Quiet Christmas story

Quite Christmas


Christmas was her favorite holiday. She always said it was the joy of it all: gifts, decorations, lights, holiday cheer, family, friends, and the general atmosphere of such a special time of year. She especially loved the snow. Ah yes, twas always the snow that made Christmas complete. She loved nothing more than waking up early Christmas morning, looking out the window and seeing a flurry of white covering the ground in its entirety. It was a sight that would always make her smile and feel warm inside. And whenever she would smile, I would smile, too, and be enveloped by a feeling of warmth, seeing her love for the beauty of the season. She always said that there was something special about the season, something she couldn't explain, but knew was present in all our lives.

And she would say that it was the spirit of the season that brought us together. Perhaps it truly was fate's doing that guided us together, both out Christmas shopping, as ironic as it may seem. Two weeks before Christmas and I had yet to commence the task known as holiday shopping. I was indeed a procrastinator at heart, despite what people may say about me. Yes, two weeks before Christmas and I had yet to form even a mental list of gifts, let alone buy a single one. And being packed in a department store with at least two hundred other shoppers, grabbing all the merchandise in sight, was definitely not the way I wanted to spend a Saturday morning. Two hundred shoppers and I was the sole one, standing in the middle of it all, with the most confused and perplexed look on my face. No wonder Carla spotted me and my dumbfounded daze; in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she saw it from the other end of the store. I still remember that day, as if it was etched in my memory for eternity.

"Hey," she said, her voice an angel's melody in my ears. I focused my attention onto her when she spoke and saw the most beautiful person alive. I must confess that it was not her angelic face that first attracted me to her, nor was it her slight but attractive smile, her shimmering shoulder length brown hair, her five and a half foot slim frame, the slight curves of her hips, or even her plentiful, though not overly ample chest. And it would not be her playful, adventurous personality, her somewhat unorthodox humor, her never ceasing creativity, or that certain charm and dignity, that I would quickly learn about her, either. Nay, what I can say ignited the first spark of love were her eyes. Those sparkling, green eyes with such a warm, mysterious stare, would something I would always think of first at the mention of her name.

"You look lost," she said, smiling up at me, looking at me with those eyes.

Such a perfect creature she is, pitying a person like me. Why else would anyone, for that matter, approach someone that was obviously out of place, other than out of pity? But I'd take pity any day when coming from someone like Carla. Thoughts raced through my head, trying desperately to think of a suave response, but all that I could come up with?

"Yeah," was the brilliant response, trailing off at the end. At least she laughed at that remark, but on the other hand she loved to laugh, and laughed at everything that was remotely funny. If nothing else, her laughter meant she was happy, and her love to laugh made it that much easier for me to cheer her up. She looked as if she were no older than I at twenty-two, but something made it seem as if she were full of innocence, but wise beyond her years.

I did finish most of my shopping that day, but not without the help of Carla, who, it seemed, had the uncanny ability to navigate through the string of shoppers and managed to locate almost everything you could think of with relative ease. What would have taken me until closing time with only half of the list complete, I finished...no...we finished in time for lunch. In the mere hours that I had known her, I knew that I never wanted to lose her.

"See, shopping isn't all that hard," she playfully gloated when we had sat down to some lunch, my treat of course. After all, it was the least that I could do for all she had down.

"Maybe it comes easy for you, but I don't plan to do this for another year," I had replied.

"Gonna wait last minute again?" she asked, to which I nodded. "Haven't you learned anything from last minute shopping?"

"Hey, if all else fails, I just might give you a call to come down to help me with all this. After all, it seems that you absolutely adore shopping."

"You've known me four hours and already you've formed an opinion about me?" she asked.

"Well, it does seem like you enjoy shopping," I said.

"Yeah, that may be true, but it's not like my life revolves around shopping," she retorted, with a smile. Yes, only she could pull something like that off without any mixed signals of what it is she meant.

"My shopping is done for the most part," I said, tossing the leftovers into a garbage can, "but what about you? Don't you need to do some shopping. After all, isn't that why you came to the mall, because I know that you didn't plan on helping out some pathetically lost person like myself."

"Actually, I finished my shopping over the last two weeks. I'm just here for some last minute window shopping, seeing if there's anything that I may buy for myself for a change."

"And you don't mind the crowds?" I had asked. And all she did was smile and take a sip of her coffee.

We had stayed at the mall for another couple hours or so, doing nothing but wandering through the departments. I cannot honestly remember anything that we had talked about, or remember much about that afternoon, except that I was in awe of her beauty and I did get her number as we parted ways that afternoon, the sun already sinking in the sky as we drove off in opposite directions.

