Page 71 of Holiday Hopefuls
“Almost got it,” Callie calls.
Taking hold of the treetop, I give her a little leverage to help her finish the job. “I thought we were convincing them that we didn’t need a tree this year?” I look around for Blythe. “You know, since no one will be there.”
The final crack sounds, signaling Callie’s treecutting prowess.
And my dad’s, I guess.
But if anyone asks, I’m giving Callie all the credit.
Mom puts a hand on my shoulder as Dad takes the tree, freeing me to help Callie up from the ground. “We’re not keeping the tree,” Mom says, “we’re donating it to the nursing home and will decorate it up there.”
“That’s an amazing idea,” Callie beams. Looking the chosen tree up and down, she sighs. “They’re going to love it. My neighbor’s granddaughter actually works there as a nurse. I can give you her number, if that’d be helpful.”
My dad nods, clearly a little out of breath from the strange workout. “That’d be great,” he puffs.
Readjusting my scarf she sports so that her chin is protected from the cold, I ask, “The one who was watching us?”
Mom’s brows shoot up. “Callie’s neighbor was watching you?”
Callie giggles. “Mrs. Martinez is the sweetest. I promise she’s not nosy or anything,” she assures my mom, “just protective. Besides, she keeps me fed. Her homemade tamales are to die for.”
Grinning, I can practically see her drool forming.
“Wait,” Blythe frowns, “you’re not talking about Zia? She’s so sweet!”
Callie nods while my dad wrinkles his nose, leading us back toward the baling station with a new tree in tow. “What kind of name is Zia?”
The woman who has reattached herself to my arm laughs with her whole frame. It’s a glorious sight. “Her name is Xiomara?—”
“Woah,” Dad interrupts.
“But she goes by Zia,” Callie finishes. “She goes to Blythe’s studio, too,” Callie nods toward my sister. “And she’s actually working on becoming an instructor.”
Blythe leans around Callie, narrowed eyes pretending to scowl at me. “Zia’s the other client I tried to get to go out with you.”
I don’t bother hiding my exaggerated eyeroll. “Thanks a lot. What’d you do, hand out my business card to all your single patrons?”
Callie snorts. “Basically.”
“But no one wanted you.” Blythe’s dramatic sigh will be felt for generations. “Well,” a catlike grin spreads across her face, “I guess one of them did want you, after all.” She and Callie lockeyes in that way only girls can, thousands of messages passing between them all at once.
My girlfriend finally graces me with a smile. “All it took was one cookie and I was hooked.”
Mom looks back at us from where she and Dad are leading the pack. “You’re welcome, son.” She winks at Callie. “He didn’t want to learn to bake, but I bet he’s glad I made him learn now.”
“You have no idea,” I say, grinning down at Callie.
“Oh, oh, look!” Blythe squeals, jumping up and down.
Callie and I flinch into one another—equal parts hilarious and painful.
Up ahead past the pony rides, some of the workers prepare for the horse-drawn carriage rides. Another one of our family traditions.
Complete with a walk underneath a sprig of mistletoe at the entrance.
Mom and Dad always honor the tradition, of course. And I always give Blythe a big hug.
Now, I have Callie.
