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Early December finally settles in over Los Angeles. The kind of week where the Thanksgiving leftovers are finally gone and the city exhales into something quieter. Mornings are cool enough that you can see your breath if you linger. Afternoons still hold that stubborn California sun, warm on your skin like it has something to prove. Palm trees sway against a blue sky that never really learns how to be grey. Windows glow softer now, strings of lights blinking on house by house, block by block. From the hills you can see it all laid out like a movie screen. Rooftops and freeways, a city always in motion, and somehow still reflective this time of year.
For Bobby, standing at the kitchen window with a mug warming his hands, it feels like a pause he never used to allow himself. A year into marriage, a year into a steadier life, sobriety no longer something he counts in days but something woven into who he is. The view of the backyard, the quiet of a house he now calls home, reminds him that seasons change whether you are ready or not. That time keeps moving. That healing is not a finishing line, it is a way of learning to stay.
Bobby rinses his mug as he watches the last swirl of coffee disappear down the drain. The kitchen is quiet in that gentle way it only gets when the house is missing May’s and Harry’s (who is over at Michael’s for the weekends) little banter every morning. Whether it is Harry stealing May’s sausages for breakfast or May nagging at Harry for being late. Instead, just the soft hum of the refrigerator, the faint click of the heater, and the distant sound of their neighbour’s dog barking starting up like a morning ritual of its own.
There are still signs of them, though. Harry’s video game on the tv console and May’s cardigan hanging on the back of the chair. The house has learned to hold both things at once, the emptier space and the proof of a life lived in them. Bobby’s chest does that too.
He then dries his hands, reaches for the calendar hanging on the front of the fridge. Athena insisted on the paper ones. Says it keeps the days from blurring together. There is something satisfying about seeing the month laid out in black ink, about circle appointments and writing reminders in the margins. He likes it more than he admits himself.
In the corner of the current week, a small note sits in Athena’s handwriting.
Angel Tree. Community Center. Saturday.
Bobby’s gaze stays on it longer than it needs to. The words do not take up much space, but they carry weight. His throat tightens the way it always does when December asks him to remember things he would rather keep folded and buried deep below. He rests his palm against the cool metal of the fridge door like he can steady himself there.
He can still picture the first one, even now.
Not in this kitchen, not this home and certainly not in Los Angeles. Instead back in St Paul, Minnesota, a cramped apartment with thin walls. A cheap table that has four chairs yet only one was frequently occupied. A kitchen barely used because he had lost the will to do what he loved most. Walls that are empty with no trace of color because that’s how his life was. Washed clean by loss. By guilt. By the kind of grief that leaves everything pale, quiet and lifeless. Days blurred into one another, all sharp edges sanded down until nothing felt bright enough to hold onto. Rooms only existed to be passed through, not lived in. A time when his sobriety felt like a bruise. Living felt torturous.
He had been going to meetings every single day then, sometimes twice, chasing the feeling of being clean like it might outrun what he had done and keeping himself from trouble. He had been doing the work, sitting in folding chairs with bad coffee in his stomach. Listening to individuals speak their truths like prayers. Learning the difference between shame and accountability. Learning how to say “I hurt people” without adding “but I was hurting too”. Learning how to sit still inside himself. It was just meetings. Work. Meetings again. All he was doing was being honest with himself when honesty felt like tearing his chest open. It was not until someone from his meeting brought up “service”. About giving back. Getting out of his own head. Do something for someone else. Put his hands to something that does not revolve around his own pain.
It sounded simple until it wasn’t.
The first time he saw the angel tree, he had stood in front of it like it was a mirror. Papers hanging from branches, each one carrying a child’s wishes. Anything from a toy to shoes. Things that should have been ordinary. Things that made his chest feel like it was squeezed.
Because all he could think was, “I used to buy toys. I used to buy pajamas. I used to hold small hands in mine. I used to have kids who ran through a house and made it loud with their presence.”
