Page 64 of Must Love Christmas

Once the silver-and-gold star was in place, it sagged a bit to the side, looking more like a pentagram. Garen tried to adjust it so it pointed upright, to no avail. “This top branch is crooked.”

“You know,” Simon said, “an artificial tree would have a branch perfectly positioned for a star.”

“Great, let’s get one. We can have two trees.”

“Not a chance.”

Garen pouted down at him. “I’d hate Christmas too if my birthday was Boxing Day.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” Simon said. “I just like it a normal amount, which compared to you seems like loathing.”

Fair enough.

Simon touched one of the hanging baubles at the front of the tree. “Was this your grandmother’s?”

“All the burgundy and gold decorations were hers.” As Garen climbed down the stepladder, he remembered how proud his gran had been of her trinkets. “She thought those colors made things look more posh.”

“What was she like?”

“Granny McLaren was the quintessential working-class wee wifey. Queen of the Steamie, they called her.”

“Steamie?”

“The communal wash houses that women in the tenements used to use. Major gossip hubs—the true halls of power in this city, some say.” He folded up the stepladder and set it against the wall. “There’s a famous play about them, and my dad says it’s just like when he was growing up. I’ll show you some time.”

“She sounds formidable.”

“Gran was the gravitational center of our family, and once she was gone…” Garen spread his hands. “Everyone but me kinda floated away.”

“That must have been hard. Especially after what happened to you as a baby.”

Garen just shrugged. If he started burrowing down that emotional rabbit hole, he’d never be able to function. “People come and go. It’s what people do.” He pointed to an older ornament, a painted orange-and-black serpent. “Isn’t that the giant snake fromThe Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“I made it from a kit about twenty years ago. That’s why so much of the paint’s chipped off.”

It was the only one of Simon’s ornaments in less-than-perfect condition, so Garen assumed it meant a lot to him. “You were always a big fan of snakes?”

“My whole life. My parents wouldn’t let me have one until I turned eighteen, but one of my mates at school had this enormous boa constrictor, Regina. She was gorgeous.”

“But not as gorgeous as Poppy, right?”

“Obviously.” Simon shuffled a few steps to the right with his walking frame, inspecting the tree. “I dunno why I like snakes. Maybe it’s because they’re so simple, so comfortable in their own skin.”

“Until they’re not.”

“Hm?”

“They shed their skin,” Garen said. “So they’re not always comfortable in it.”

“Right, but…” Simon seemed to search the air for a response. “At least they do something about it.”

Garen let that observation hang in the air without comment and instead went to the side table where their half-drunk cups of cocoa had been abandoned during the decorating frenzy. He handed Simon his. “It’s gone cold, but it’s still chocolate, so well worth drinking.”

They clinked their mugs together and stood side by side to admire their tree. It was a collaborative effort from top to bottom. Garen had wanted colored twinkly lights, while Simon preferred steady white lights, so they’d compromised with steady colored lights. The ornaments were a mix of their childhood hand-me-downs, as well as a few they’d bought together, including the glittery star.

Prominently placed at the front of the tree was a small wooden sign. Upon it, Simon had neatly painted in red the wordsWater Me.

Garen remembered what he’d told his sister weeks ago, that this would be the best Christmas ever. Tonight, for the first time, he believed it.

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