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“Oopsy?” Owen gazes up at me wide-eyed. Holding him close, I can feel his heart pounding in his chest.
I swallow down my hurt frustration about the tree breaking. At least my kid is okay. He’s going to feel bad enough without me piling my emotions onto his narrow shoulders. I take a deep, steadying breath, rubbing his arms and counting until the worst of the impotent anger at the unfairness of it all passes.
“You’re just brimming with grace lately,” Meg observes, giving Owen tacit permission to shrug off what just happened.
“Tada!” He throws up more of those jazz hands and tries to play it off like a joke, defusing the tension in the way he’s so damn good at. He shouldn’t have to do that, but the kid loves to make people laugh. He’s a natural performer and I’m probably going to be cheering him on at every show once he’s old enough to try out for the high school’s theater group. The tree was important to me, sure, but he could break a thousand trees and it wouldn’t change a thing about how much I adore him.
Meg snorts and shakes her head at her brother’s antics.
“Are you okay?” I check, holding him at arm’s length and ignoring Meg’s commentary.
“Yeah. I’m tougher than I look,” he grumbles, like it’s a sore spot. He’s smaller than most of his peers since his birthday falls right before the age cutoff, making him the youngest kid in his class. Inheriting my short stature doesn’t help. He hasn’t been as self-conscious about his size since starting tae kwon do though. The martial arts lessons have done wonders for his confidence. But I guess even at ten, those insecurities die hard.
“I know you’re tough, kiddo.” I ruffle his hair. Then I turn to the wreckage of our tree and make a fruitless effort to get it to stand on the two remaining legs still attached to the base. Eventually, I have to concede there’s no salvaging the broken base. “I guess we aren’t decorating tonight. Sorry, guys.”
Owen’s face falls. “I’m sorry, Pop.” His hands flutter at his sides, like he’s itching to make it better when he knows he can’t.
“Want me to call Uncle Marcus about getting a tree from the farm?” Meg holds up my phone.
No. That’s a terrible idea for so many reasons. I don’t want a real tree that smells like a home I can never go back to, or for my kid to call and fix my problems. I especially don’t want my brother to think we need his charity. Most of all, I don’t want Meg to have to beg for gifts I’m too proud to accept and too broke to give her.
“I can call him.” I hold out my hand for the phone. Meg rolls her eyes as she slaps the phone into my palm. Marcus answers on the second ring.
“Hey, sis—sib.” He corrects the slip of his tongue in a rush, and it’s fine. He’s trying. “Sorry about that. How’s it going? Did the kids finally convince you to go with a real tree this year? I’ve got a load all ready to take to the holiday market. Just say the word and I can swing by your place with one tonight.”
Of course he offers to deliver a tree to us before I can even tell him that’s why I’m calling.
“Uh, yeah. Turns out ours is broken,” I admit. “Are you sure though? I can’t pay you until next week. After payday.”
Marcus tuts at me. “It’s our family’s farm, Angel. Everyone in the family gets their first tree for the year free. I’m not taking your money as long as I’m in charge. End of discussion.”
He is the one in charge since our parents retired and spend their winters in sunnier climes these days. I bet Carl and Saint’s trees are from the farm too. I can cope with the pine smell and the needles. It was kind of nostalgic in Saint’s living room last year. Although that was in smaller doses than taking care of a tree of my own. I’ll just have to deal with it. For the kids.
“Are you sure?” I bite my lip, wanting to insist. I don’t really want any piece of my parents’ legacy anymore, even if it comes from my brother. Marcus wasn’t around when everything came crashing down for me. He had nothing to do with it. But he wasn’t there for me back then either, and part of me can’t help resenting that absence.
“Do you know how many trees I’ve brought to Gail’s sister’s house for her annual holiday party? My sibling gets the same treatment,” Marcus insists. I suppose it makes sense that he’d treat me the same as his wife’s siblings.
“Okay. Thank you.”
“We’ll need a stand too,” Meg pipes up in the background, loud enough for Marcus to overhear her.
He chuckles. “Tell my niece I’ll be there with everything you need to get it set up in about an hour, and tell both kidshifor me?”
“Here, I’ll just put you on speaker so you can tell them yourself. They’re both right here.”
“Hey, kids,” Marcus says.
“Hi, Uncle Marcus,” Owen waves at the phone, even though it’s not a video call.
“Excited for your first real tree?” Marcus asks.
“Yes! They smell so good, like Christmas and happiness!” Owen bounces on his toes, repeating a line I know he has to have gotten from my brother.
“That’s right.” Marcus chuckles. “Nothing quite like a real tree to Make the Yuletide Gay.”
Owen beams. “Like that old song?”
“Sure, kiddo,” Marcus agrees.
