Christmas Part 3

I think that I have a lot to process tonight. I am exhausted, but somehow my mind won't slow down. So many little pieces are whirling around my head like the glitter inside a shaken snow glove. It's like all these little fragments float past for me to examine, but then float away.

First, I grab on to my necklace – that talisman that has always been there became even more significant today. I told Hannah that it was the thing that I loved most in all the world, but perhaps that is no longer true? At the postal ball I was so desperate to find it, but without hesitation, I was willing to give it up. While I do think that even though I don't believe in miracles, Oliver returning it to me tonight was almost miraculous, I also know that it is not the thing that I now love most in all the world. In fact, the thing that I love most in all the world is not a thing, but the people who now fill my life.

I catch another fragment. At the time this one made me angry, but now it makes me smile. It is my slightly crooked halo. Oliver O'Toole plays the choir boy, but sometimes he is … shifty. I think my months of manipulation have corrupted the incorruptible, and I got played, straight into the role of an angel. A snide comment about my lack of angelic qualities, followed by smirking doubt of my ability to take the role of the Virgin Mary (I refuse to entertain which aspect of the role he thinks I don't embody) mean that for one time only, I joined the ranks of the heavenly host.

Next, I hear my name. For the first time in months, Oliver called me Shane. For those brief minutes on a hospital staircase, I was not Miss McInerney, she who must be held at bay, but Shane, someone who means something to him. I know that his own unique moral compass means that what I might want and what he is willing to want are different. But that moment wasn't about romance. It was about admitting that we are important to each other.

Which brings me to the memory of the kiss that I gave him. Gratitude, friendship, support, and reliance expressed in a meeting of lips and cheek. Of arms that held in solidarity. At that moment it was not just enough, it was everything.

A bubble of laughter begins inside me, as I think of sourdough. Just when I think I am used to the quirks and idiosyncrasies of our elite taskforce, something always surprises me. I am not sure that I will ever get the vision (nightmare?) of Norman's 'Joy to the World' pose out of my head. I love him, but sometimes he is weird. I'm not going to ask him to walk across hot coals, but I might ask him to avoid repeating his … unusual … choreographic stylings.

I hear a jazzy, instrumental carol, and think of my dance partners this week. Oliver, or course, but also Jordan. He seems like a really nice guy, but there is definitely something…unusual about him. He looks at you like he wants to know everything about you and gets you to open up about the most private of things. What is it about him?

Swirling though my imagination, next comes my plane ticket. Now, something that will never be used. All my planning to escape the cold of Denver has come to nothing, and I could not be more content. As soon as we pulled away from the hospital's forecourt, I felt wrong. How could I, after Oliver had done so much for me this Christmas, leave him to Dickens and solitude. I was getting more certain that we were making a mistake with every mile, and was so thankful when Norman voiced my concern, saying, 'Leaving Oliver is just awful. I mean I have cousins, and my forever family, but we shouldn't leave Oliver.'

I told him that I had been having the same thought, and Rita NASCAR – ed us onto an exit ramp and turned us back to home, back to the DLO. Tomorrow, after Oliver attends church, and Norman meets up with family, we are gathering at the DLO for a late Christmas lunch, as a family. Decorations seem sorted, Oliver is in charge of food, Rita entertainment, Norman stocking fillers (I will add some too) and I am in charge of music, much to Oliver's disgust.

I am so tired, and I need to get up early to get myself Christmas-ready, not something that I ever thought I would attempt to be. My last Christmas thought is of an envelope, with my name on the outside. I don't know what it contained, and I meant it when I said I had my answer and the reply didn't matter, but I like to think that it was just what Oliver said, the tiny beating wings of hope.