All I Want For Christmas Is You

Three

After the movie I slowly shook kelvin awake and I walked Kelvin to his room, his little hand in mine. He seemed calmer now, but I could feel the lingering sadness clinging to him. The sight of his small figure climbing into bed with such weariness made my heart ache.

“Tuck me in, Mom?” he asked softly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” I said, pulling the covers up to his chin.

I sat on the edge of his bed, brushing his curls away from his forehead. “You okay, baby?”

He nodded, but his lips pressed together in that way he did when he was holding back tears. I leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering for just a moment. My hair rubbing his brown locks that were the same color as his father.

“Sweet dreams, Kelvin,” I whispered.

“Goodnight, Mom,” he murmured, already turning onto his side, clutching his favorite stuffed animal.

As I closed his door, the quiet of the apartment settled around me like a heavy blanket. I glanced back at his room, the ache in my chest deepening.

I walked back in after a moment, intent on tidying up his things. Kelvin wasn’t a messy child, but he wasn’t exactly neat either. I picked up stray books from the floor, stacked them on his little desk, and gathered a few scattered toys. When I noticed the pile of loose papers under his bed, I reached down, expecting old drawings or schoolwork.

What I found instead stopped me cold.

They were letters—neatly folded sheets of paper, written in Kelvin’s small, careful handwriting. The first one began with a simple salutation:

“Dear Santa,”

I sank onto his bed, clutching the letters as if they were fragile. One by one, I unfolded them, my eyes scanning the words.

“Dear Santa, I don’t want toys this year. I just want to meet my dad. Mom says he’s far away, but you can fly everywhere, right?”

“Dear Santa, I’ve been really good this year. I promise I’ll be extra good if you can bring my dad. I don’t even need presents. Just him.”

Each letter was more heartbreaking than the last. Kelvin hadn’t just been wishing for his father; he had been pleading, year after year, holding onto a hope I never even realized he had.

Tears blurred my vision as I read the last one. “I don’t know if you can do it, Santa. But if you can’t, maybe you can tell my dad I’m here. Maybe he’ll want to see me.”

I folded the letters back carefully, placing them on his desk as though they were sacred. My heart felt like it was breaking into a million pieces.

Kelvin’s father wasn’t just a man from my past.

He was Adrian Barfield, the high school football star who had gone on to become a household name. He was an NFL champion, the man on magazine covers and primetime commercials. He was also the boy I’d fallen for in high school—the boy who had left town without a word after prom night.

That one night we spent together was supposed to be nothing more than a fleeting moment. But it had given me the greatest gift of my life, even if it had also left me with an ache I had buried for years.

Adrian doesn’t know about Kelvin. Not really. His father had known too—because I’d told him. I still remembered that day, standing in the Barfield driveway, clutching the courage to tell Adrian I was pregnant. Instead, his father answered the door, his face stern as he listened to me.

“Adrian doesn’t need distractions right now,” Mr. Barfield had said. “He’s got a future ahead of him, and this…this would ruin it.”

He told me he would speak to Adrian and I should return the next day sand when I did, he handed me a check—enough money to cover an abortion, though he never said the word outright. “This is from Adrian,” he said and slammed the door on me. So as far as Adrian is concerned I had gotten rid of the child I was carrying.

I had ripped the check in half and left without another word.

I shook myself from the memory and walked to the kitchen, where Lisa was finishing up the dishes. She looked over her shoulder as I entered, her brow furrowing at the expression on my face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

I sighed, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Using the edge of the table, I popped the cap off—a trick my dad had taught me years ago.

“Kelvin wrote letters to Santa,” I said, my voice flat.

Lisa dried her hands and turned to face me. “Okay…and?”

I took a swig of the beer, the bitter taste grounding me. “He’s been asking Santa for his dad. Not toys. Not games. Just Adrian.”

Lisa’s eyes softened, and she walked over to me, pulling out a chair. “Vennessa, you have to tell him.”

I sat down, cradling the bottle in my hands. “Tell who? Adrian? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she said firmly. “Kelvin deserves to know his father. And Adrian deserves to know his son, even if he is a jerk.”

I laughed bitterly. “You’re not wrong about the jerk part.”

Lisa gave me a pointed look. “Then why are you hesitating?”

I stared at the beer in my hands, the weight of the past pressing down on me. “Because he gave me money to get rid of Kelvin,” I said quietly. “His dad I mean,but he said it was from Adrian.”

Lisa’s eyes widened, and I saw the anger flare in her expression. “That’s low. Even for him.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “But it doesn’t matter. He’s Adrian Barfield. We live in completely different worlds. He’s a superstar, and I’m just…” I trailed off, gesturing vaguely at our modest apartment.

Lisa didn’t let me finish. “You’re just an amazing mom. And you’re about to give Kelvin the best Christmas of his life.”

I looked at her, my chest tightening. “How?”

Lisa grinned, her excitement palpable. “You’re coming with me for Christmas. To the city.”

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard her right. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said. “My parents are in the same city as Adrian, right? We go, spend the holidays with my family, and you make sure Adrian meets his son.”

“Lisa—”

“Nope,” she interrupted, holding up a hand.

“Don’t overthink it. It’s perfect. You’ll be there for the holidays, you won’t be alone, and you’ll have a chance to give Kelvin exactly what he’s been asking for.”

I hesitated, the idea both terrifying and oddly tempting. “And what do I even say to him? ‘Hey, Adrian, remember me? By the way, you have an eight-year-old son. Remember that cheque you gave me for an abortion oh I didn’t do it.’”

Lisa smirked. “Sounds about right.”

I glared at her, but a reluctant smile tugged at my lips.

“For Kelvin,” lisa said softly. “You’ll figure it out, Vennessa. You always do.”

I sighed, the weight of the decision settling over me. But when I thought of Kelvin’s face, his tearful plea still fresh in my mind, I knew there was no choice.

“For Kelvin,” I repeated amd raised my beer.

Lisa’s grin widened, and she clapped her hands together. “This is going to be amazing.”

But as I sat there, my heart pounding at the thought of seeing Adrian again, I couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at the edges of my resolve. Because no matter how much time had passed, his name still made my heart race.

And now, for the sake of my son, I was about to face the boy I’d loved—the boy who had become a man I barely recognized.