December 25th | Six days until NYE

Despite all the decorations, all the presents we'd given each other, the tender and delicious Christmas dinner and the game of cards we'd played together...something felt off.

I knew it was me. I just couldn't find the joy, the excitement. I had my family together for the holidays, the gift-giving and the entire meal. We had our paper crowns from the Christmas crackers, traded the horrible yet hilarious jokes that were rolled amongst the miniature bowling pins, tiny deck of cards, the bottle opener, and the manicure kit.

And yet I found myself holding my drink in my living room, alone, because there was a pit in my stomach I couldn't fill.

It was currently the section of Christmas Day that was the allocated nap time. The twins had crashed after the dinner, and Mum had taken the opportunity to rest as well. I'd done the dishes to see if I could lodge this numb feeling but all that had succeeded in was some extra-scrubbed plates.

I looked up when I saw my dad sitting on the back garden bench. I glimpsed his mellow expression and frowned, setting down my drink, and walked outside.

He startled. Seeing me leaning against the glass he immediately leaned back, his face lighting up. If I hadn't seen his expression seconds before I wouldn't have thought anything was wrong.

"Dad, what's going on?" I said, sitting down next to him.

The smile eased but not completely. "Shame we lost our record for Charades yesterday," Jeremiah said instead. "The Hardy's and Maureen are a powerful team."

I played along. "Yeah, as soon as Mrs Hardy had to act out Sex and the City it was over for us."

He laughed. "That was funny."

"I liked how no one said anything for a solid five minutes before Leah finally caved," I giggled, "she couldn't watch it anymore."

"Well," Dad shrugged with a half-smile. "It's certainly a Christmas we won't forget."

I turned his words over in my head. "Are you alright, Dad? You're a little quiet."

Jeremiah Okenji, the tallest, broadest, and funniest man I knew, curled in on himself and the sigh he released sounded like he'd been holding it in for months. He stared at the floor, eyes darting around the grains in the wooden decking, and I watched as he looked up at me and pinned me with the weight of his gaze.

"Dad?" I said quietly.

"Christmas could have been different this year if Maureen hadn't found you," he admitted. "It would have been me, your mother, and the twins. We would have tried the Charades and found no one could be as creative as you. We would have the sticky date pudding your mum does every year, even though it's tedious, but there wouldn't be anyone who would praise it, because that would have been you."

He leaned back on the bench. "There wouldn't have been your excitement over the presents. No one to look after the twins." He stared at me. "There wouldn't be anyone sitting next to me right now."

"Dad," I said, my voice wavering. "I'm here."

"For two nights you weren't. For those two nights, every outcome ran through my head, and you have no idea how terrified I was, how terrified we were." Dad slowly shook his head like he was dislodging the memory of my disappearance. "I dropped everything to find you, and I would do it again, so we never have to go through a day without you here, with your family, where you belong."

I turned away, setting my glass down on the arm of the bench, and bit my lip in an attempt to stop the tears from spilling from my eyes. "Dad..." My voice broke. "I'm sorry."

He pulled me into an embrace. "No, no, Sylvie, you don't apologise. You've been apologising for months, and you've been good, trying to repay something that wasn't yours."

I sniffed. "Then what can I say? I didn't know about all of this, what you've been thinking about for months. Have you spoken to a therapist?"

Dad pulled a face. "Nah, I'll be fine. Your mother and I have had a lot of long talks since your birthday. We wanted to keep an eye on you, we had to, because we were terrified to lose you again. This...this Christmas has been hard, because for a moment we didn't think we'd have you with us."

"Dad," I drew back and stared at him. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He grasped my hand in his. "I know you, Sylvie. I know you. I know you'll be with your family, because you keep your word."

"I do," I assured. "It's something I learned from you and mum."

"Oh yeah?" Dad raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," I smiled at the memory. "I remember finding out that you were high-school sweethearts, that you made a promise to be there for each other no matter what, and you kept it. You stayed together, you committed, you gave your word and I grew up seeing that."

He paused, quiet for a few seconds too long.

"Dad?"

When he met my eyes he looked regretful. "Sylvia, your mum was my high-school sweetheart, but I wasn't hers."

The world deafened around me as shock froze me solid. "What?"

He sighed. "Your mother and I were best friends in high school, yes, but we weren't together. In the few years between when we graduated to when we did date, she was with someone else."

"Hang on, someone else? I thought..."

"She was married to someone else." Dad waved the hundred questions on my face. "It was a mutual divorce between them, they fell out of love. It can happen."

"But...their vows?" I was thinking too quickly for my mouth to catch up, I was stammering like a fish. "Didn't they promise..?"