Until the fire had taken them. He had taken them and that’s when his whole world stopped moving while the rest continued to move.
In the first year of being at service and volunteering in the Angel Tree program. Bobby had picked two tags subconsciously without knowing why he was doing it with such stubborn precision. Yet he did so. Two tags. Two children. Two names he did not know, but faces he had imagined in the quiet moments when sleep did not come. He had repeatedly told himself that this act of service was not some kind of penance. Or that it would fix anything or bring back what he had lost. He had long believed he did not deserve lightness, or the permission to want anything good again. Loss, after all, was supposed to harden you. Because that is how movies portray them. Those who suffer the deepest loss are always the ones who turn bitter—if not cruel..
Yet, that was not the man he was and so he went ahead with the act of service for a start. In return, the man had walked out of the store with bags in his hands. Bags filled with wishes made from kids that weren’t his. He had felt something that he had not visited in a long time.
Purpose. Not joy exactly… just purpose.
That tradition had stayed.
Stayed through the early sober days when he still felt like he was crawling out of wreckage. Stayed through years of rebuilding himself. Rebuilding himself through becoming someone who could be trusted again, someone who could show up and stay. It stayed when he married her, Athena. It stayed even after the house got louder again with the presence of his stepchildren who he loves very much like they were his own.
—----------------
He hears the soft pad of footsteps behind him and he knows it is her before he even turns around. Athena moves through the kitchen, robe tied at her waist. Eyes still a little sleepy but sharp in a way.
“Bobby? You are up early,” she says, voice low and affectionate.
Bobby forces himself to blink. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admits.
Athena comes to bury her body into him while he instinctively wraps his big arms around her. His chin rested on top of her head. Her presence is steady, familiar. Her eyes then followed his gaze without needing him to explain.
The note on the calendar.
Angel Tree. Community Center. Saturday.
Her eyes soften. “I wrote that down so we wouldn’t forget,” she says.
Bobby huffs a small breath. “I never forget.”
“I know”
There is something careful in her tone, something that says she knows more than just that. She rests her hand on his chest, palm warm through his shirt as she caresses it gently. “But this time you don’t have to do it yourself.”
Bobby’s throat tightens again, sharper this time with eyes filled with doubt. “You really want to come?”
Athena lifts an eyebrow, and her mouth curves into that look she gives him when he forgets she is all in once she decides she is. “Bobby,” she says gently, “I married you. I married all of you and that means I will be here for all the parts. The easy ones and the part that still aches.”
He swallows. He nods once, slow. “Okay.”
“So,” Athena says as her hands shifted from his chest to his cheek. Voice soft but filled with determination. “Saturday. We go together. We pick the tags together. We shop together. We wrap together. How many was it again…—”
“Two.”
Athena’s gaze softens again. “Then we will pick two,” she says. “And we will make sure those kids have a Christmas that feels like someone cared.”
He steps closer and wraps his arms around her. This time from behind. Careful and warm. Athena leans back into him without hesitation, letting her petit self be held by the love of her life.
“I love you, baby.”
“I love you too.”
—----------------
Saturday finally arrives. Dressed in soft light and clear skies, the kind of morning Los Angeles saves for December as if it knows people need the reminder. The married couple found themselves standing at the entrance of the community center. Athena dressed in a matching sweater her husband had on. Warm and familiar. Both looking comfortable, grounded and ready to conquer the day.
Bobby turns to watch his wife. A moment longer than necessary, heart full in a quiet way.
“You good, baby?” she asks as her hand slowly reaches to intertwine with his.
He nods. “Yeah,” he says honestly. “Yes, I am.”
Inside the community center, the tree stands where it always has. Decorated simply. White lights. Red ribbons. Paper angels hanging from every branch acting as the ornaments. Some are plain. Some are decorated with stickers and cute handwriting. Each one carrying a quiet wish and hope. Bobby stops a few feet away, just like the first time. Athena stays with him but does not rush him. She understands now that this moment matters. That it always has. He takes a breath and steps closer.