I had called that very night. Yes, that may have been desperate, but I was never good at playing it cool. We had our first date a week later and for a week, I could do nothing but think about what I was going to have planned for our date. Honestly, I drew a total blank and could not come up with anything better than a dinner and a movie. Or if you wanted to get technical with it, you could say that I came up with brilliant ideas for the perfect first date, but a dinner and a movie was the only thing that could fit into my budget...barely. All complications aside, though, it was a relatively smooth date. Nothing went terribly wrong, though it was semi-embarrassing when I came three dollars and thirty-five cents short for snacks at the concession stand. What has become of the world when a pack of Kit-Kats costs me two dollars and fifty cents? It became a joke of ours when she would randomly remind me of the three thirty-five that I never did pay back.

And so when the night ended, I had learned much more about her and held such a high level of respect and admiration for her in my heart. And when we stood at her doorstep that night and said our good-nights, it was the most awkward moment of my life. I knew not what to say or to do and it became an opportunity for Carla to laugh, though at my expense, to which I did not mind too much. At least it broke the awkward tension between us. In the end, we parted ways on good terms, me knowing a great deal more about this person whose life I wanted to be a part of, and her with a last minute good-night peck on the cheek.

Knowing and dating each other for two weeks, I felt obliged to go shopping once again, for her Christmas gift. Unfortunately, I did not know her well enough to pick out a gift for her when it seemed as if she deserved it all. So I had to settle for a best-seller novel that I gave her as well as chocolates and roses that were delivered to her home first thing in the morning. And I had thought roses were expensive around Valentine's Day. She had given me a gift certificate to be used online, saying that I "would never have to walk into another mall again." What I remember most of that first Christmas of ours was how it snowed. It was then that I learned of her love for the season. Christmas afternoon, we strolled down the shoveled paths in the park, empty of all people. It was still snowing lightly and we were wrapped up tightly in layer of sweaters, gloves, and hats. I remember her holding on to my arm as we walked with a firm grip, smiling without cease as we strolled onward.

That next year together, we did our Christmas shopping together. She had to literally drag me out of my apartment to do some shopping. "I don't want you to wait until last minute," was her response to my refusal to budge. We did not finish all of our shopping at once, but eventually over the course of about a month, we did finish our holiday shopping. Part of me was too lazy to consider shopping before Thanksgiving was even finished, but another part of me was relieved that the stress that was no longer there at last minute shopping.

After saving every penny for a year, I felt that I could get Carla something that would show my love to her, even if she deserved much more. I cannot even begin to describe the joy on her face as she opened up the little silver box and lifted up the necklace with the crystal pendant of a snowflake. Her eyes glittered with awe as she admired the gift. The pendant glittered and reflected the colors of the Christmas tree lights as I helped clasp the necklace around her neck. That was an especially white Christmas, if I remember correctly. I recall that it snowed heavily during that week of the Christmas holiday and up to the New Year celebration. In fact, that was why Carla's parents could not make their visit on Christmas Eve, but the day after Christmas. As I recollect, she was indeed depressed that her parents wouldn't be able to arrive that day, or even on Christmas, but sometime after, which in all reality was indeed too late for the planned celebration; much of the Christmas dinner that she hopefully prepared was stored away, save some for ourselves, that we ate in silence. All the while I was comforting her disappointment, not at the weather, no never the snow, but that they hadn't decided to come a week earlier as planned and be there for Christmas. But by the time dinner and wine was finished, and she had reluctantly opened her gift from me, refusing to open any from other friends without her family nearby, her sorrow was diminished and replaced by an abundance of joy that even the blind and deaf could now miss.

"Now its time for your present," she had said, smiling broadly. She got up off the couch and started walking up the stairs. I quickly followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom.

"Here's your gift," she said, fanning her arms outwards as if she were presenting something.

"Where?" I asked, walking up to her. A slight nudge of her head and I looked upwards. Hanging from the ceiling was a mistletoe with a red bow at the end and small bells. Call me what you want, but I did not have a clue what she meant. Sure, we've kissed before; that was nothing new, but the furthest we had gotten was indeed kissing. When her hands wrapped around my neck and her lips pressed against mine, I could do nothing but sink into the loving, tender kiss that she gave me.

"Merry Christmas Steve," she whispered as our lips parted, "and I love you..."

"I love you too, Carla," I replied, my arms circling around her waist.

And with that we kissed again, with the same tenderness, but with much more passion as our tongues touched and mingled. Carla was always the adventurous one and was always the first to speak her mind or make a suggestion. When her hand grabbed the bottom of my sweater and lifted it up to my arms, I knew what was going to happen and feelings of anticipation and also of self-consciousness filled my senses. She pulled the sweater and the shirt underneath over my head and tossed it onto a chair. I reached out for her own sweater as her hands were already beginning to unbutton my jeans. Our lips never parted except to pull her sweater over her head, where our lips immediately sought each other, pressing our bodies closer together. I felt the soft fabric of her bra against my chest as my pants and boxers dropped.

