All I Want For Christmas Is You

Eight

Nine years ago.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on the faint swirl of light patterns cast by the afternoon sun streaming through the curtains. My chest felt heavy, the weight of the day pressing down on me like an unwelcome guest.

I was supposed to be excited—it was prom night, the culmination of every high schooler’s dreams, or so everyone said. For me, though, it just felt like another reminder of what I didn’t have.

The knock on the door was soft and hesitant, but I didn’t move.

“Vanessa?” my father’s voice came from the other side.

“Come in,” I called back, my voice lacking any of the energy he probably hoped for.

The door creaked open, and there he stood, his lanky frame slightly hunched, his skin pale and drawn. Dad tried to mask it, but the illness was taking its toll. The chemo wasn’t working as well as we’d hoped, and though he tried to keep his spirits up for me, I knew time was slipping through our fingers.

“Why aren’t you getting ready?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost 3 p.m.—the time he’d booked for my hair appointment at the local salon. “I’m not going,” I said, my voice firm but quiet.

His face fell, the disappointment so stark it cut through me. “What do you mean you’re not going? You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

“I haven’t,” I corrected him. “You’ve been looking forward to it.”

He stepped further into the room, his cane tapping softly against the floor. “Is this because you don’t have a date?”

I sat up quickly, shaking my head. “No, Dad, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it, Nessie?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. His voice was gentle but tinged with worry. “Is it the dress? Is there something you need? Because if there is, I’ll—”

“No, it’s not the dress,” I interrupted, my throat tightening. “It’s nothing. I just… I don’t want to go.”

He fell silent, his gaze searching my face. His expression softened, and then, to my horror, I saw the faint shimmer of tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, looking down at his hands.

“Sorry for what?”

“For not being able to take you myself,” he said, his voice cracking. “If I were well—if I were stronger—I would’ve taken you, Vanessa. I would’ve been your date, and no one would’ve dared to look at you the wrong way.”

His words hit me like a blow to the chest. I hadn’t realized how much he’d been looking forward to this—how much it mattered to him that I went.

“Dad…”

I moved closer and hugged him tightly, feeling his thin frame beneath the flannel shirt he always wore. He smelled faintly of aftershave and the peppermint candies he kept in his pockets.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, blinking back my own tears. “I just didn’t want to go, that’s all.”

He pulled back slightly, looking me in the eyes. “Nessie, this is your only prom. You’re never going to get another one. I know it’s hard, and I know it feels like it doesn’t matter now, but trust me, you’ll regret not going.”

I hesitated. He was right, of course. He usually was. But the idea of walking into that gym alone, surrounded by couples and groups of friends, made my stomach churn.

He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind my ear, smiling faintly. “Please, Vanessa. For me. Go. Just for a little while. You deserve to have this moment.”

For as long as I could remember, it had always been me and Dad. My mom had walked out when I was a baby, and he’d stepped up in every way imaginable. He was my rock, my cheerleader, my best friend. And now, knowing that I might not have him much longer—it was almost too much to bear.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay.”

His face lit up with a smile, one that made the room feel a little brighter despite the gloom hanging over us. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a small smile of my own. “But only because you asked me to.”

He chuckled, standing slowly and steadying himself with his cane. “Good. I’m going to call the stylist and let her know you’re on your way.”

An hour later, I found myself sitting in the salon chair, staring at my reflection as the stylist, Marcy, worked her magic. My hair had never looked this good—soft, glossy curls cascading down my back, framed by a delicate braid woven with tiny sparkly pins.

“See?” Marcy said, beaming at me in the mirror. “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks,” I said softly, still feeling a little uneasy.

After leaving the salon, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. Marcy had outdone herself, creating a smoky eye that made my honey-brown eyes stand out in a way I’d never seen before. My skin glowed with a light, natural finish, and my lips were painted a soft pink that added just the right amount of color. I kept touching my hair, still not used to seeing the glossy curls framing my face, cascading down my shoulders like I belonged on a red carpet.

My heart raced as I stepped into my room and caught sight of the dress.

It was the dress me and my dad had picked out months ago, long before his diagnosis. Back then, he’d insisted on getting me something special, even when I argued that we didn’t need to spend the money. Now, seeing it hanging there, I felt a lump form in my throat.

The dress was black, simple yet elegant, with a daring slit that reached mid-thigh and a sweetheart neckline that hugged my figure perfectly. It was a stark contrast to my usual oversized sweaters and jeans. I hesitated as my fingers brushed against the fabric, the weight of the evening pressing down on me again.

I slipped it on anyway.

The fabric felt smooth against my skin, and as I adjusted the straps and smoothed the skirt, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. For the first time, I didn’t see the shy, bookish girl who spent most of her time buried in the school library or helping her dad around the house. I saw someone confident, someone… beautiful.

But my gaze dropped to the floor, and I let out a small, nervous laugh. “You’re just playing dress-up,” I muttered to myself.