Up close, Bobby reaches out. His fingers hovering before making contact. He does not grab. He never does. He reads. Slowly. Respectfully. Meantime, Athena watches him. Observes the way the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes twitch. The way his smile and dimples curved. She watches him read each tag like it matters. Because it does. Knowing Bobby, she knew… If he could, he would fulfill all those wishes and leave not one tag behind. Because that’s just how he is. He is Bobby Nash.
She continues watching him as he passes over some without explanation. Athena does not question it. She trusts his instincts. She knew he picked tags that personally connected with him.
Then he pauses.
This one. He lifts it gently from the branch.
“He is eight,” he reads quietly. “Little boy wants legos. Pokemon. Oh, colored pencils.”
Athena’s lips curved as she listened attentively.
Bobby then flips the tag over. “Says he needs a pair of shoes. In blue, he likes blue.”
Athena smiles. “We can do that.”
Bobby holds the tag for a moment longer than necessary. Thumb brushing the edge. Then he lowers it carefully into his hand like it is something fragile.
“One more,” he says.
She nods. “Two right?”
Bobby smiles faintly as he crushes slightly this time. His hazel eyes scan the lower branches not wanting to miss any tag if possible. He reaches out again and pulls another tag free. “Five,” he says. “Girl. She wants barbies.”
His dimples deepen as his smile slowly spreads, eyes lingering on the tag in his hand. “She wants a shirt with a cat on it.
Athena chuckles.”Maybe one that is fuzzy to touch too?”
Bobby glances at her and chuckles as he nods before they sign the tags out together. The volunteer at the center smiles at them, gratitude is easy and unforced.
“Thank you for doing this..” he says as his eyes meet hers.
She slips her hand into his as she lets out a breath she did not realize she was holding.
“How do you feel?”
“Steady”
“I like steady. Now come on, we got some shopping to do.”
—----------------
At the store, the automatic sliding doors open and the warmths rushes out to meet them. Lights everywhere. Shelves packed with colors. Families moving through each aisle with carts and lists. They do not rush once they enter. There is no urgency in the way they move. No sense of obligation ticking down the minutes. Athena grabs a cart and nudges it toward him. “All right, Captain Nash,” she says, playful. “Lead the way.”
Bobby smirks. “You say that like I don’t already know you are going to take over the second we hit the aisles.”
“Excuse me. I am simply offering strategic guidance.”
He laughs under his breath as he pushes the cart forward with his wife following behind already looking at the shelves. There, they started with the shoes. Athena crouches, immediately zeroing in on sizes like memory kicks in without warning. Bobby leans against the cart, watching her with quiet fondness.
After a few, she holds up a pair of blue sneakers. “These? I think we should get a size up just in case.”
Bobby studies them, pressing the toe like he is testing fruit at a farmers’ market. “Good grip. Not too hard. Solid stitching. Yeah. Those will survive recess and more.”
“Should we get some socks too?”
“That would be nice.”
They moved on to the Lego aisle next, and Bobby could be seen being caught in between excitement and restraint. Athena notices immediately.
“Robert… I know that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re about to overthink this.”
Bobby picks up a box, studies it. Put it back. Then picks up another. “There’s too many. This one might be too advanced. But this one might be boring.” He shook his head slightly defeated.
Athena steps closer, lowering her voice. “How about we get both. One slightly advanced and the other one, we keep it simple. Hm?”
Bobby glances at her, grateful. “Y-yeah. You sure..?”
“Mhm. Positive.”
Next, as they passed the Pokemon section, she did not even wait this time. “Yes. You can get two.”
He laughs. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. You’re predictable.”
He pretends to glare at her but still adds both to the cart.
The colored pencils came next, and though there were a lot of options to choose from. Bobby reaches for the biggest box without hesitation.