Carla slowly moved backwards towards the bed, bent back to lie on the thick, warm covers. Kicking off my shoes and socks, she quickly undid the buttons of her jeans and pulled them off, tossing them to the floor. Climbing onto the bed, I crawled on top of her body that was only clad in a red bra and panties. I kissed her mouth once again and began trailing my kissed along her neck and above her breasts. Her skin shivered as my lips touched the cool skin of her chest. A slight giggle escaped her lips as my lips closed around her bra covered nipple, sucking lightly. Her hands nimbly undid the clasp of her bra in the front and I gently pushed the cups away from her body. I admired her breasts for what seemed like an eternity. The soft mounds of her breasts were firm and smooth. I began to kiss her mounds of flesh before closing my lips around on of her erect, pink nipples.

Her hands came to the back of my head as I licked and flicked the nipples with my tongue, alternating from one to the other. My hands massaged her breasts as I kissed along her stomach and through the fabric of her panties. I hooked my thumbs around the waistband of the panties as she raised her legs, bending them for me to pull the panties off, tossing them to the foot of the bed. The aroma of her pussy filled my nose as I admired the bald, puffy lips, the pink skin folding above her clit, and the sparse light brown hair directly above the top of her slit. I planted a kiss onto the lips of her pussy and ran my tongue up and down her slit, wrapping my lips around the skin covering her erect clit. Carla's hands were still hold him my head as her breathing became loader, quietly panting as I rubbed her nipples with my fingers.

I did not have to try too hard to push my tongue into her pussy as my mouth kissed and sucked on the outer lips. Long full swipes within her moist slit caused her to shudder with joy as she pushed me closer between her legs. My tongue probed the inner walls of her vagina, coming up to flick on her tiny clit for a few swipes, though not enough to trigger an orgasm. I felt her fingers playing with my hair as I brought one hand down from her breasts and caressed the folds of her pussy while I continued to lick her. When my finger slipped inside of her, I felt it her inner walls clamping around it, making it slick with her juices. Slowly I pushed my finger in and out of her pink, glistening hole as my lips finally clamped around her aroused clit and bath it with my tongue. Both my hands quickly moved over to her hips and grabbed hold of her waist as she bucked against my face. She arched her back, high into the air, as her orgasm hit her. Her pussy was mashed into my face as she came, letting out a high-pitched squeal of delight as her juices flowed freely in and around my mouth. As her back slowly lowered down onto the bed, her grip of the bed covers loosed as she calmed down from her orgasm.

Her arms grabbed my shoulders and weakly tried to pull me up, to which I moved up above the panting and sweating Carla, whose eyes were still shut from her moment in bliss. Her hand wrapped around the back of my neck and softly pushed my head downwards where we kissed. Her tongue lashed against my own as well as around my lips, slickly cleaning my lips of her juices. Her mouth expanded into a smile as we kissed, whether from the orgasm or that she was tasting herself on my lips, I don't know. One hand remained on her face, stroking her soft cheek while the other was still at the waist, caressing the soft curves of her body as her leg involuntarily wrapped around on of my own.

"What?" I whispered as she couldn't hold back her smile anymore, softly chuckling.

"Nothing," she whispered back, wrapping an arm around my back.

"Come on, tell me," I said back, softly, breaking out in a grin of my own.

"Well, its just that...ooh, that's nice," she sighed with content as I began to kiss her neck, sending shivers that I could feel down her body.

"What is it?" I reiterated as I continued to plant soft kisses on her smooth skin.

"I never thought you'd be this good," she said, giggling quietly.

"Am I suppose to take that as a compliment?" I asked, lifting myself up, my face hovering inches above hers. Her eyes slowly opened for the first time after her orgasm and I saw the love that was in those eyes staring right back at me.

"Of course you are, silly," she said, reaching down with one hand and grabbing my erect cock. Suddenly, something struck me as she stroked her hand up and down my shaft, pulling the skin every which way.

"Carla, I don't have any-," I started, but she cut me off by raising her head and planting a full kiss on my lips.

"Shhh..." she whispered as she rolled over in the bed, causing me to drop down onto my side as she leaned half-off the bed and reached for the night stand drawer.

A few seconds, a quickly ripped package, and a skillful maneuver later, I was on my back, my erect cock pointing upwards, with a condom deftly rolled over it. Carla squatted around my waist, bent at the knees with her hands on my chest. The cocky and stupefied look on my face told her exactly what I was wondering.

"I just picked it up somewhere," she said with an amused smirk upon her face.

My hands ran up her thighs and gently stopped around her waist as she dropped on hand to grasp my cock, stroking it and spreading the lubrication up and down my cock. Gently lowering herself, she stopped as the tip of my cock touched her outer lips of her pussy. She began running my cock up and down her slit, slowly moving her hips in pleasure as she bent over to kiss me. I felt my cock enter her pussy and the walls grasp onto my invading member as she sank downwards onto my cock. After a few inches, she lifted herself up a bit and pushed back down, allowing more of myself into her. It wasn't long before she was completely sitting atop of me, my prick buried deep within her.