He squeezed my hand. "Sylvia, someone's word, promise, vow, whatever commitment, it's not always a permanent thing. People change. Circumstances change. Your mother changed and in turn, her promise did too. Things can happen that alter someone's perspective and it means that their word can shift as well."

I paused, sitting on the bench, as the past few weeks echoed in my mind. My fierce loyalty and the unshakeable stubbornness almost caused a rift between me and my friends. The discovery of the mermaids and Henry, quietly desperate for his life to change, becoming a friend too despite everything that he and his friends had gone through.

"The world is more than a promise, Sylvia." Jeremiah stared out at the blue hour of sunset. "And a promise doesn't mean the world."

I swallowed. "Are we still talking about Mum's old marriage?"

"I know you've not been at Old Smithy's the whole time," he said, without a cutting edge to his deep voice. The gentle tone somehow made my guilt harsher, coiling in my belly like a snake. "Maureen messaged updates, you know."

"She snitched on me?"

"I told you she was going to give updates before you stayed over," Dad reminded. "She let us know that you went off with Leah and Benji, and when you went off alone to a bay we've never heard of."

My cheeks were burning. "I...I came back."

He nodded slowly. "You did. You came back every time, except when it was your birthday."

"Dad–"

"No Sylvia, you don't understand how terrified your mother and I were." He looked out over the garden with a clenched jaw. "It's a prickling, cold fear that hammers in your chest as you wait for any news, any signs, but the waiting is the worst part. We waited for two nights Sylvia. You were gone for over thirty-six hours."

I swallowed. "Dad...I'm sorry."

"No," he turned to me, eyes twinkling with emotion, "I don't want to hear you say you're sorry. You've been saying it for six months."

"What do you want me to say then?"

"I want you to tell me you're okay." He clutched my hand tightly. "I want you to tell me you'll be okay. I want to know that you're safe, you're happy, and you'll always come back."

His grip threatened to pop my knuckles, but I held firm as I looked my father in the eye. "Dad, I'm okay. I'll be okay – I promise I'll be okay."

"Don't promise me, Sylvia. Don't give me your word when it can so quickly change, when your world can shift so quickly that suddenly a promise is nothing." He let go of my hand. "Don't give me your word. Give me hope."

I took my hand back to rest on my lap as his words hit my soul. How did I give him hope? I always used my word, my promise, my vows to communicate how I'd show up for people, be there, carry their secrets when they became too heavy to bare. How could I prove I could be there without saying so?

Dad could see the thoughts racing through my head. "It means show me, Sylvia. Show me that you'll be okay, don't just say so. I don't want to hear another easily breakable promise from you. I just want to see you."

I looked up. "I'm here now."

He smiled. "Yes, you are. And seeing you here for Christmas, when I thought you might not be, gives me hope that you'll keep returning, keep coming home, and being with your family." His voice wavered, and he turned his head away to stop the emotion from showing in his eyes, but it was too late.

I immediately leaned over and hugged him tightly. "Dad, I'm here. I'm here, and I'll be okay."

His arms encircled me fiercely. I heard the gentle sniff of him holding tears back. "Merry Christmas, Sylvia."

"Merry Christmas, Dad." I leaned back and saw him clear his throat and wipe something out of the corner of his eye. "Are we sure that Mum didn't put something in the sticky date pudding?"

A laugh burst out of him, his expression lighting up. It warmed my chest to see him happy again. I didn't often see him sad, or vulnerable, it was jarring to see him cry. This was Jeremiah Okenji, this was my Dad, who smiled through life despite every hurdle.

"I wouldn't put it past her," he joked, and tapped my knee. "Fancy another slice?"

"Absolutely." I stood with him, grabbing my drink, as we walked back inside. As we stepped through the threshold from outdoor grief to indoor festivities, the conversation still resonated within me.

Don't give me your word. Give me hope.

I'd been doing only one since my birthday, when I'd been taken by Henry and left my friends and family terrified, but all I'd been saying after was that nothing had happened. I was too busy hiding Henry's existence that I hadn't noticed how far everyone had been sinking.

My parents. Leah and Benji. Carrie.

It was time to start saving my relationships from sinking.

I had to stop hiding behind my secrets.

~

It's peculiar writing a chapter set on Christmas Day when it's March, but it made me smile thinking of happier memories despite everything happening globally. I couldn't stop remembering how not everyone got to spend their holidays with the ones they love, so if this isn't as happy as it should be, that's why. I'm sorry about that.

Let me know what you think, as always.

With love, 

Libby x