Athena squints at it. “Baby, that’s a lot of colors.”
“Give him more options,” he says solemnly.
She chuckled as she shook her head. “You are impossible.”
Not long after checking everything out from the eight year old boy's Christmas list. They turn into the next aisle together. The cart wheels humming softly against the polished floor. Athena checks the list again making sure they did not miss anything out for the boy. “Okay,” she says. “That’s everything for him.”
Bobby nods, glancing back at the cart already half filled. Shoes. Socks. Legos. Pokemon tucked in the corner. The oversized box of colored pencils already threatening to tip over.
He exhales, satisfied. “Good haul.”
Athena gives him a look. “Don’t celebrate just yet. We still have the girl.”
His lips curve into a smile. “Lead on, Sergeant.”
She rolls her eyes but turns them towards the girls’ section, steps confident. Bobby follows, hands resting on the cart, watching her navigate racks and shelves like it is muscle memory coming back online. Dresses. Pajamas. Shelves stacked with pinks and purples including every cartoon character and animals imaginable.
Athena glances back at him. “Okay,” she says. “Five years old…”
Bobby nods seriously, already stepping closer to the racks filled with shirts that have cat prints on it. Athena watches him for a second, amused as he starts scanning through the shirts with focused intent.
“Very invested, are we?” she notes.
Bobby hums, fingers brushing fabrics as he checks sizes. “Kids her age get really particular, right?” He questioned. “You get the wrong texture and suddenly she only wears it once.”
Athena laughs softly. “Look at you…”
He pauses, then shrugs without looking at her. “I’m serious.”
She steps closer peering next to him. “I know you are.. It’s just seeing you like this. You are very much a girl dad coded.”
“I don’t know what that means. Is it one of your twitter terms..?”
Athena snorts. “It means that you are absolutely going to overthink this shirt.”
As if on cue, Bobby pulls a shirt out. Pink. Soft. A little cat curled up in the middle with embroidered whiskers. He rubs the fabric between his fingers like making sure it is good. “This one’s good. It’s soft. No scratch seams. No visible hanging tags.”
Athena smiles, heart full. “You checked the seams.”
“Those things drive kids crazy and I just want her to be comfortable.”
Into the cart it goes.
They moved toward the Barbie aisle next, and Bobby looked clearly unsure. Rows and rows of dolls just staring back at him. All smiles. Tiny accessories.
He cleared his throat. “Okay. I need guidance. How do we know which to pick?”
“Oh so now you asked for help”
Almost sheepishly. “I know my limits.”
His wife steps in, scanning the shelves. Some barbies have straight hair. Some with curls. Some looked like a doctor. The other looks like a teacher. “We want one that looks like—This. This is perfect.” She holds up a box. A Barbie in turnout gear, helmet tucked under one arm. A firefighter just like him.
Bobby freezes when he sees it. He let out a short breath through his nose. Half a laugh and half something else entirely.
“You did that on purpose.”
Athena grins. “I absolutely did.”
He takes the box from her hands. Turning it over slowly, studying its content like it might tell him something important if he looks long enough. His thumb brushes the edge of the plastic where the Barbie can be seen on display.
“Do you think she’d like this?”
Athena’s smile softens. “Yeah. I think she would.”
He hesitates. The box is still in his hands. Doubt creeps further. Subtle but persistent. “You don’t think it’s too on the nose?”
“You think a five year old is going to overanalyze symbolism”
“Fair.”
But he has not put it in the cart yet.
His eyes drifted down the aisle. The other families. A mom and dad shopping together to get things for their babies. Bobby watches it all like he is seeing something familiar from a different angle.
Athena notices the shift. “What’s going on in that head?”
He exhales slowly.
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous, Captain.”
He finally meets her eyes. “Does it ever cross your mind,” he asks quietly, “what it would be like if this was for us.”
