The Doctor Who Has No Closure (Soulless 10)

There was one present left underneath the tree, so I grabbed it and realized I’d forgotten to give it to Sicily yesterday. There was so much going on last night that it totally slipped my mind. When everyone took their midday nap, I’d run over there and drop it off.

I sat on the couch and drank my coffee, unable to really wake up because I’d only slept for a couple hours before the kids woke up, eager to see what Santa brought them. Lizzie was obviously too old to believe any of that crap, but she still wanted to tear into all of her gifts.

Uncle Tucker sat beside me, and we talked for a while. He looked a lot like my father, but he inherited some lighter features from my grandmother, who was now parked in her favorite armchair by the tree. “It makes me happy to see you doing well again.”

I held the hot cup of coffee with both hands, watching the steam rise in front of my face. “Thanks, Uncle Tucker. I’m happy I’m doing well again too.”

“Your dad and I don’t see each other as much as I would like. He’s busy with work, and he’s got three super-brains for kids, but whenever we do get together, you’re all he talks about.”

“Just me?” I asked. “Not the other two.”

He shook his head. “You’re the one he’s been most concerned about this year.”

I tried to act like I was perfectly fine, and my parents pretended to buy into it for my sake, but it was all for nothing. Everyone knew I was a goddamn train wreck. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“And seeing you better is the best Christmas gift you could have given him.” He placed his hand on my shoulder, gave me a squeeze, and then went into the kitchen, probably to get some morning coffee and pie. In our family, pie was an acceptable breakfast item on Christmas Day, even according to my dad.

Dad moved to the vacated seat beside me, holding a saucer that contained a piece of blueberry pie. “Got the last piece.”

“I’m surprised you got a piece at all…because I ate so much of it yesterday.”

He cut his fork into it, making the fruit spill out farther onto the plate, releasing more steam. He took a few bites, wearing black sweatpants and a t-shirt, like he only got out of bed and brushed his teeth and combed his hair before he came down here. “It’s Christmas. Do whatever you want.”

“I love you at Christmas, Dad. You’re chill.”

He smiled with his eyes and continued to eat. “Sicily’s parents were nice people.”

“Yeah, they seem cool.” I only talked to them for a couple minutes, but they seemed like laid-back, go-with-the-flow kind of people. “And they made that pie, so I’m basically loyal to them for all time.”

Dad continued to eat, watching the boys play on the floor in their Christmas pajamas. “Going to see Sicily today?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, but I forgot her present last night, so I’m going to drive over there and drop it off.”

“What did you get her?”

“A scarf.”

“That’s thoughtful.” He finished the pie then left the plate on the coffee table. “Your mother and I really like her, by the way.”

“Yeah, she really knows how to keep me on track. If she weren’t doing everything for me behind the scenes, I would have a hard time—”

“I mean, as a person.” He rested his forearms on his thighs and turned slightly to look at me.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Now he stared at me, like he’d just asked a question and I failed to answer.

“What?”

He gave a slight shrug. “I want you to know that.”

“That you like her? Dad, you guys like everybody—”

“We approve of her, I guess is what I mean.”

“Approve of her as my assistant—”

“Son.” He pivoted farther toward me. “She’s a smart, beautiful, capable young woman who seems to genuinely care for you. What else are you looking for?”

My eyes narrowed on his face. “Are you seriously trying to set me up, Dad?”

“No. I’m just trying to pull your head out of your ass.” He gave a slight smile, like he wanted me to understand this wasn’t a confrontation, just two guys talking. “Sometimes we don’t know what’s good for us until someone informs us.”

“She’s my assistant. That’s so unprofessional—”

“I know you like her.” He gave me that knowing look. “I see the way you look at her—it’s the way she looks at you.”

I turned away, annoyed that my dad was analyzing me. “Even if you’re right, and I’m not saying that you are, I don’t want to go there.”

“Because?”

“I have nothing to offer her.”

Dad stared at me for a while, wearing a slightly quizzical expression, like he had no idea what that meant. “You’re a caring, compassionate, and selfless man who saves lives for a living. You have everything to offer her—”