My British Bear

Chapter 13

Hey guys! So, I'm super sorry about not uploading either edited chapters nor new ones, but I've been super stressed and busy. I have impetigo breaking out all over my face so we finally went to the doctor's to get something for it and it sucks and I'm ugly (jk, jk xD). Also, my dad just decided to up and move out so we have to move to a super tiny house we can afford, survive without him, and I have to share a room with my sister (U G H). On top of that I've been busy every day of the last two weeks, we have to start cleaning and packing, I have a book I have to finish by the 30th for a blog post, and a stack of books on my dresser. I haven't even started my summer work. 
  So, yeah!!! So sorry about not updating, I'll try as well as I can for the next couple weeks but we'll see. <3 Y'all are the best. 
   P.S. If any of you have blogs, I'd like to utilize you sometime maybe. ;)

One of the things I remember most as a child was the little trinkets my mom would tell me stories about. My mother was a fantastic storyteller, and I'd sit on her knees as she told me all about her leather bookmark, the painting on the wall, the scar on her forehead.

The one thing she loved to tell the most about was a small, square jewelry box that she had. It was made of glassy, beautiful red wood and had silver hinges. The top had outward carvings of roses, and the inside was laid with purple velvet.

The story was that, when she had been young, her father had given it to her because she had a very special necklace she wanted to keep safe. He said it was safer than any lock or safe or bank because it was protected and guarded with his love. Grandpa was a carpenter, and he had spent a good six months working in secret on it.

Mom had had a friend in California who was getting married, and because she couldn't attend she sent her most special possession. She was also reeling after Papa's death, and the jewelry box reminded her too much of him.

I never knew what became of the box, but now I held it in my shaking hands.

I managed to switch the clasp up and pulled open the top with trembling fingers. Inside was the purple velvet and there, in the small corner beneath the loose flap, was a heart scratched into the beautiful wood.

My mom had scratched out a heart with her special key necklace when she was young so if she lost she'd always know it was hers. And now it was mine. Mine through complete strangers who had become friends.

"Th-this was my mom's." I hiccupped, leaning back against Brooks, who had hugged me. My tears had stopped falling, but I was still a little shell shocked.

"Oh." Chloe's mother breathed, realizing why I had burst into tears. "We've had this thing for years. See, we got it when we... remarried. It was a special occasion because we were repromising to love each other. My friend up in LA had sent it because a friend had sent it to her when she was getting married. The friend's name was Trinity, I think."

I choked. Trinity. The one name I hadn't even whispered in a long while. "Wait, you know my mom's friends?"

"Yeah. Anamarie and John are good friends of ours."

I just sat there, stewing in my own disbelief. It was a small world. Mom had sent a box to her friend, who had sent it to Chloe's mom, then I was friends with Brooks and then Chloe, and now I had the box.

Brooks's arms tightened around me as he hugged me tighter. "I'm good," I assured him. "I'm good. I'm good." I repeated a couple more times, more for myself than his sake. I took a deep breath. "I'm good. How about we continue on with this party?"

After the presents, we had more food and then we talked and joked for hours. After everyone left we settled down in the den and watched Christmas movie classics (Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas, Home Alone 1 and 2, Charlie Brown Christmas) and ate popcorn, snuggling up to each other in footie pajamas.