Page 41 of The Art of Being Merry
“Yeah, Mama. So good.” Jace smacks his lips. It’s one of his favorite meals, and he always lets me know how much he loves it, no matter how often I make it.
“It wasn’t as spicy tonight,” Atlas opines, his tolerance of the meal apparent.
“Great to hear. I’ll make a note for next time.”
“Can we decorate the tree now?” Jace’s enthusiasm is off the charts. The first thing he did when he woke up this morning was check on the tree, smiling at the bareness in the corner.
I had time to put on the lights, mostly to make sure they were how I wanted them. Without input from the peanut gallery.
“Yep. It’s ready for ornaments. And Dax can help us put on the tree topper. Maybe we should do that first.”
“What about the lights?” Dax questions, curiosity in his tone and expression.
“They’re on. The white lights were the way to go this year. The switch is on the wall to turn them on.”
He pushes from the table, stalking first to the wall to flip the switch and then to the tree, standing in front of it, his hands behind his back, examining the placement of the lights. He walks to one side, gets closer to see them, then to the other side, the same scrutiny there, going so far as practically sticking his head in the tree, landing back at his starting position.
The boys and I join him in the living room. “Well?” I’m not nervous about his reaction because they look good. I’m confident in my abilities and proud of my work, and I won’t let him say otherwise, no matter his “expertise” in Christmas trees. But I’m curious about what he’ll say. If he’ll even give his true thoughts or censor them for the boys’ sake.
“Impressive. Nice use of weaving and equitable distribution, making sure all the branches have a similar number of lights. I’m not questioning your contest win anymore.”
“You questioned my win?” I blurt. What the hell? He hasn’t said anything of the sort before. Stupidly, my heart rate kicks up. I’m more invested in his opinion of my work than I realize.
His guffaw is loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Kidding. I question the judges’ choices only because I’ve yet to be nominated.” His smile is blinding, even in front of the lighted tree, and my heart rate plummets back to normal.
I swipe the back of my hand across my brow. “Phew. I didn’t want to have to ask you to leave or anything, thinking I didn’t deserve the title bestowed upon me by the impartial committee.”
“Never.” His tone is serious, and his expression morphs into contrite. Almost as if he feels bad for leading me on.
Why, I haven’t a clue.
“Seriously, Clementine. Nice job.”
“Thank you.”
“It still needs ornaments,” Atlas mumbles, his patience wearing thin. Like his brother, he’s very excited to decorate it.
I’m letting them put up the ornaments of their choosing wherever they want and won’t be the mom who rearranges after they’re done. It’s our tree, not mine, and they shouldn’t be punished for not having experience because of their age. We all have to learn sometime. This is their time.
“Once Dax puts up the star, you can have at it.”
With my permission given, Dax grabs the star and stands on the small stool to put it into position. Weirdly, he’s as excited as the boys, his true Christmas spirit shining through. It’s such a contrast to Keith?—
Nope. I told myself to stop comparing them, and I will.
It’s refreshing to see this burly man getting so into the holiday. I’d say it was for the boys’ sake, but even without witnessing him in another environment, it’s not. The man has two trees in his apartment. It’s for him.
Once it’s up there, he stands back to admire his handiwork. “As suspected, it looks great against this wall. Brilliant choice.”
This time, I take a bow at his compliment. “Why, thank you. I kinda know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll say.” His words aren’t loud or flashy, but there’s something in them that lights me up. Coming from him, they’re important.
“Okay, let’s get the ornaments on.”
It’s all the boys need to hear to rush over to the boxes and start digging through to find the first one they’re going to hang. I warned them earlier to be gentle with all of them and not to rush, but another reminder won’t hurt.
“Remember to be careful with all of them, and there’s no rush. What doesn’t get done tonight can be finished tomorrow.”
