Page 32 of Holiday Unscripted
“We can,” I reply, getting on the road and looking over at her as she is on her phone.
“It says it can be at your house in forty-five minutes,” she says and then looks over at me. “Is that enough time?”
“Why don’t you order it when we get home?” I look back at the road. “We still have to unload the tree.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She puts her phone away and for the whole ride she looks out the window.
We get home and then she reaches for the handle. “I’m going to order it now,” she says, “I’m starving.”
“That sounds good,” I tell her and get out of the truck and walk up the steps to the front door. Pressing in the code, I then open it up and see Whiskey coming out with his tail wagging behind him.
“Are the cats not going to run out?” she asks me and I shake my head.
“They tried that once,” I tell her, walking to the back of the truck. “Seems they are not cut out for living on the street. Baby Cat literally belly-crawled her way back in and Bean didn’t like the grass under her feet.” I open the back of the truck and see the tree is tied all the way around.
“Why does it look like it’s sick?” she asks me, standing next to me and taking in her tree.
“We had to tie it all the way around for the drive home. Once you cut the rope, it’ll open up again.”
“It better,” she mumbles to me.
“Don’t you get a tree at home?” I ask her and she shakes her head.
“I do not. There is a tree in the staff lounge in the hospital and that is enough cheer for me to have.”
“So you don’t have one at home?” I question, shocked.
“I work the extra hours during the holidays”—she shrugs—“so it would be a waste of time to put up a tree.”
“But it’s Christmas,” I retort, shocked as I pull the tree closer to the edge.
“Yeah, so I’ve been told,” she mumbles. “What do you want me to do?”
“I think I have it,” I assure, trying to pick it up by the twine that’s tied around it. I grasp it tightly and lift it over one shoulder.
“Just close the back of the truck.” I motion with my chin to the tailgate as I walk across my lawn to the front door. The whole time I feel the pine needles falling down and know I’m going to have pine needles in my house for the next six fucking months. It’s why I never get a real tree.
Whiskey backs up when he sees me walking up the steps, the cord feeling like it’s cutting into my skin. “Out of the way, Whiskey.” I give him the command and he runs inside the house. “Did you bring in the stand?” I look over my shoulder and she turns around and runs to the truck. “You had one job!” I shout at her what she would have shouted to me.
“Technically,” she huffs out when she runs back into the house, following me, “I did my job by cutting down the motherfucking tree.”
I can’t help but laugh as I look at her when I get to the clearing. “Where do you want this motherfucking tree?” I ask her, knowing even if I chose someplace to put it, she will probably tell me I’ve chosen the wrong spot.
“Where do you usually put your motherfucking tree?” She giggles when she says it.
“Elizabeth,” I say her name between clenched teeth, “the twine is going to cut through my flesh.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “Put it in that corner,” she directs to the corner of the living room that faces the big window.
“You need to put down the stand,” I hiss at her and she raises her hands nervously.
“Shit, shit, shit.” She runs past me, taking the metal stand out of the box it came in. “Wait.” She puts it down. “I have to put in the screws.”
“By all means, take your time.”
“You’re rushing me,” she throws over her shoulder as she tries to go as fast as she can. “Okay, put it in the hole.”
“That’s what she said,” I mumble and she snorts.
