Hearts and Other Breakable Things

chapter nineteen ✔️

januarie robinson
- december 22, 2018 -

"I'M GLAD YOUR HAT DIDN'T get dirty earlier," Lucas spoke as we wandered down the street, weaving through people as we went. His eyes never stayed on one object or booth for too long before bouncing to the next thing, "I saw you drop it when you bumped into me."

            I covered my face with one of my hands, "That was you? I didn't even notice. How did I miss that?"

            "Don't worry about it; bumping into me." He smiled, looking up at the lights, "If you hadn't, I never would have been able to hear you sing. You're very good by the way. I would have stopped you, but you seemed like you were in quite the hurry and I was on the lookout for my brother."

            I stopped in my tracks, a person tumbled into my back and mumbled an apology. Lucas paused and looked over his shoulder, "Your brother lives here?"

            Gesturing with his head, he continued down the path and I had to jog to catch up with his long strides, "Kind of. He's temporarily taking sanctuary in my guest room. It's close enough for my parents to see him, but not close enough for them to randomly pop in. The holidays are hitting him really hard this year," he paused, letting himself take in all the smiling faces around us.

            He took a deep breath and his lips twitched up. I couldn't blame him. It smelled like pine trees and peppermint. His smile dropped when he glanced my way. I was afraid if I spoke, he wouldn't continue with his story, "His wife passed away recently. They'd only been married two years, but they'd been together since highschool."

            "I know it doesn't mean much," I shook my head and looked up at him, "but I'm so sorry."

            His lips twitched up, "It does, thank you." He looked over my shoulder and stopped, his eyes growing wide, "Are those—" He stepped around me and up to the shack-like booth. Tables lined the booth with boxes littering the tops.

            "Advent calendars?" I asked, following him, "Yeah. They're part of the—"

            "German culture," he finished with a welcoming sigh. His hands ran against the table as he took in every handmade calendar. Made of every material, the only thing they had in common was the numbers one through twenty-four panted on the tiny doors.

            "My mom," he smiled, looking like a kid on Christmas morning, making me want to laugh, "she used to buy one every single year because it was a tradition with my grandma. She's from Germany and immigrated over here when she married my grandpa."

            Grabbing one of the smaller calendars, he walked straight up to the girl in the back of the booth. She wore her hair in long braided pigtails to match her traditional German-style dress. Her lips parted into a wide grin as she wrapped the calendar in newspaper and placed it in a brown paper bag.