A Fantastic Holiday Season: The Gift of Stories by Kevin J. Anderson

house, and receive silence.
    Melissa said Piper was going through a phase.
    Leo bought popcorn and soda and sat through a lot of flash and noise beside his daughter. No talking during the movie. Afterward they went to Applebee’s for dinner.
    He had been holding his family magic in a nest around his heart, the tendrils tight-furled. As he watched his daughter eat prawns and salad, he unfurled the tendril that used to connect him to her, and let it touch her again. He couldn’t maintain these connections over distance for prolonged times, and he didn’t want to hurt his wife or children by trying.
    Piper relaxed. She put down her fork and sat back and looked at him. She didn’t smile, but her eyes softened.
    “How are things at home?” he asked.
    “Daaaad,” she said.
    He touched his breastbone, the place where he connected to his family.
    Piper closed her eyes, then opened them. “When are you coming home?”
    “Your mom and I need to work it out, Piper. I hope we can, but I still don’t know what I did wrong.”
    “Well … you don’t listen very well, Dad. Mom wants to do other things than just keep house and take care of us. She bought paints and set up the guest room as an art studio. Like, she has no clue how to paint, but she’s doing it anyway, and it makes her happy. She joined some club. Like, a book club or something? They meet at the bookstore? And people come over to play cards.”
    Leo sat back. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.
    “She could still do that with you at home, if you didn’t, like, smother her.”
    “Okay, Piper. Thanks. Thanks for telling me.”
    “Yeah, and I thought I was good at shutting up.” She frowned ferociously. “This sucks.”
    Leo stroked his breastbone, relaxing the nudge to talk he’d put on her, but not letting go of the connection.
    They walked the mall after dinner. He needed to find her a present for Christmas; he pinned his hopes for the future on Christmas morning. He tried to watch what she looked at while they were window-shopping, but her preferred mode was stealth and secrets, so whenever she noticed him noticing, she looked somewhere else.
    She hugged him when he dropped her off at the house, and he gently pulled his connection back inside, then sat in the car parked at the curb.
    He and Melly had bought the house when she was pregnant with Piper. They had looked at a lot of houses when they knew it was time to give up apartment living and make room for kids. This one had a master bedroom with its own bathroom, and four other bedrooms.
    “You think we’re going to need all these rooms?” Melly had asked. “I’m not having twins, you know.”
    “I know,” he said, “but who knows what the future holds?” and she had laughed, and they made a down payment.
    The house had been in terrible shape when they bought it. He’d really enjoyed working on it, weaving nest magic into plumbing and electricity, spackle and paint, floorboards and linoleum. He asked her about color choices and textures, and followed her taste in everything.
    They had been happy here together.
    The light was on in the living room behind the blue curtains. He imagined the three kids and Melly curled up on the couch, watching TV together.
    But there were other cars in the driveway. Maybe this was a game night, and Melly was at the dining room table with people he didn’t know, enjoying herself.
    He wanted to reach out to her. Just the lightest touch, and he would know how she felt, and maybe what she was doing. When he was still living at home, that knowledge had buoyed him through his days.
    He hadn’t known how she felt, though, when she was working her way up to kicking him out, despite their constant connection. How had he missed it?
    He stared at the light behind the curtains. Life was going on inside without him. He couldn’t reach out to Melly. He didn’t feel he had the right anymore.
    He clenched his hands against his breastbone, then started the car and