I think we both gasped as she slowly lifted herself up, feeling her juices, still copious from her orgasm mere minutes ago, lubricating my cock, as well as the feeling of her inner muscles squeezing around my shaft as she pushed herself slowly back down onto my cock. After a few more cautious strokes into her, she began to pick up pace and slid up and down my cock with relative ease, the strokes themselves, gradually decreasing with her speed until she was pulling only an inch or two out before slamming herself back down as fast as she could. Her head was thrown back, panting and moaning as I began to thrust my hips up to meet hers.

"Oh God," I moaned as I felt myself push deeper into her tight, wet hole.

"Oh, harder. Fuck me deeper," she wailed, bouncing uncontrollably on my cock, her left hand traveling down to where our bodies met. Her hand cupped her twat, fingers spread around my cock, furiously rubbing the top of her slit, briefly inserting a finger in along with my cock. I could do nothing but look down at where our genitals clashed and gape in astonishment.

One hand went up to her breasts and squeezed the firm flesh and pinched the erect, pink nipples as my other rubbed against her pussy, feeling for her clit that occasionally brushed up against my pumping cock. We had been going at it for barely fifteen minutes before she suddenly arched back, which I quickly learned was her involuntary signal for an orgasm, but I had yet prepared for it when she began to spasm around my cock, moaning loudly and shaking. Her arms weakened on my chest and collapsed on top of me, her body still jerking from her orgasm. Her head rested on my shoulder as she recovered, but as if nothing happened at all, her body began to rock against mine again, my cock once again going back to work.
"Fuck me..." she whispered in my ear. My hand went down to her tight ass and grasped her cheeks as I thrusted my hips upwards, pushing it as far into her as I could. I knew that we both could hear the sounds that was being made every time by cock pushed into her squishy and wet pussy that was still leaking out her orgasm juices that I could feel around the base of my cock. Her arms were wrapped around my neck, holding on tightly as she was forced upwards with every thrust of my hips. And just as fast as she was drained from her orgasm, she was back at it, slowly and smoothly thrusting her hips down as I pushed myself up into her. My fingers were running up and down her ass and between her firm cheeks, being coated with her wet cum that was slowly dripping out of her pussy.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise and amazement as my lubricated finger rubbed against the asshole. She lifted her head and bent down to kiss me as my other hand wandered down, to rub the top of her slit and the folds of skin covering her clit, between our sweating bodies. Carla stifled a yelp as I pushed up hard against her, my hips bumping against her own. As my regenerated energy caused me to trust into her pussy harder than before tonight, her breathing became ragged and short, her lips breaking contact with mine to let out a long and low moan. Even before her moan died, she forced her mouth back upon my own, forcing her tongue into my mouth.

"Oh fuck!" she moaned, a low rumble escaped her lips as another crashing orgasm hit her. Her nails clawed at the back of my neck as her body shook before loosening her grip just a little.

"Oh God, Carla," I moaned as my pace quickened, pushing an almost lifeless Carla up and down my shaft. I could feel the need for release growing and that wonderful sensation in my loins sending tingles throughout my body and I knew that I would not be able to hold out any longer. With a short, deep grunt, I pushed myself upwards once more before cumming, shooting my cum up my shaft, aimed deep into her vagina, ere splashing against the walls of the condom.

She rolled off of me after that and immediately wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tightly against her. My breathing gradually slowed after my intense cum, all the while wrapping my arm under and across her shoulders and bringing my head down to kiss her forehead. Softly kissing her cheek and neck, my lips trailed over to her lips, kissing them lightly.

"Carla..." I whispered.

"Hmm..." softly escaped her lips. I quietly slipped away from between her arms and tiptoed to the bathroom, tossing the used rubber in the trash before looking at myself in the mirror. I could not help but smile, realizing what just took place in the bedroom, starting less than two hours ago. Flicking the switch, the house was once again darkened, but the shimmer of the moon and the faint glow of the falling snow dimly illuminated the bedroom where Carla lay, fast asleep.

If I was forced to name a fault of Carla's, it would be the fact that she would fall asleep straight after sex. No sooner than we would finished and our bodies were disjoined, than she would curl up in an almost fetal position and drift off into a deep slumber. It still brings a smile to my face whenever I think about "quickies" that have occurred between us during our time together; it was short, simple, and to the point, but in the end, she would be too exhausted to do much. She would have to catch her breath for several minutes before even attempting to move again. I guess that even orgasm had its price, no matter how ironic, on the body. Yet, I loved to watch her sleep. She looked so innocent and lovely, at rest and at peace, without any worries of life surrounding her. I quietly slipped back into the bed and pulled the covers up and over our bodies. I would lay awaken that night, looking out through the window and at the falling snow, that was once fierce and blowing, gently falling and drifting from the darkened clouds above.

