Just Try

The blue glow of her phone lit the dim, undecorated room as she lay in bed, scrolling aimlessly through TikTok. It was still early, barely 8 a.m., but the endless stream of videos had already set the tone for the day. Families in matching pjs danced in front of their Christmas trees. Couples in snowy cabins exchanging heartfelt gifts. Her thumb paused on a video of a couple laughing as their dog played with the mangled paper and bows from the gifts they had given each other. She didn't even realize she'd sighed until the sound escaped her lips.

Her apartment was silent except for the banging of her prewar building's heater, struggling to keep up with the December chill. She tossed her phone onto the bedside table and stared at the ceiling, letting the silence press down on her. It was her first Christmas without her father, who passed from cancer the year before. Her mother wanted to be alone, and honestly, she needed a break from her. Her partner was in Utah with his family, as he should have been; they were big and celebratory and one of his life's anchors. She was happy he went. But that meant this was her first Christmas all alone.

"Alright, no big deal," she muttered to herself, breaking the quiet. "Just another day."

Her plan was simple: order shitty takeout and marathon the Alien movies. No holiday music, tree, or reminders of what she was missing. She had a couple of unread texts from friends wishing her a Merry Christmas and last-minute offers to join their celebrations, but she ignored them. They meant well, but they didn't get it. Not really.

Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled to the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker. She stared out the window at the city below; snowflakes drifted lazily past the glass. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what her Dad would've said if he saw her now. Something funny or sarcastic, probably. He always knew how to make her laugh or snap out of her gloom, even when things felt impossibly heavy.

The coffee was brewing when she heard a noise from the living room. Her breath caught. The building was secure, wasn't it? Slowly, she grabbed a nearby kitchen knife and crept toward the noise.

When she rounded the corner, her heart stopped.

"Morning, sleepyhead," her brother said, standing in the middle of the living room with a sheepish grin.

Her brother. The same brother who had died ten years ago that she'd never healed from.

She dropped the knife. "What the hell?" she whispered, her voice shaky.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, I know this looks… crazy. But it's me. I promise."

Her legs gave out, and she sank onto the couch. "How… How are you here?"

He walked over and sat beside her, the couch dipping under his weight. He looked exactly as he had the last time she'd seen him: messy brown hair, a lopsided smile, and that same worn leather jacket and ratty Spiderman t-shirt he'd never taken off. He still looked like he did at 23.

"I've got until midnight," he said softly. "I know, corny, but let's call it a Christmas miracle or whatever, but I'm here to spend the day with you."

She stared at him, her heart pounding. "Why? Why now?"

He shrugged. "Because you need me. Because you're a mess, and if Dad and I don't do something, you will keep spiraling. And Dad's… well, he's busy."

Her brows furrowed. "Busy? With what?"

"With Mom," he said gently. "She's hurting too, you know. But you've shut her out."

The mention of their mother made her bristle. "I can't deal with her right now. She's drinking herself into a hole, and I can't…"

"I know," he interrupted. "But avoiding her isn't helping anyone. Least of all you."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she looked at him, really looked at him. His presence felt so real and solid that it was almost too much to process. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

"I've missed you," she whispered.

His smile softened. "I missed you, too. " He jumped up and grabbed her hand. "Now, come on. We've got a lot to do today. First things first, why don't you have a tree up ?"

She shrugged and gave him the same familial lopsided grin.

The first stop was breakfast at a diner down the street. It was one of their old haunts, the kind of place with cracked vinyl booths and a menu that hadn't changed in decades. She hadn't been there in years. Sitting across from her brother, it felt like no time had passed at all. They laughed over pancakes and traded stories about their Dad, memories spilling out easily.

"Remember that time he tried to cook Christmas dinner all by himself and burnt almost everything that wasn't served half frozen." her brother said, grinning.

She laughed, the sound feeling strange and unfamiliar in her chest. "And then he blamed it on us for distracting him?"

"Classic Dad," he said, shaking his head.

As they left the diner, her brother nudged her toward Central Park. The snow had stopped, and the city was unusually quiet. They wandered through the park, their hot breath visible in the crisp air. He talked about how proud their Dad was of her and how much he wanted her to be happy.

