Page 133 of How to Prevent a Fumble

“Inspect it?” Elara places her hands on her hips, shifting her weight to the right as she watches her mom circle the ginormous tree in the center of all the others.

Briar points to another tree to the left. “You see that tree and the bald spot on the back? Sometimes trees look pretty from the front but terrible from the back.”

Briar’s phone rings, the generic tone blaring through the low hum of Christmas music over the speakers positioned on the barn wall about fifty feet away. The fact that she has the ringer turned on makes me think it’s something importantthat she’s been expecting, considering she’s had no problem completely ignoring texts and calls in the past.

Her eyes sliding over to mine, Briar nods toward Elara, knowing I’ve got her. She takes out her phone, pressesaccept,and walks off, placing one hand against her ear to hear better.

“You think this will fit in my place?” I ask Elara.

She looks up at me, pursing her lips before looking back at her mom. “I think it’ll fit fine,” she says, her hands on her hips.

“I think so too, kid.”

Whoever had been on the other end of that phone call hadn’t been good. Or, rather, their news hadn’t been good.

Briar held it together the best she could as we got the tree loaded onto the top of her truck, and when her brother met us outside of our building, ready to help bring the monster up, Briar asked if we needed her, quick to disappear upstairs. She seemed oddly thankful when Elara had told her she wanted to stay to oversee everything.

I watch her disappear into the building, worry creeping through me, making the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end.

I really hope she’s okay.

“What did you do now?” Owen said with a small smirk.

My head whips to him, a scowl already in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Owen immediately realizes he messed up, an apology in his eyes. “I just hope she’s okay,” he tells me.

“I do too.”

“Come on guys, the tree is going to die out here,” Elara huffs, ready to get inside and get warm.

Owen rolls his eyes, picking up the trunk of the tree as I get the top. In the beginning I had tried to avoid getting sap all over myself, but I had abandoned that quest long ago. I feel like every part of me is sticky and I desperately need a shower.

Heaving the massive thing through our doors, it doesn’t take long before we realize we can’t fit it in our elevator. We sit it against a wall, scratching our heads before Elara shoves forward, her hand on her tiny hip as she bounces up the stairs.

Dramatically throwing her blonde hair over her shoulder, she looks back at us. “I thought you guys played sports?” she asks before starting her climb once more.

“Little brat,” Owen mutters.

Grabbing the tree again, we start up the first flight.

And the second.

And the third.

Eventually, I lose count, hoping Owen sees the numbers on the door and isn’t as delirious and numb. Although I can walk now and I’ve started rehab, Mission Christmas Tree is putting it to the absolute test.

“You owe me so many beers,” Owen winces, losing his balance a little and hitting the wall.

“Noted,” I grit back.

When we’re finally at my apartment, I struggle to get my keys out of my pocket. After struggling, I toss them to Elara, asking her to open the door for us. She lets us in quickly, and we set the tree down in the family room.

Breathing heavily, Owen looks the tree up and down. “Do you guys have a tree stand we can set this up in?” he asks, looking around.

I slap my hand to my face. “I knew we were forgetting something,” I moan, annoyed with myself. “Let’s just set it up against the corner for now.”

Lifting it one more time, we struggle to set it in the cornerof my apartment, right between the wall of windows and the TV.

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