Page 25 of The Art of Being Merry
“Yep. It spans the entire house, so it’s a decent size.”
“And it’s got a bedroom?”
I point to the closed door, pleased I had the forethought to close it earlier when I left, which isn’t usually the case. “Through there.” I point to the slightly ajar door. “And a full bathroom. The only downside is my parents living upstairs. Otherwise, it’s a sweet crib.”
My use of “crib” garners a look from Clementine, one that begs the unspoken question, “Seriously?”
“Was it always a finished apartment? I pegged it as more of a finished basement with your stuff.”
“That’s what it was growing up, but Dad had it converted a few years ago when Beck moved out. It was supposed to be supplemental income for them, but well. They got me instead.” I laugh to curb the tension and at myself.
“I’m sure they’re happy to rent it to you rather than a stranger they don’t know.”
“Oh, sure. Let’s go with that.” I don’t want to get into it with Clementine. I don’t need her judgment, and the boys don’t need to think I’m pathetic.
They’re studying the tree on the far side of the room, taking in all the ornaments with wonder, respectful not to touch anything.
“So why two trees?” Clementine ponders, changing the subject, which I appreciate.
“Why not two? This way, both sides of the apartment have joy and one side doesn’t feel left out.”
I’m not sure how to explain the need for two. Initially, it was a dare from Beck, but after that first year, they both stuck. It’s only a hassle when it’s time to clean them up, but for the rest of the season, they bring joy. When they’re both lit, I almost don’t need any other lights.
“Fair. Just because I don’t want two doesn’t mean I should yuck someone’s yum. I barely tolerate one as it is.”
I gasp, my hand covering my heart, feigning shock. “That saddens me. How can you not find the exuberance in a Christmas tree? What’s not to love?”
“The setting up, the decorating, the undecorating, the pine needles you find for months after it’s taken away. Shall I go on?”
“No, I’ve heard enough. Why not get an artificial one for less trouble?” I have to choke the word out. Fake trees are fine for some people. I’m not one of them.
“You’d think it would be easier, yet I can’t get myself to do it. There’s something about walking into a house with the fresh scent of pine tingling my senses. I can’t give it up.” She shrugs, as if that explains it. And I totally get it. Two trees equate to double the scent. “Besides, my cousins own a Christmas tree farm. I might be ousted from the family if I went fake.”
My brows raise. “Willa’s never mentioned that. Where’s the farm?”
“Oregon. A bit of a hike for a Christmas tree.”
“Okay, yeah. Too bad. I could have been convinced I need a third tree to support them.”
It’s Clementine’s turn to be shocked. Then she falls into a fit of giggles. Three might be overkill for this space, though if my house were bigger and had more rooms, it’s something I’d consider. One for each room, possibly.
“We’re ready to see the third tree now,” Atlas proclaims.
“Prepare to be amazed, boys. Mom and Dad’s tree is something else.”
I lead the way upstairs to the living room. They may have been here last year to see the tree, but this year’s is slightly bigger. Mom put up a stink when Dad carried in the nearly ten-foot tree, but secretly, she loves it.
It’s always been Dad’s job to get the tree. I think it started when we were little, and it was just Autumn. The narrative goes Mom was sick the day they were supposed to pick out the tree, but Dad didn’t have another available opportunity, so he went by himself, coming home with a tree that was way too big, in Mom’sopinion. The details are a little hazy—I stopped listening a long time ago—but somehow it became his job ever since.
Probably adds to the reason I have two. I never had the privilege of choosing a tree until I moved into the basement apartment. Two equates to double the pleasure.
“Oh, wow,” Jace utters. He races up to it, stopping before he crashes into it, tilting his head back so he can see the top. “It’s so big.”
“It’s the biggest one they’ve had.”
“So many ornaments. How do they have so many?” Atlas marvels, his vision bouncing to every part of the tree.
“Years and years of collecting them. And they’ve given some to us kids so we have some for our trees.”
