Page 37 of The Art of Being Merry
Nope, I have an agenda and must get back to it.
“Rookie mistake, Clementine. We might have to pick up a few more boxes, which brings me to the most important of all serious questions.” I pause for dramatic effect, my gaze locking with each of theirs, ending with Clementine. “White or colored lights?”
I can’t give away my feelings. I can’t let my answer influence theirs. I also can’t change theirs just because it might be the “wrong” one. I have to be okay with whatever they say. The thought has my skin crawling slightly.
Atlas scrunches his nose and scratches his head. “I think ours are colored, right, Mama?”
I concentrate on Clementine, the red deepening her cheeks. “Yep, they are,” she confirms, her tone more embarrassed than before. I can’t figure out why.
“Okay, so colored it is.” I choke out the words, hoping they can’t pick up on the distaste in my mouth. “We should get a few boxes to make sure you’ll have enough. In case all of yours don’t work, it’s good to have extras.”
I turn around to head for the lights aisle, keeping my opinions to myself, the three of them trailing behind. There are lots of options to choose from, whether it’s white or colored, so I point out the ones I think are the most energy efficient and will last the longest.
“Do you string lights?” I ask Clementine, breaking the silence we’ve found ourselves in.
“I do. It’s the one thing I do well. It’s been my job for a while, but like everything in my life, a Christmas tree is a blank canvas, and my mind does well with a clean slate.”
My eyes blink, taking in her explanation, something I’ve never considered but can see the appeal. And suddenly, I need to see how her brain works while she hangs the lights.
Good thing I’m going to be there tomorrow to help.
“Great. Are you a person who uses a lot of strings or are you stingy with them?”
“Depends on my mood. Depends on what design feels right.”
“Interesting.” I’m more intrigued.
Her gaze swings back and forth between the boxes of lights and me. When I notice it veering to the white lights, a feeling of excitement surges through me.
Nope, do not influence her decision.
One more glance at the lights, she turns to face the boys. “Anyone up for a new tradition this year? A fresh start of sorts.”
Atlas raises his brow. “Another one? We have a lot of new things this year, Mama.”
“This one won’t be too disturbing, I don’t think. You might not even notice it.” She tries to appease his concern, and she’s doing a good job. Jace seems oblivious to what’s going on, his attention gone from our discussion and on something at the end of the aisle.
“What is it?”
“How about we try white lights this year? If we hate them, wecan always go back to colored next year,” she quickly adds, sweetening the pot.
The amount of gratification running through me at her plan is insurmountable. Atlas has to agree. She’ll give him this choice. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, not convinced. I bite my cheek to keep my ideas from spilling out. Then his gaze slides to me. “What color do you have, Dax?”
“White.” The one word is all I say. It’s a simple, factual answer, no opinion needed.
“And your trees were so pretty. Hmm.” He cocks his head from side to side, considering it. As if it’s the most important decision he’ll make.
From where I sit, it is, but I can’t let any of them know it.
I wait with bated breath, totally invested in his answer though I have no stake in any of this.
After what feels like an eternity, he nods. “Okay, let’s try it.”
Internally, I celebrate. Externally, I say, “Good choice.” I contain the grin wanting to emerge. I point to the ones on my tree. “These are what I have. They last long and give off good light.” I gesture to another set. “But these are also good.”
Clementine swipes five boxes of the first ones and drops them in the cart. “Okay,nowI think we’re done.” She surveys the cart. “Oh, shoot. We didn’t get a stand.”