I don't know when I drifted off to sleep that night, but when I awoke in the morning, the sun already mid way up in the sky, I would learn some more things about my precious Carla. I remember awakening with a sudden shiver and looking around me, I would have seen a sight that is all to familiar to me: Carla, her cherubic face nestled by my shoulder, her body curled tightly together, hugging me and that some time during the night, she had rolled her still nude self into a tight ball will all of the covers wrapped around her, from head to toe. I had gotten use to that unconscious habit of hers quickly and even today, I would wake up in the dead of night, and toss the covers to the floor before being able to drift back off into a dreamless sleep.

I can distinctly remember that it was sometime after ten in the morning when I lifted up Carla's limp arm off my chest and slipped out of bed and into the adjoining bathroom. Even after the noises of the shower, my angel, as she loved to be called, slept soundlessly. Had it not been for the fact that her chest was slowly rising and falling, one could mistaken her as being lifeless. The Christmas tree was still glowing its red, green, and yellow colors downstairs in the livingroom. Presents for her family were still tucked under her tree; their flight had been delayed two days earlier due to the snow conditions, both here and where they resided.

Even the frying of breakfast and the smell of a Post-Christmas breakfast fit for Saint Nick himself, did nothing to raise the slightest acknowledgment from Carla. After the half hour or so of preparation, the meal was set and I sat idle at the kitchen table. Now, call it what you may, but I always thought that the girl was suppose to have awaken already on this first morning together. Of course, I was still a bit new at this and there was nothing to do but live and learn.

"Morning," a voice yawned. I turned around to see Carla letting out a long yawn, stretching her arms out over her head. She wore a cotton red bathrobe tied together with long sashes around the waist.

"Hey, there. You sleep well?" I asked.

"Wonderful," she said, smiling as she bent down to peck my cheek and wrap her arms around my neck. The smells of a fairly warm breakfast floated around her nostrils, bringing life back into her almost immediately.

"Hey, Steve, when you'd get up?" she asked, already looking more animated.

"Not long ago. I just got up and decided to make some breakfast," was my reply.

"'Just got up,' huh?" she asked, amused. "Don't tell me. I hogged the covers again, right?"

"Just so long as you know," I said, laughing along with her.

"Sorry," she said, sweetly. "It's just that, you know, living alone for so long, I just figured that if no one's next to me, why waste all that warmth?"

"I can't blame you," I said as she sat down at the table, already piling some breakfast on the plate in front of her.

"Mmm... lukewarm," she mumbled after her first bite. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"I wanted to," I said, "but you looked so pretty in bed, it would have been a sin to wake you."

"You're so sweet. Besides, this is the first time I've had a real breakfast in a long time. So much better than a cold bagel on the run," she said, stuffing a fork full of eggs into her mouth and chewing slowly. Returning to my seat with two cups of coffee, Carla had already piled some breakfast onto my plate as well and we began eating silently together and I couldn't help but smile as we ate; we're having breakfast together, I told myself. Yeah, I knew what that meant.

Ah yes, among several other moments, that morning together will be something unforgettable. I still smile at the thought of her feel rubbing against my leg under the table as we ate. I still feel the sensations as she gave me a loving and premier blow job at the kitchen table. I still laugh at the panic that flowed through our systems as the doorbell rang and we scrambled from the couch where my head was nestled between her legs. I still feel the awkwardness of meeting her parents and two sisters as she opened the front door in a bathrobe and me having just zipped back up. And I still blush at the first meeting of the family, the confused, but all too knowing of our status, greetings and pleasantries. I would stay for the day and we did enjoy a joyous time of our post-Christmas family celebration, filled with eating, drinking, and catching up on things, as well as getting to know the guy that they knew, obviously not having a doubt, was "having relations with our daughter," as said by Carla's father, who pulled me aside during the opening of gifts to give a father-to-new-boyfriend talk with me.

I still have a picture of her on my desk. It is my favorite photo, though it does not do justice to her true inner beauty. It was taken shortly after that special Christmas of ours; I can still see her Christmas tree in the background. It is a simple picture, showing nothing more than her angelic face, smiling as always, her inviting stare piercing right at you. Her silky hair surrounds her face and there is even a strand of hair that falls in just to the outer side of her eyes, with a slight curl at the end. Her hands are under her chin, fingers entangled together; her chin more or less resting on her hands. She is wearing the sweater that her mother bought her for Christmas. I can make out the black wool c around her shoulders and the ends of the sleeves at her wrists. I remember because I had knocked over a glass of orange juice that spilled over and off the table and onto her sweater sometime after that picture was taken. Naturally, the stain did come out, but I remember Carla breaking into a fit of laughter, shrieking and leaping to her feet as the cold orange juice started to seep through the material, clinging to her skin.