"You know he wouldn't want you to shut everyone out, right?" her brother said, his tone turning serious.

She looked down at the ground, her boots crunching in the snow. "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is," he said. "You've got people who care about you. Your partner, your friends, even Mom. They're all just waiting for you to let them in."

She shook her head. "They don't get it. They can't."

He stopped walking and turned to face her. "They don't have to get it. They just have to love you. But you're not giving them the chance they deserve."

His words hit her hard. She wanted to argue and defend herself, but deep down, she knew he was right.

"I thought I was the wiser older sibling." She said, nudging him as they continued walking.

The afternoon was full of small adventures. They visited her favorite bookstore, where her brother teased her about her growing stack of unread novels. They stopped at a coffee shop where she used to meet friends before she started pulling away from them. They walked past the huge window display of the flower shop where her partner regularly got her flowers. Her brother found a way to remind her of the connections she'd been avoiding everywhere they went.

"You're not the only one who's hurting, you know," he said at one point. "Your friends? They're worried about you. Your partner? He loves you, but he's at a loss. With all her flaws, even Mom just wants her daughter back."

Tears welled in her eyes again. "I don't know how to fix it," she tearfully admitted.

"You start by trying," he said simply.

As the day turned to evening, they returned to her apartment with the sad excuse of a Christmas tree they had successfully obtained. They found her lights and ornaments and laughed at more memories of their past as they decorated it. The lights cast a warm glow as they sat on the floor in front of it, just as they had as kids.

Her brother leaned back against the couch, a soft smile on his face. "You've got so much ahead of you, you know that? But you're stuck. And if you stay stuck, you're gonna miss it."

She wiped at her eyes, sniffling. "I'm scared," she whispered.

"Of what?" He said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees.

"I'm scared... I'm scared if I move on, I'll start to forget you more and start to forget Dad. The real Dad. And not only have that last month of taking care of him to remember. That last month, God, that wasn't him; it was this husk of a man we took care of, fed, medicated, and then Mom and I helplessly watched as he took his last gasping, painful breaths, praying the morphine the hospice nurse gave him was working and he wasn't in pain. And I've already forgotten so many things about you. What do I do if I don't have this..." She said, beating her heart. "This sadness? My grief keeps me from forgetting. What do I do without it?" She said, defeated, head in hands, and wept.

"You live, you love." He said softly, wrapping his arms around her.  

"I know, corny," he said, and they both tearfully chuckled. But you're stronger than you think. And you're not alone. You've got Dad and me, even if you can't see us. And you've got people here who love you. Let them in. Let yourself heal."

They sat silently on the floor for a while, the weight of his words sinking in. Finally, he stood and pulled her into a hug.

"I love you," he said. "And so does Dad. Now, get off your ass and live your life."

When she pulled back, he was gone.

The next morning, she woke up on the floor by the tree, her face streaked with dried tears. For a moment, she wondered if it had all been a dream. But when she stood, she heard a knock at the door.

Her mother stood there, sober, clutching a paper bag of homemade cookies and looking unsure. "Hi," she said hesitantly. "I thought maybe we could spend the day together."

The old resentment bubbled up, but something else quickly overwhelmed it: a desire to try. She stepped aside, letting her mother in. They spent the day eating Chinese takeout, watching Harry Potter, and tearfully reminiscing about better times. By the end of the evening, they'd made plans to visit Iceland in the fall and a Sunday dinner next week, tentative steps toward rebuilding their relationship.

After her mother left, she noticed a small, poorly wrapped gift under the tree. Her heart caught in her throat as she opened it. Inside was a crappy old compass her brother cherished as a kid and a note written in familiar handwriting.

It's okay to be lost. People will always help you find your way if you just believe.

She clutched the compass to her chest, tears streaming down her face. She felt a glimmer of hope for the first time in a long time. She picked up her phone and called her partner, ready to let him in. Then she texted her friends, asking if they wanted to meet for dinner later that week.

Looking out at the city skyline, she smiled. It wouldn't be easy, but she was ready to try. After all, she had a whole lot of living left to do.