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She held it up, dangling it from the piece of string it was on. “And how did it end up pink?”
“Because it was the first color that came into my head, and I trapped myself. By the time I’d told this story—that everyone in the world should have known—I’d said the famous mouse was bright pink. So, the next week when the teacher brought back everyone’s pieces all fired and ready to be painted, I was stuck with painting my mouse bright pink.”
Piper was grinning now. “Well, I think it’s a very fine mouse,” she said in approval, setting it down and picking up a gold bell. She nodded at the large box. “Just as well your tree is so big; you’ll need the room for all these pieces.”
Dawson took a deep breath and went into the kitchen for a few moments, emerging with a trash bag in his hand.
“What’s that for?”
He gave a sorry shrug. “Some of this stuff is past its best. I should have gone through this all a few years ago, but I just couldn’t face it,” he admitted. “It’s time to do an overhaul.”
He bent down again, but Piper put her hand on his. “You don’t need to do that. A lot of this stuff will have memories for you. You should keep it.” She paused. “If you want to.”
Dawson’s inside twisted a little as he looked at the decorations. There were memories. The silver and red tinsel that his mother had been delighted to find. A Christmas bauble from a famous shop in London that she’d prized. A few other handmade items. There were things he could part with that didn’t have any sentimental value, so he took a breath and sorted some of them into the trash, putting the others in a little pile. By the time he’d finished he looked at the pile and pointed. “That’s what I’m keeping. Sorry looking little bunch.”
“Actually, I kind of like some of them,” said Piper, picking a ceramic house on a green ribbon, and a slightly wonky gold star. “They have character.”
“Character.” He gave an approving smile. “Okay then, character.”
Piper helped him assemble the Christmas tree, slotting the pieces together, without saying a single word about the fact it was fake. Maybe she was being kind because it had belonged to his mother.
She checked the tree lights worked, before starting to unwind them. Their fingers tangled together as they separated the branches in preparation for the rest of the decorations. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“What for? We haven’t finished yet.”
He pointed to the eight-foot tree, now fully assembled, the top not quite reaching the ceiling. “For not lecturing me on buying a real tree and making me throw this one out.”
Piper gave him a soft stare. “I might be a horticulturist and could lecture the world about sustainable Christmas trees, but I also understand families and memories.” She held an open hand out to the tree. “It was your mom’s. It’s special. It’s right that you keep it and reuse it, along with all the decorations that you love. I get it.”
Dawson couldn’t even begin to let her know how grateful he was for those words. There was something about Piper being in his home. It was comfortable. There was no awkwardness. And part of him was dreading the end of the clues now—because that would mean their time together was over.
“I’m glad you understand.” He stepped back to look at it, before picking up the lights to wind around it. “Having the tree up this year just seems… right.”
He saw her pause for a second before she asked. “When did you lose your mom?”
Dawson took a few seconds. They’d gotten to know each over the last few days, and her question didn’t feel intrusive. “It’s been two years. She had a stroke. It came out of the blue and was severe.” His voice trembled a little. “I got the chance to see her and say goodbye, but she never came back around.” He took a deep breath and looked up. “I miss her. It had just been the two of us for a long time. She was my biggest cheerleader. But…” He gave a sigh then smiled. “But I was lucky to have her. I have lots of good memories.”
Piper bit her lip and nodded understandingly.
She touched his hand. “I get that. There one minute, and gone the next. It makes it harder.” There were tears in her eyes. “Our parents died in a coach trip accident. What was worse was that they were in Europe, and there was so much to deal with before we could even get them home to have the funeral. My older sister Alanna took the brunt of most of it, and she’d just got married. We were lucky that one of my dad’s old friends stepped into help us with all the legal stuff. We couldn’t even start to grieve until months later.” She blinked back the tears. “That’s when it all hits home.”
Piper put one hand up to her chest. “It was more than ten years ago now, and you’re right about the memories. I have them, too. A lifetime’s worth, and that’s what counts.”
They locked eyes. It was a moment of understanding. Neither of them needed to fill the few moments of silence.
After a few minutes, Piper moved her hand from his and took the other end of the lights and holding them as he strung them around the tree. It only took a few minutes, then she lifted his small pile of saved decorations and gave him a nod. “Now these.”
He hesitated. It had been easier sorting through them, but putting them up on the tree made his heart miss a few beats. But they were in that place now where they’d shared with each other. They both understood the sudden loss of a parent, and how that affected every part of your future life.
It was like Piper could see his nerves. “Tell me about them,” she said, as he hung his pink mouse and moved to the squinty gold star.
“Most of these were made. Do you remember when the craze was to make decorations out of plaster of Paris and bake them in the oven?”
Piper smiled. “Mine all cracked and were ruined. I hardly got the chance to paint any of them.”
“Well, the house and squinty star are remnants of those days. I fully expect them to crumble in my hands one day.”
He hung each of them on a branch and stood back, frowning. “Maybe I should just get new decorations. You know, do a color theme. Like you see in those interior design mags.”