Whenever people are over, they are silent when they are in my office and looking at the picture on my desk. They know not what to say or how to act. How am I faring? Is the pain gone? What am I feeling? Those questions race through their minds. They know the story between us, and I don't hide anything from them. All I do when they realize that I still have a picture of her on my desk is simple. I sit down, lightly grasp the frame with one hand, but not move it, just to hold it, and smile at them.

"Isn't she the most beautiful person you've ever seen?"

There are many stories and tales I could tell about Carla, though half of them would only be of interest to myself. An example of that would be the time when she had awaken one of those rare mornings before ten and slipped into the shower to accompany me. We had been soaping ourselves up under the running water when she suddenly slipped on the suds on the floor. She fell into my arms and I grabbed hold of her and helped her back up before we burst into a fit of laughter. We left the shower quickly after and jumped on the bed, still wet, for a quick display of emotions, barely finishing in time for Carla to take a quick shower, get dressed and head off to the doctor's. I don't know why I remember that particular moment from any other random incidents that we've had. Maybe its because I knew she had infected me with her love to laugh. Maybe it was because it was just so damn funny seeing Carla jump out of bed and into the shower straight after orgasm when she realized that we were short on time for such lewd procreation we had come to enjoy.

Carla had made me who I am today. No matter what happens, she has affected some part of my life and that is sometime I must live with. I tell myself that her affect on my life was a positive one. In my heart, I know that it was indeed a positive effect of hers upon myself and I will take that belief of mine to the grave and beyond. But as I look at my reflection in the window pane, sitting on an old rocking chair that belonged to my grandfather, I see something else that what I tell myself. I see an old man staring back at me, despite the fact that thirty-six is far from old. No, old is not the correct word for what I see. Scarred may work better. Yes, scarred as a man that has endured much in his life, learning that the absolute good means accepting the absolute bad as well. To anyone else, they would not see it, but in my eyes, and the eyes staring back at me, I am old and scarred, though there is no physical evidence of such. Maybe it's that I see everything that has happened to me, things that I've felt and are feeling, that no one could possibly understand.

Outside, the storm has picked up once again. The snow is falling heavier than it was an hour ago. Reports estimate at least seven inches before the storm ends sometime in the early evening. People would see the snow and think of the damage it could cause, the shoveling that would be needed to be done, the trouble that it would cause for plans this Christmas Eve, or perhaps the commute to do some last minute Christmas shopping. Ah, yes, the Christmas shopping. It has now become something which I had gotten in the habit of doing and finishing about three weeks prior to the holiday.

Carla would have looked at the snow and thought of the beauty of it falling and the perfect, white landscape left after the storm passes. She would have thought about the brisk breeze that tingles the skin, the coming holiday celebration, and many other things. I was once among the general people of the snow and what it brought and represented. Then I saw the beauty of the snow alongside Carla. Maybe it wasn't necessarily the snow that I found beautiful and enticing, but the one by my side to inspire me to believe so. Now, I'm not sure what to believe. Right now, it's just snow.

"Daddy!" a childish, but excited voice cried out.

My attention was drawn away from the window to the little bundle of joy in front of me, wrapped in layers of clothing, even in the middle of the afternoon, standing between myself and the roaring fire that was set to warm the living room and perhaps brighten my spirits in this seemingly bleak spirit.

"What is it, Rachael?" I asked, smiling pleasantly, knowing that the mail had arrived just an hour earlier, through rain, snow, or dead of night.

"I got a letter from Mommy!" she cried, excitedly, waving an envelope wildly.

"You did?" I asked, to which she nodded her head.

"Well, then, should we open it up now, or later?"

"Daddy!" cried an impatient little girl in front of me.

"Oh, alright. Here, let's read it," I said as my little angel climbed up onto my knee, holding the letter in her hand with great interest in what was inside. My little angel. That's what I call her and that's who she is to me. She reminds me so much of her mother. As fate may have it, most of her delicate features came indeed from Carla, her angelic face, her long, light brown hair, her playful nature, and her eyes. Yes, when I look into her eyes, I see such softness, innocence, everything that is pure in the world.

"Look here, my little angel." I said, pointing to the return address.

"Mar-sel," Rachel pronounced slowly. "Where's that?"

"It's Marseille, Rachael. She's in France right now, right by the sea," I replied, opening the letter in front of us as Rachael leaned back onto my chest, my arms wrapping themselves around her.

"Look, Daddy!" she exclaimed as I pulled out the letter folding within. Something else in the envelope fell out as well and onto her lap. She reached down and delicate lifted it up and held it in front of her. It was a thin silver chain with a pendant attached. Memories flooded my mind upon seeing it. Indeed, it was my Christmas gift to Carla that special Christmas of ours, so many years ago.

"It's the necklace Mommy always wears!" she said, excitedly, immediately fumbling with the clasp.

