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I couldn’t answer because my mind went blank. That was Willow’s holiday. Easter was hers too. Fourth of July. All the popular holidays were hers.
“What’s going on in your head? He came over and lifted me up, sat down and brought me to his lap. I stretched out, getting comfortable.
“They’re Willow’s.”
“What’s Willow’s?”
“The holidays. The songs. She made us listen to whatever was her favorite song over and over again.” I’d forgotten about all of this. “None of us ever complained. That’s not normal. We should’ve complained or fought with her about the songs, because honestly, some of them were so annoying.”
His arms tightened around me. The scent of his shampoo drifted over me, covering me, and I relaxed even more. Evergreen pine. God, I loved that smell. It reminded me of when we used to walk among the trees, looking for the one we’d put up in the house, but that was back when we used real trees. We switched to fake trees so long ago, but I missed that smell.
“So why didn’t you guys complain?”
The answer was so simple to me, and I wished that I had realized it back then. “She was happy.” Images flashed in my mind, when she declared she got radio privileges in the car. As she put the holiday music on in the kitchen and danced through, laughing, her hair flowing behind her. When we’d go to open gifts and Willow showed up, suddenly so determined that we needed to set the mood. We needed the perfect song, those were always her words.
Music meant so much to her, and I hadn’t known. I hadn’t realized at the time.
“She was happy,” I repeated, a soft sigh leaving my body, some unknown tension unwinding from me. I wasn’t sad thinking about it. It made sense now. I waited, expecting some regret to flare through me, but it didn’t come. Just acceptance. “She was different during holidays, when it was just the family. She was different around her friends and her boyfriend, more guarded. Tense. But she was always like that. Except with Christmas music. She needed the right song for every event. Decorating the tree. When we opened gifts. When we ate breakfast Christmas morning. She loved setting the mood. That’s what she said, but she was happy when she did. She was just her. She was only a teenager when she did that so we let her. No one complained.”
The holidays were hers. The Christmas songs were hers.
I added, “I never minded. What made her happy made me happy.” Why was I only now thinking about all of this? But then again, did it matter? “I don’t have a favorite song, Ryan.”
“Do you want a favorite song?”
I considered it and nodded, feeling like I was confessing as I said, “Yeah. I think I do. Maren said a Christmas song is a song that’s supposed to make you happy. I’m guessing she meant a favorite song.”
“Okay. Let me look at the ones you compiled.” He took my phone and began going through my playlist, then laughed. “Mac.”
“What?”
“These are horrible song choices.”
I groaned, pressing my nose into his shoulder. “Why am I so bad at this stuff?”
He was starting to curate my list, adding other songs to it, and he rubbed a hand down my back at the same time. “You just said it yourself. Holidays were your sister’s thing.”
I was looking at the new songs he was picking.
Silver Bells.
White Christmas.
Carol of the Bells.
I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.
Please Come Home for Christmas by the Eagles.
Believe by Josh Groban.
You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.
You Make It Feel Like Christmas.
O Holy Night.
Mary, Did You Know?