I sat on the edge of my bed and slipped on the heels—delicate black stilettos that added a few inches to my height. Walking in them was a different story. I stumbled slightly as I stood, grabbing the edge of my desk for balance.

My eyes fell on the small framed photo of me and Lisa on the desk. Lisa, My best friend since childhood, had moved away last year, leaving me to navigate my senior year on my own. We used to talk about going to prom together since we knew none of us would get any dates.

But now? Lisa was gone, my only other friend had bailed on me, and I felt the weight of loneliness settling in.

I sighed and straightened my back, smoothing my hands over the dress. “I’m going. For Dad.”

I descended the stairs, my heels clicking softly against the wooden steps. I gripped the banister tightly, my nerves mingling with a hint of excitement I hadn’t expected to feel. When I reached the bottom step, I saw my father standing near the living room doorway, a camera in hand, his face beaming with pride.

“There she is!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with emotion. “My little Nessie, all grown up.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Seeing my dad so happy made the effort of getting ready to feel worthwhile. He raised the camera and started snapping photos before I even stepped off the stairs.

“Hold still!” he said, laughing as I raised a hand to shield my face.

“Dad, come on,” I said, rolling my eyes but smiling all the same.

“You look beautiful, Nessie,” he said softly, lowering the camera for a moment. His words, though simple, carried a weight that made my chest tighten.

Standing beside him was his best friend and co-worker, Roy, who gave me a warm smile. Roy was the one who’d offered to drive me to the prom and pick me up later, insisting that Dad shouldn’t be on the road late at night.

“Well, don’t you clean up nice!” Roy teased, giving me an approving nod.

“Thanks, Roy,” I said, tucking a curl behind my ear.

Dad stepped forward, holding a small box in his hands. My brows furrowed as he opened it to reveal a delicate corsage of white roses and baby’s breath.

“I know it’s not the same as having a date give you one,” Dad said, his voice tinged with sadness.

“But I didn’t want you to miss out on this.”

I felt a lump form in me throat as I extended my wrist. “Thank you, Dad. It’s perfect.”

He carefully slipped the corsage onto my wrist, his hands trembling slightly. When he finished, he leaned down and kissed my forehead, lingering for a moment as if trying to commit the moment to memory.

“You’re going to have a great time, Nessie,” he said, pulling back and smiling at her.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile of my own. “I hope so.”

My dad motioned to Roy. “Come on, let’s get a picture. One for the scrapbook.”

Roy grabbed the camera and positioned himself a few steps back. “All right, you two, smile!”

I stood beside Dad, looping my arm through his. He looked at me with so much pride that I had to fight back the tears threatening to spill.

“Got it!” Roy said after snapping a few photos.

I glanced at my dad. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his breathing was a little heavier than usual. I knew he’d been trying to mask the effects of his illness, but moments like this made it impossible to ignore.

“You okay, Dad?” I asked softly.

“Of course,” he said, waving me off with a grin.

“Don’t you worry about me Nessie and Don’t hide in the corner. Get out there, dance, and make some memories. You deserve it.”

I nodded, but the sadness lingered.

As Roy’s car idled in the driveway, I turned back one last time. My dad stood at the door, still holding the camera, waving at me with the biggest smile I’d ever seen.

“Have fun!” he called out.

“I will!” I shouted back, hoping the c***k in my voice wasn’t too noticeable.

Once I was in the car, Roy glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “You nervous?”

“A little,” I admitted.

“Don’t be,” Roy said with a chuckle. “You’re gonna knock ’em dead. Trust me, every guy in there’s gonna wish they asked you to the dance.”

I laughed softly. “I doubt that.”

Roy raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he turned on the radio, letting a soft country song fill the silence as we drove.

The drive to the school was short, but it gave me enough time to gather my thoughts. I gazed out the window, watching the familiar streets pass by, each one holding memories of my childhood.

As we pulled up to the school, the parking lot was already filled with cars, and students were milling around the entrance in groups. My heart raced.

“Well, this is it,” Roy said, pulling into a spot near the front.

I took a deep breath and unbuckled my seatbelt.

“Thanks for the ride, Roy.”

“Anytime, kiddo,” he said, giving me a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back here at ten to pick you up. If you need anything, just call.”

“Got it,” I said, grabbing my small clutch purse and journal and stepping out of the car.

Roy watched me for a moment, then rolled down the window. “And hey, Vanessa?”

“Yeah?”

“You look beautiful,” he said firmly.

I felt a swell of gratitude as I nodded. “Thanks, Roy”

I turned and walked toward the entrance, my heels clicking against the pavement. I could feel the weight of the evening pressing down on me, but I straightened my back and lifted my chin, the chilly evening air brushing against my bare shoulders. As I approached the gym, the muffled sound of music grew louder, and the nerves in my stomach twisted tighter.