"Here, let me put it on you," I offered, unclasping it and draping it around her neck. The tiny crystal snowflake reflected the red and orange of the fire in front of us as well as the reds, greens, yellows, and whites of the Christmas tree nearby, under which were numerous gifts of all sizes, nearly all of which were for Rachael, of course.

Yes, as my daughter put it, it was the necklace that she always wore. When I proposed to her on New Year's Eve after four years of knowing her, she wore that necklace of hers. When we got married nearly two years later in the middle of December, the best gift she ever gave me, even better than that wedding night of ours, she wore that necklace. I never saw her take that necklace of in the time I knew her. Even during her pregnancy of Rachael, a year after our marriage, she would hold on to that pendant, run her fingers across the tiny snowflake, even without realizing it.

"It's pretty," Rachael mused.

"Yes, it is."

"What does Mommy say in the letter?" she asked, curious.

"Let's see, I said," unfolding the letter. If I were to name something that Rachael did inherit from me, it would be her sharp mind, her love to learn, yet I could never get her out of bed in the morning without much effort, something else she must have gotten from her mother. Even at the young age of six, her mind was quick, and she well knew that she could simply take her letter to her room and read it to herself. But she insisted that I read it to her, knowing that at some level, it was a comfort for me to read Carla's letter to our daughter. I considered these moments golden, never wanting them to end. I suspected that Rachael knew what joy this ritual of ours brought to me. I told no lies to her, made up no stories, but even with the sharp mind of hers, she could never fully understand the reason why "Mommy" left. Oh, she knew the basics, perhaps felt a bit lonely these past couple months without a mother around, but there was no lashing out or hatred; I could not see any in her eyes.

"Dear Rachael," I read, as she looked on. "Merry Christmas! I'm sorry that I could not be there for Christmas this year. I know that this is the first Christmas that we haven't been together as a family, but things have changed, my little princess."

I paused as Rachael giggled at the mention of "little princess." That was Carla's pet name for her little daughter, always claiming that someday, she would grow up into a beautiful queen that everyone would love.

"I know that you must be sad that I can't be there and I know that you understand why Mommy isn't there, but when I visit in March, we're going to do all the things that we used to do, so don't you worry. I'm giving you my necklace for Christmas this year because you know how much I love you and that necklace and I want you to know that I'll always be thinking of you. I can't wait until I can see you in that necklace. You'll be the most beautiful girl in the world!

"I'll be here in Marseille for a while longer so you can write me. It's a beautiful city by the sea. The water is very pretty and there is many things to do and to see. Maybe someday you can see how pretty it is down here. We're going to go to the Alps for the next month where it is very white with snow. I've always wanted to go there where it is snowy all the time. I just can't wait!"

I squirmed at the word "we." I knew that Carla could never write or say "Brian," to her Rachael. Sure, when they would visit, he'd join them for activities whenever they finished their mother-daughter bonding and they'd have such a good time together. And I would look on at them. I don't think that we avoided each other. Nay, her visits were for the purpose of bringing her new life into her old, to which I happened to be a par of and then there was Rachael. She was Carla's whole life. The last thing she wanted to do to Rachael was to mention her new husband and possibly make her think that he stole "Mommy" from her life and possibly reject him, but I would never believe that my little angel could ever hate someone in her entire life."I just can't wait to see you in a few months. There's so much to catch up on. I'm bubbling with excitement, waiting to hear about your friends, your school life, what you've been up to lately. And remember, I want to hear it all and not miss a single little thing. What am I saying? I can't wait until you write back. Then you can tell me anything you want because you can always tell Mommy whatever it is that you want, good or bad, and I will always love you. But it won't be the same than to see you in person and hug you, and smother you with all the kisses that you deserve since the last time I visited.

"I hope you have a Merry Christmas if you get this letter in time, because Christmas is a very special time of year. Remember that long talk we had about the how special Christmas was? Still, I hope that you get everything you want this year, and even everything that you didn't ask for, but that you deserve more than anything in the world. I can't wait to hear from you and even to see you, but I promise that I'll be there next Christmas, no matter what it takes. I'll love you always, Mommy," I read at the bottom of the letter. Rachael giggled at the hearts and little kisses that Carla drew for her at the bottom of the page.

"P.S.," Rachael said quietly. "Tell your Daddy that I hope he's well and has a Merry Christmas, too."

And with that, she folded up the letter, and placed it back into the envelope from which it came from and turned around on my lap.

"Mommy says Merry Christmas, Daddy," she said. And with that, she wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me. I hugged her back and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Why don't you go write to Mommy," I suggested as we let go of each other. "Tomorrow's Christmas and you're not going to have much time tomorrow or the days after with all the gifts you're getting this year."

"O.K. Daddy," she said, smiling and bounded from my lap, Carla's letter still in hand. She looked back at me and when I smiled back at her, she turned around and skipped happily up the stairs and to her room, not reemerging again for several hours when her completed letter was finished.