Athena does not answer right away. “If we had a kid now,” he continues. “At our age. With our jobs. Both of us out on the field. Working shifts.”
She steps closer, resting a hand on his arm. “I think we’d be tired,” she says honestly. “Our knees would complain. Your back would be sore a lot more. Our schedules would be chaotic. And yes, we’d worry.”
He gives a faint smile.
“But,” she continues… “We’d show up when it matters. We’d know how fragile life is, and we wouldn’t waste it. That kid would never know what it means to not be loved. With a dad like you? Impossible.”
Bobby’s eyes look back down at the firefighter Barbie, then finally place it gently into the cart.
“She’d be so proud of you.”
“I’d want her to be proud too.”
Athena nudges him lightly, playful tone this time. “Careful, Robert. Keep talking like that, I might just—”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Bobby cuts her off without missing a beat, his eyes bright. Mouth already curving into a grin. “Yes. Whatever it is. Say yes and your wish is my command.”
She steps in front of the cart, blocking his path, hands on her hips. “So you’re telling me that if I said yes—”
“Yes,” he interrupts again, pointing at her.
“I didn’t even finish my sentence.”
He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice like he is letting her in on a secret. “Doesn’t matter. You say yes. I say how high.”
“You are ridiculous.”
Bobby agrees. “You loved me anyway.”
She shakes her head, amused, then steps aside as they continue their shopping spree.
—----------------
Their cart does not stay neat for long and it definitely goes beyond the kids’ wish lists. A little more here, a little more there as if both of them keep remembering what it felt like to be a kid and how the smallest extra could turn an ordinary day into something you carried for years. Bobby being Bobby, he insisted they add snacks, water bottles and lunch boxes for both kids. Later, Athena slips in pencil cases, stickers and stuffed toys for them. Her husband later found packs of Pokemon cards. He pretended it was for practicality, like it was somehow essential. They then pick a bedtime storybook for the girl. A comic style for the boy. By the time they reach checkout, the list has been filled twice over. Not in a reckless way but instead in a very careful and thought through manner.
At home, the house welcomes them with that familiar hush. They carry the bags in together and set everything on the dining table. Athena lays out wrapping paper like she is setting up a workspace.She had everything within reach. Tapes and scissors. She really meant business. Bobby on the other hand brings out the gift bags and ribbons.
They sit close together. Knees brushing under the table. Shoulders bumping now and then. He folds paper with the same patience he uses when he is cooking. Athena’s hands move fast, practiced, but every so often she slows down on purpose. Matching his pace. Letting it feel less like a task and more like a shared ritual. The room fills with soft sounds. Tape tearing. Paper crinkling. Bobby’s breathy laugh whenever Athena shakes her head at how much tape he insists on using.
They keep both notes for the kids simple. Not because they have nothing to say, but because the simplest truths are the ones that land. The kind of words that fit inside a small card but still manage to feel like a hand on your back, grounding you. Bobby’s handwriting is careful. His wife watches him write and reaches him to press her fingertips lightly over his like a silent agreement and support. When the last ribbon is tied and the last tag is taped down, they sit back in their chairs and look at what they have made. Two stacks of gifts. Both wrapped with care, bright papers reflecting the glow from the living room light. Bobby exhales, long and quiet. Athena leans into his side, resting her head against his shoulder. Their steadiness of their togetherness, and the quiet comfort of knowing that somewhere out there, two kids they may never meet are going to wake up and feel the world soften for them even if only for a morning.
The Angel Tree stands for many things, but for Bobby Nash it has always been simple. Two tags. Two children. A way to remember without drowning. A way to honor his Brook and Robert Jr. What began years ago as a lifeline, something to keep him standing when grief threatened to pull him under, has grown into something more steadier. It is no longer just an act of service. It is a ritual of love, of choosing kindness again and again even when the universe tells him otherwise. And now, with his wife, Athena, by his side. It is no longer something he carries alone. It is theirs.