Page 90 of Deck the Hauls

I squeezed Emily’s hand. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t dreading exploring the Christmas lights as much as I would have expected. In fact, after hearing Emily talk about them for the past five weeks, and hearing how they’d been an annual highlight of her life since she was a small child, I was interested to experience them for myself.

I kissed her on the lips softly, closing my eyes to savor it. Once we were out of her room, there’d be no more of that for a while. While Emily’s family knew she was queer, Emily hadn’t even wanted her parents to know about us.

Downstairs, we said goodbye to Emily’s parents, who were sitting in the living room reading next to the scrawny Christmas tree they’d rescued and lovingly decorated. I smiled. At Red Tractor Farm, a tree in that condition would have been put aside to be used by Olivia for wreathes, and on many other farms, it may have been thrown away altogether. But the Rossis had taken it in and decorated it as part of their family tradition.

I thought of my parents’ living room, with their fir tree in the corner, draped with tinsel and ornaments that my family had collected over the years. The cardboard candy cane covered in dried pasta that I’d made in grade school and that was miraculously still intact. The hand-painted ornament with Swiss chalets that Jake had purchased on his first and only overseas trip to Europe when he was twenty-one. The set of mice dressed up in Santa hats that our grandmother had gifted us one Christmas. So many memories. Perhaps I really should go home this year. With Emily by my side, surely it would be bearable?

I’d arranged to speak to Mom briefly tomorrow morning. Perhaps I’d let her know then that I was considering coming back home for Christmas after all. Although, I should probably wait until I was sure, rather than get her hopes up for nothing.

As we stepped onto the front porch, I shielded my eyes from the bright Christmas lights adorning the house and lawn. As my eyes adjusted, I saw the crowds of people staring, phones pointed at us.

“Is this how celebrities feel stepping onto the red carpet?” I asked. “I know people are looking at the house, but still.”

Emily laughed. “I’m pretty sure they are looking at us too. People are always fascinated by who lives in these houses. Mom and Dad have been approached for multiple interviews about what it’s like to live here.” Emily looked around. “But you do have a point. It is a little similar to an official movie premiere, with all the flashing lights, cameras and people staring at you. Come on, let’s get off the lawn before we ruin everyone’s photos.”

We hurried down the steps and slipped into the crowd.

“Now, you haven’t seen our house at night yet, so I think the first thing we should do is admire our own handiwork.”

We turned and stared at Emily’s family home. It was excessive and gaudy, a mishmash of decorations with no cohesive theme. But I loved it.

“It looks pretty amazing,” I said, fighting the urge to wrap my arm around Emily’s waist as we stood there.

“You really think so?” Emily asked, an eyebrow arched.

I looked at the kids on their parents’ shoulders, squealing with excitement, and at the adults pointing, exclaiming and taking photos. It was bringing joy to so many people, making happy memories they could treasure for the rest of their lives. I smiled at Emily.

“Yes, I do.”

“Let’s head down this way.” Emily pointed as a light breeze ruffled her hair. “There are five streets that have lights, but 83rd and 84th are the best. Why don’t we walk down my street first and then we can see how we feel?”

“That sounds great,” I said, wincing as a woman elbowed my side. Ouch. The crowds might get a little overwhelming after a while.

Emily’s next-door neighbors’ display was a little less impressive. Christmas lights covered their fountain and Greco-Roman sculptures, and a few light-up reindeer grazed on their front lawn.

A small boy, only as high as Emily’s hip bone, ran into her from behind.

Emily jumped. Her face tense. “What the...?”

“I’m so sorry,” said the boy’s father, picking the child up.

Emily’s face relaxed into a smile. “No problem.”

“Are you okay?” I asked when they were out of earshot.

Emily ran her hand through her hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m just a little on edge about Phillip and Austin. For a moment, I thought someone was trying to grope me.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been a shock.” I wished I could reach out and comfort her.

“I’m okay. But I really do need to make a decision about Phillip soon, partly so I don’t keep Rebecca hanging anymore and also so I can stop worrying about it.”

“It's a really tough decision. It’s not surprising you’re struggling. Are you leaning in any particular direction?” I asked as we started to walk again.

Emily grimaced. “At the moment, I think I’m leaning toward not getting involved yet. Surely Rebecca can find someone else to go on the record if she keeps digging? And then next year, once I’m clearer on where I stand and if I’ve got any more acting work, I might consider reassessing.” Emily sighed. “But I don’t know. The idea of Phillip continuing to prey on women makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t know if I can live with that. If I don’t speak out, am I complicit in the whole thing?”

If we’d been alone I would have held her hand and given it a squeeze, but I made do with a sympathetic look instead. “I understand why you feel like that, but ultimately it’s Phillip and the justice system who are responsible for holding him accountable and stopping him. Phillip is responsible for his actions, not you, and it’s not your obligation to protect potential victims to the detriment of your own health or safety.”