I remember Carla telling me that her dream in life was to explore the world, to see what the world had to offer, what it had for her to experience. Maybe it was a bit unattainable, but nevertheless, it was a dream and whenever Carla set a goal, she was determined to accomplish it, no matter what it took to achieve it. Unfortunately for me, she could not achieve such a goal while with a man like myself. I guess I knew that it was coming, somewhere deep in my heart, where a sub-conscious was telling me that Carla deserved better. She deserves not to have anything hinder her way towards her dreams. I knew that I could not afford the things she deserved, nor provide the thing for such an objective to be met.

With the many things I remember about Carla, that doomed night of ours seems vague in my memory. I remember that she told me that it wasn't that she was unhappy, but that she had found some one better. Yes, better was the word she used. And sure, in most ways, the single, highly popular (and not to mention rich) president of the company she worked for was better than a man like myself. Things moved quickly after that night. The divorce, the plans, the moving out, the sad, although promisingly temporarily, good-byes between mother and five year old daughter, and then the sudden emptiness.

I had no doubt in my mind that she was happy, and truly so. What greater feeling is there than finally being with the person one was destined to be with for life? There is none to that sensation of knowing that the other is a part of your life, knowing that person will do anything and everything for the other's happiness. That there is the purest love.

Carla was my purest love. She was the only person for me. And I would go through the rest of my days knowing that. And if to make her happy meant letting her go, then I would do it, because to keep her from a once in a lifetime opportunity would truly be the sin to end it all. Perhaps the only thing that went wrong was the separation of mother and daughter, but a child needs some stability in life and I guess that is where I come in, even if it is the only thing worth living for. But something tells me that a child still needs her mother and at least Carla is doing her best with all the letters, news, gifts, visits every couple of months, and the love that they still share. So maybe it isn't that bad after all, but only time can tell.

My instinct told me that Carla deserved more than myself, and wished that I could be wrong on that, but my instinct says otherwise. Her new husband and lover is her purest love. I don't doubt that. They looked so happy at the wedding that I showed up for the sake of Rachael. She didn't have to explain much to me about her decision, and she knew it. Her eyes told it all. They told to reason, the desires, the needs, and sorrow. In all her letters to Rachael, all addressed to Rachael, she would always throw in the "tell your Daddy I hope that he's well," part, still wring to Rachael as if I was not part of her life, to which I would have to reluctantly concur. No, I don't think she hated me, nor despised me in anyway. I tell myself the worse: that she's moved on, but something in my hearts tells me that she doesn't want to hurt me anymore.

They say that there is only one other person one is destined to be with. Carla was that person for me, but alas, I was not the person for her. It is not always a two way street, as fate so ironically plays out. Another was the one for her and she was the one for him. But does that mean she was not the one for me? Maybe there are no sure things, no definite answer to anything in life. People can say what they want about Carla and my response will always be the same: she was the most beautiful and perfect woman I ever knew. She did nothing wrong, despite comments from friends that I don't need her, that I can't find someone better. But there is none better. I did need and I still do need her. But we can't all get what we want, can we?

Tonight, I would help Rachael address the envelope to Carla. She will then stuff the letter in, telling me that I can read it if I wanted, but I didn't want to. There was no right to intrude. If Carla wanted only to write to Rachael to protect me from any pain, then let Rachael write back for the same reason. Then I would tuck her into bed and she would, like she always does, ask me to tell her about the place where Mommy is and what it is like there. And she would drift off to sleep as I told her about all the fun Mommy has while traveling, and how much she still loves her, and just how happy Mommy is.

Tomorrow will be Christmas and in the early morning, Rachael will bound into my bedroom and on my bed, bouncing up and down, shouting for me to wake up. It will indeed be the first Christmas that I'll have without Carla by my side in a long time. With or without Carla there, Rachael will sure to be excited about her gifts and the big celebrations planned for the day because in the little naïve mind, she can't feel any misery, knowing that her mother will always be there for her.

Carla believed that Christmas was a special time. People can put their differences aside and enjoy such a holiday together. Things don't happen for nothing on Christmas. Miracles are very real and very special. We were destined to meet, she would still say, even today. Maybe I was nothing more than a path leading to her true happiness, abiding her time until her golden moment came. Maybe such a child like Rachael is something for me to remember Carla by, link between her and me, even if we shall never meet again.

But its getting late and as I get up from the old rocking chair to prepare dinner, I smile to myself, knowing that there still is one little woman that still needs my love and care. I decide not to put out the fire; I think we both would need a bit of warmth in our lives when we sit down to dinner in a few hours. I also decide not to close to blinds or pull down the shades either. The snow's actually quite pretty now, nearing a halt from its virginal artwork of the white-blanketed city. Through the whiteness of the snow and the dimness of the evening, tiny Christmas lights twinkling from the homes in the neighborhood. Yes, the snow is pretty. Quite.