light. When that’s still too far, I shimmy onto the red velvet tree skirt spread under the branches.
A few spare needles fall on my face. The smell is so strong, it’s like I’ve been submerged in a bath of warm pine sap. I can see the bottoms of the ornaments hanging in the lacing, locking network of branches that criss-cross all the way to the top, where the angel is. She isn’t visible from way down here, but I know she’s up there the same place she’s been since before I was born, and that’s comforting.
The sound of Mom’s shrieks echo around the corner, a happy, frantic sound. She’ll sit Georgia down and ask the right questions. She’ll slide a mug of cocoa across the floury counter, and Georgia will stir the velvety chocolate with her candycane and take long, mint-spiked sips that leave a dash of whipped cream over her top lip. And all will be as right with the world as it can be with Eileen gone.
The front door pushes open, and I strain my neck, hoping it’s Ella so I can apologize about last night and my bitchiness about Antonia. Even if I know I’m right, it’s way more important for me to know when to keep my mouth shut.
But the heavy thud of boots lets me know it isn’t my dainty sister. The boots clomp closer to the tree, stop, and Trent’s head pokes under the branches and into my tiny, magic space.
“Hey.” His head is turned sideways, and all the shiny dark hair falls to one side.
“Hey.” I smile at him from the pit of my heart, a warm, contented, piney smile and hope, hope—
“You mind if I join you?”
Better even than I hoped.
I crook my finger in invitation, and he lies back on the floor and slides neatly under the tree, so close our hair mingles, dark brown and blonde strands layered on the red velvet. He reaches one finger up to a branch and catches the drop of sap that’s leaking out. He sticks his thumb and index finger together and presses so the sap oozes out on either side, then brings his fingers under his nose and inhales the piney smell.
“That’s the best smell in the world, right?” he asks, his voice low.
His eyelashes poke out stiff and thick, like black pine needles.
“Yeah. I miss this.”
I trace my fingers over the pine needles on the branch closest to me, and imagine that I’m running my fingers over his dark eyelashes.
He turns on his side and his shoulder bumps the tree, sending a shower of pine needles pinging on us.
“What do you miss? You’re right here, under this tree with me, right now. There’s nothing to miss.”
“But it’s just different. I just feel different this Christmas.” I reach high up and touch the toe of a blown glass frog in a hot pink bikini with the tip of my finger. “Remember this one?”
His smile shines under the Christmas lights.
“How could I forget? Your mom wanted that ugly ass thing for how long? And then my mom surprised her with it. But your mom had already bought one…for my mom. Very twisted gift of the Magi shit.”
“It doesn’t feel like Christmas without your mom.” My finger pops the glass frog on her glass webbed foot and she twirls. “It’s never gonna be the same again, is it?”
Every vein stands out on his neck.
“I miss her so much.” His voice is foggy. “I’m so glad I have your mom. Sometimes I just want to hole up, get shit-faced, disappear for awhile. And I know my mom would hate me for doing it, but I fucking want to. Then I think about your mom and her lumpy ass potatoes, and the way she makes us all watch god-damn White Christmas and wants to dance around with me like I’m Danny fucking Kaye. And I can’t do anything that would make her upset, no matter how much I want to just get away from all this sentimental shit.”
I spider-walk my fingers to his and hold his hand tight.
“Do you remember the Christmas when Danny threw up all over the presents?”
He squeezes back so tight, all my fingers jerk like puppets on their strings.
“I remember telling him
A few spare needles fall on my face. The smell is so strong, it’s like I’ve been submerged in a bath of warm pine sap. I can see the bottoms of the ornaments hanging in the lacing, locking network of branches that criss-cross all the way to the top, where the angel is. She isn’t visible from way down here, but I know she’s up there the same place she’s been since before I was born, and that’s comforting.
The sound of Mom’s shrieks echo around the corner, a happy, frantic sound. She’ll sit Georgia down and ask the right questions. She’ll slide a mug of cocoa across the floury counter, and Georgia will stir the velvety chocolate with her candycane and take long, mint-spiked sips that leave a dash of whipped cream over her top lip. And all will be as right with the world as it can be with Eileen gone.
The front door pushes open, and I strain my neck, hoping it’s Ella so I can apologize about last night and my bitchiness about Antonia. Even if I know I’m right, it’s way more important for me to know when to keep my mouth shut.
But the heavy thud of boots lets me know it isn’t my dainty sister. The boots clomp closer to the tree, stop, and Trent’s head pokes under the branches and into my tiny, magic space.
“Hey.” His head is turned sideways, and all the shiny dark hair falls to one side.
“Hey.” I smile at him from the pit of my heart, a warm, contented, piney smile and hope, hope—
“You mind if I join you?”
Better even than I hoped.
I crook my finger in invitation, and he lies back on the floor and slides neatly under the tree, so close our hair mingles, dark brown and blonde strands layered on the red velvet. He reaches one finger up to a branch and catches the drop of sap that’s leaking out. He sticks his thumb and index finger together and presses so the sap oozes out on either side, then brings his fingers under his nose and inhales the piney smell.
“That’s the best smell in the world, right?” he asks, his voice low.
His eyelashes poke out stiff and thick, like black pine needles.
“Yeah. I miss this.”
I trace my fingers over the pine needles on the branch closest to me, and imagine that I’m running my fingers over his dark eyelashes.
He turns on his side and his shoulder bumps the tree, sending a shower of pine needles pinging on us.
“What do you miss? You’re right here, under this tree with me, right now. There’s nothing to miss.”
“But it’s just different. I just feel different this Christmas.” I reach high up and touch the toe of a blown glass frog in a hot pink bikini with the tip of my finger. “Remember this one?”
His smile shines under the Christmas lights.
“How could I forget? Your mom wanted that ugly ass thing for how long? And then my mom surprised her with it. But your mom had already bought one…for my mom. Very twisted gift of the Magi shit.”
“It doesn’t feel like Christmas without your mom.” My finger pops the glass frog on her glass webbed foot and she twirls. “It’s never gonna be the same again, is it?”
Every vein stands out on his neck.
“I miss her so much.” His voice is foggy. “I’m so glad I have your mom. Sometimes I just want to hole up, get shit-faced, disappear for awhile. And I know my mom would hate me for doing it, but I fucking want to. Then I think about your mom and her lumpy ass potatoes, and the way she makes us all watch god-damn White Christmas and wants to dance around with me like I’m Danny fucking Kaye. And I can’t do anything that would make her upset, no matter how much I want to just get away from all this sentimental shit.”
I spider-walk my fingers to his and hold his hand tight.
“Do you remember the Christmas when Danny threw up all over the presents?”
He squeezes back so tight, all my fingers jerk like puppets on their strings.
“I remember telling him
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