Page 45 of The Nightmare Before Kissmas
She sets down her mug with a sigh and digs into a bag next to thetable. Art supplies topple out, the odd ball of yarn and brush—she’s tried to get me to “channel stress into crafting” like she does, to laughable results every time—until she comes up with a thing of nail polish. I don’t ask the color; I splay my hand on the table for her, eating with my other one.
“Your nails are a disgrace,” she says.
“All right,Wren.I’m a guy.”
“Sexist.”
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean. Hold still.” She sets to work, and I eat, eyes drifting to where she has her flower crown on a pedestal under a grow light. She can keep them alive with Easter’s magic, but she’s always done that, gone the extra step with plants and Easter creatures to make sure they don’thaveto depend on her magic, that sheisn’ta frivolous Easter Princess.
“So,” she says softly after a beat, dragging the polish brush across my thumb. “Want to talk about Hex?”
“Nope. I’m sorry I used your mom to argue with your dad about our sham of an engagement. I should’ve apologized sooner. It was out of line.”
She blinks up at me. Her surprise morphs into a shrug and she refocuses on painting. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
“Still. It was disrespectful.”
“No, what was disrespectful was whathesaid, that she would’ve understood this arrangement. He knows damn well that she’d have been livid with him.”
“Are things really that precarious in Easter? I mean, Lily’s marrying into Valentine’s Day, which has gotta be fostering some confidence. Why do you need Christmas too?”
Iris dips the brush into the paint bottle, lifts it back out, dunks it again, does this a few times before she shakes her head. “He’s been like this since Mom died. Not power-hungry, but more… susceptible to suggestions. From our court, telling him he needs to do more; from your dad. He’s hurting. He misses her. I get it. But—I don’t know. I’ve tried to help him ever since she died. It never felt likeenough, and lately, itreallydoesn’t feel like enough, like no matter what I do, he’ll have that blank look, and mutter something about Easter needing me. As if I don’t know. IknowEaster needs me. I knowheneeds me. I’m well-aware.”
My brow furrows, and I watch the way she scrambles too forcefully in her bag for another bottle of polish.
“What do you want to do after you graduate?” I ask. “Just like—for real. Do you know?”
Iris squints. “I’m pretty sure I’m doing it, Coal.”
“Not your duties. I mean what do youreallywant to do. There has to be something? You wanted to go to art school once.” It’s bothering me that Kris didn’t answer that question.
It’s bothering me more thatIdon’t have an answer to that question.
Iris sets down the nail polish and takes a bite of her pancakes. Her eyes drift out, and a spark of a smile flashes.
“What?” I echo her grin.
“Okay.” She dusts her hands off and flares her palms together, parting them back to show me an egg. Not just any egg—it’s an Easter decoration, a delicate sculpture with a surface coated in painstakingly perfect geometric designs, the colors all rich, intense jewel tones.
“It’s pretty,” I say, eyeing her.
Iris pinches it between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s called a kraslice. A type of egg painting they do in Eastern Europe. They layer wax and paint and then peel it off to reveal this level of detail—you see the shading? The blue beneath the green? It takeshours.It takesskill.”
“So… you want to make kraslice?”
Iris flips her hand and the egg vanishes. “Yes. No. I want—” She sighs and stuffs in another bite. As she chews, she shakes her head. “All the stuff we put out of Easter now is getting more and more… cheap. Ease and speed prioritized over stuff like a kraslice. We do some things that are beautiful, and it’s important that the things we offer are accessible. But… I don’t know.” She sinks back in herchair. “I wish we could prioritize more stuff like that. More stuff that’s true tradition, not for the sake of convenience.”
“I get it.”
She flattens her lips at me.
“What? I do.”
“Oh, really?Coalcares about Christmas traditions?”
That’s the second time something she’s said has dug into me, and I let it show now.
