"You go first and talk to him, and then we'll get our picture done," Dean said, nudging me slightly.
I felt silly as I walked toward the mall Santa who looked pretty legit. I mean, the gold stitching matched the gold buttons on his coat, and he wore real boots, not the fake covers with the straps that barely covered the actor's sneakers underneath that you typically saw on a mall Santa.
"And how are you today, young lady?" he said with a twinkle in his eye as he patted his knee for me to perch on.
Not wanting to crush him, I perched on the edge of his knee, keeping the majority of my weight on my legs. "Good. I've never done this before," I answered, feeling dumb.
"I know, but that doesn't mean I haven't been watching to see if you've been bad or good," he said, staying in character.
I knew it was ridiculous, but my heart raced at his words. I couldn't help wondering what the statute of limitations was for being bad.
"Your beard looks real," I said, studying him closely and reminding myself he was just an actor.
"It's a good thing, because it is real," he said, smiling broadly at me. "Now, why don't you tell me what you want for Christmas," he said kindly, as if he already knew what I wanted.
"Can it be anything?" I asked, not sure what the rules were.
"Absolutely."
The whole idea of asking him for anything was childish, but I couldn't help gnawing on my lip.
"Why don't you whisper your wish," he said gently, understanding me better than he should.
I leaned over and self-consciously whispered into his ear. His eyes widened with compassion, and he patted me on the back.
"I think that can be done, my dear," he answered, beckoning Dean over to join us so they could snap our picture.
"Did you tell him what you want for Christmas, Mads?" Dean asked, having no problem perching on Santa's other knee while a girl dressed like an elf snapped our picture.
"Yep," I said, feeling lighthearted as I smiled for the camera.
The elf snapped our picture and beckoned for the next kid in line to replace my spot.
I held out my hand in front of me before we left. "Thank you," I said as Santa's gloved hand enveloped mine.
"It was my pleasure, Madison," he said with serious eyes. "Your wish is in your heart, you just have to release it," he added, giving my hand a slight squeeze before releasing me.
"How do you think he knew my name?" I asked Dean as he paid for our picture package.
"Santa knows everything," he replied, stowing his wallet in his back pocket.
"Very funny," I said, looking back at the jolly man, who caught my eye once again, giving me a wink.
"Probably because I called you 'Mads.' He probably took a shot in the dark, even though I'd like to believe my first answer. So what did you wish for?"
"If I tell you, it won't come true," I answered, adjusting the shopping bags in my hand. It was too embarrassing to tell him the secret that only Santa and I shared. All I wanted for Christmas was the one gift that would set me free, and allow me to finally move on—forgiveness.
The rest of the weekend was spent at Dean's house with his family as we decorated their house for Christmas. Dean and his father dragged countless tubs from the attic, all filled with decorations. Trish, Sarah and I sat in the middle of the living room floor, sorting through everything. The sheer mass of it was overwhelming. I couldn't help lingering over each decoration as Sarah and Trish regaled me with stories about each one. One in particular made my entire heart move to my throat. It was a rack that held four ceramic plates with each of the kids' handprints in the center. Each plate had been made when all of them had been the same exact age. >I grinned. It was all crystal clear. They sent the elderly woman in to do the dirty work because they knew the captive wouldn't kick out at his grandmother. It was ingenious. The noise level around me increased to a fever pitch as his nana stopped a foot from him. "What did you say again?" she asked wickedly.
"I said, Florida football teams suck!" Dean hollered, owning his statement proudly just before the pie landed smack dab in his face.
Everyone started cheering and I couldn't resist joining in. They were a family unlike any I had ever seen. Their affection was contagious as they all took turns slapping Dean on the back while whipped cream fell from his face in big old globs. Watching them made me envision my own future. By choosing to live, I had given myself the chance to have a family like this someday. We could start our own traditions, stand up for each other and above all else, forgive each other for our faults. I wanted this future. At that moment, I couldn't help thinking about James. Would a future like this even be possible for people like us?
The sun had set by the time the football game ended on the big TV. The atmosphere had mellowed out as the younger children were carted off to bed. Most the men were snoring in their chairs, obviously full from desert. Trish and I spent the majority of the football game chatting and getting to know each other. I enjoyed the conversation more than I thought I would. It had been years since I had talked to a girl around my age that didn't look at me with disdain. It was nice.
"How's it going?" Dean asked, coming up beside me.
"Good," I said honestly. With the exception of the initial hugs and my freak out after his tackle, it had been possibly the best day of my life. Any of the apprehension I had felt about sticking out like a sore thumb had never surfaced. His family had accepted me as one of their own without a qualm.