Page 3 of OMG Christmas Tree
“I won’t keep you. Stay safe on the road.” Mom ended the call without extended fanfare. Ever the efficient woman from her career as a nurse.
Mom, retired. Taking weekend trips and renovating a kitchen? Wild. Our old kitchen never changed for the entirety of my childhood. The counters bore scars from a generation of holiday baking and family dinners. The wallpaper peeled in predictable places, with my brother’s and my height marks penciled in beside the patio door.
Traffic inched forward. Me and half the population of Chicago headed out of the city for the holidays. If only I were going home.
CHAPTER TWO
Nick
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“HEY, NICK, WHAT’S UP?”
I held up my hand for Ethan Sawyer’s fist bump.
“I expected you at least a week ago,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, yeah.” I shoved my own gloveless hand back into my coat pocket. “I meant to swing by, but life is a little...different this year. Besides, I knew you’d save a tree for us.”
Ethan, bearded and wearing a heavy red-and-black checked coat, called across the lot to his also-bearded brother. “We still got the Benningtons’ tree?”
His brother Rob ran a credit card through a handheld reader. A family circled around him holding their chosen tree, big and round at the bottom with a skinny, crooked top. A pretty busted-looking tree if you asked me, but the little girl hopping up and down didn’t seem to mind. Rob handed back the card and looked over at us. “It’s almost Christmas, man. We have to sell what we have.”
Mild panic shot through me. I turned back to Ethan. “You don’t have our tree?” The Sawyer Tree Farm always kept one of their best—at least ten feet—for our family.
Ethan hefted a bundle of firewood onto a pyramid stack. “I got here five minutes ago. Rob’s been handling the sales.”
With the family now walking off, Rob tucked in earbuds and jammed to music only he could hear. I marched over. “Hey.” No answer as Rob air-drummed a solo. “Hey. Rob!”
Rob swiveled toward me, still rocking to his own theme. “Sorry, man. Business picks up close to Christmas. Everybody coming in last minute.”
Last minute. I heard it in my mother’s voice this time. A pang hit me right in the gut. This year of all years I couldn’t afford to slack. Stupid me figured the tree was the last of the worries. The Sawyer Farm always had our back. I grew up with these guys. My parents knew their middle names and used them liberally when we boys got in trouble.
“You know we’ve got the mayor’s charity event Christmas Eve,” I told Ethan, who’d followed me over. “It’s my responsibility to get the tree.”
“Hey.” Ethan’s gruff voice softened. “How’s your mom doing, anyhow?”
