "Oh!" she cried, her hand going to her mouth.

The very first page held the card Georgia had shown him, with the picture of him and his sister Astrid in the snow with the farmhouse in the background.

"Oh my," his mother said, her voice trembling. "I haven't seen this picture in so long. Oh, look how little you two are. And look..." She pointed at another card that had been tucked in between the pages. It had a black and white photo of the farm on it, and a post-it attached that read, For Felix.

"I guess that's for you," his mother said, pulling it out and handing it over.

Confused, Felix took the card. He opened it, and inside was another post-it.

May this white reindeer lead you where you need to go
But don't forget where you came from

—G

He pulled it off to read the text underneath. He realized that the card was addressed to him, but it wasn't in Georgia's full, loopy penmanship. The writing was tight and spiky and instantly familiar.

It was his father's writing.

The date at the end revealed it was written mere weeks before his father's fatal heart attack. He had written this to him... but never got the chance to send it.

Felix,

I want to say I'm sorry for how everything has gone down, for the distance that has grown between us. You may have realized that I am a stubborn man, a trait I have unfortunately passed down to my only son. As he read it, Felix could hear his dad's voice, the low, rumbling laughter that came after every line. His vision blurred, and his hand shook, but he kept reading.

But it's nearly Christmas and this time of year always makes me think of what I really want. And what I want is you to come home, son. I should have never given you that ultimatum—to never come back if you were to leave. That was the biggest mistake I've ever made. I never wanted to keep you away from the farm. I should've tried to find a compromise with you. My dream was for you to inherit the farm, but your dreams matter, too. I wish there was a way for them to both work together. Maybe there still is. But for now, I wanted you to know that I love you, that I'm proud of you, and that I hope that you consider coming back to the farm this Christmas. We will always be your family, and the farm will always be your home.

Love, Dad.

Felix dropped his hand, the card landing heavily in his lap. He stared around the room, taking in every familiar detail. This farm, this home that his father loved so much...

This changed everything.

🎄