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“Just testing your reflexes. Could have been faster,” I goaded him. Of course, right as I said that, one of the candleholders clattered to the floor, creating a cacophony of crashing sounds. Thankfully, the wood interior of the cabin seemed to absorb the sound so that it wasn’t as disruptive as it might have been.
“And, uh…” Dean picked up the candleholder and waved it in my face, “how areyourreflexes doing?”
“As you often like to point out,” I shot back as I carefully unloaded the rest of the items in my arms onto the top of the credenza, “I am your ‘elderly’ friend, and apparently those eight years of age I have on you gives me an excuse to be a little slow. Old age, and all that, you know. What’s your excuse?”
“Distracted having to look at your ugly face,” he said, laughing, and I joined in. This was the kind of banter we usually had. Carefree, a bit antagonistic, but never in ill humor. The kind of banter that one usually saw between best friends.
I don’t quite remember how our friendship started, only when it was obvious that it had. Dean joined our finance firm right out of college as a low-level advisor. Despite the fact that he somehow couldn’t work a computer to save his life, he was a whiz with numbers. Within three years, he was working as one of the most watched investment bankers by our higher-ups, and they placed him with me for a mentorship. It was only about a year before our working lunches had turned to talking about dating and sports, and our office happy hours became late nights at the bars.
Dean began to sort through the things on the table and started handing me things, giving me directions on where they ought to go. The glass snowmen went on top of the mantle along with a small decorative cloth that just peeked out from behind the garland there. The red embroidered tablecloth went onto the dining room table with a green runner, white tablecloths, and gold chargers at every chair. There was a small, ceramic Christmas village that we set up on the credenza with a sheet of fake, glistening snow. Each of the little houses lit up inside, and the skating pond had tiny skaters that spun around when it was turned on.
I stared at it for a while once it was done. We had something similar when I was a kid. My parents had always set it up for me right after Thanksgiving, and I’d look at it every single day, turning the different houses off and on, trying out the other objects, like a truck that honked and a Christmas tree that played music. I don’t know what happened to it after my parents died, because I don’t remember it being in the house when I went to empty it out.
I allowed myself a moment to stroll down memory lane, then went back to work.
“What’s next?” I asked once the table had no decorations left on it.
Dean was lighting a few candles he’d placed strategically around the room. He turned to me and said, “I mean, a roaring fire never hurt the ambiance here.”
I nodded and went to the fireplace, only to find that there was only one tiny piece of firewood. It would light, but it certainly wouldn’t be “roaring.”
I turned back to Dean. “Is there anywhere else they keep firewood in here?” I asked suspiciously, starting to think I maybe knew why he tasked me with building the fire.
He poked his head around the corner with a sheepish but guilty smile on his face. “What?” he asked in a fake shocked voice. “There’s no wood? Oh, man. Someone should go chop some…”
I glared at him, but I couldn’t help smiling just a little. That bastard. He really did expect me to chop the firewood. To be fair, I was much more invested in staying fit than he was. At only thirty, he was still reaping the benefits of being able to work out minimally and stay in relatively good shape. But, as it turned out, from thirty to thirty-eight, that privilege vanished. That was why I spent so much time at the gym.
Well, that, and while Dean was out living the single city life, I was avoiding anything resembling romance like it was actual poison.
I grabbed one of the unlit candles and threw it at him, which he fumbled and dropped.
“Maybe if you spent a little more time working out with me, your reflexes wouldn’t be suffering so much.”
“But then,” he said like he’d come to the most obvious conclusion anyone had ever discovered, “how would I manage to avoid having to do stupid things like cutting firewood?”
“I knew that was the reason you brought me,” I said, smiling despite myself.
“That,” he said, “and I needed someone to do the legwork of decorating. Plus, if you weren’t here, my sister might be in a good mood, and I can’t have that.”
I scowled at him. “Hilarious. I love being a problem within moments of arriving and meeting people I don’t know.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the mantle.
Dean sighed. “Look,” he said, coming over and sitting down on the couch beside the fireplace and propping his feet up on the wooden coffee table. “My sister is a really great person. Our parents died right before she went away to college, so that first Christmas was really hard on her. I got us the cabin that year so there would be at least one piece of normal for her, so it means a lot to her. You didn’t know, but insulting the cabin, for her, was like a personal attack because it’s such a personal thing.”
“Ididn’tknow,” I said honestly. I looked over at the Christmas village, thinking about how nice it felt to put one up after all these years. “But I get it. I’m really sorry.”
“Well,” Dean said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees, “You’re making good steps toward showing her that.” A slow, sly grin spread across his face.
“And let me guess,” I said, starting to smile back. “The next best step would be to build a fire?”
“Wow,” he said, putting his arms out like he was surprised. “It’s like you read my mind.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, walking to the foyer and pulling on my coat. “I assume there’s an ax out there?”
“Ought to be, if I remember right from last year.” Dean refused to meet my eyes.
“Oh, so you could do it last year…”
“And Icoulddo it this year, but wouldn’t you hate to see your friend so sore he couldn’t even open his Christmas presents from chopping firewood when you could do it?”
