Chapter 9 - The First True Holiday
As December rolled around, the city transformed into a glittering wonderland of holiday lights, frozen puddles, and bustling sidewalks. In the past, the arrival of December always filled me with a sickening sense of dread—the frantic scramble to buy expensive gifts for a family that would inevitably find fault with them, the awkward holiday dinners where I sat on the sidelines watching Maddie’s children unwrap mountains of presents while Noah received a token afterthought.
This year, the approach of the holidays felt entirely different. It felt like a blank canvas.
"What do you think about a fake tree this year?" Emma asked one Saturday morning as we sat around the kitchen island drinking coffee while Noah and Ellie colored Christmas pictures at the low table. "We can get one that fits right in the corner by the bookshelf."
"A fake tree?" I raised an eyebrow, smiling. "What happened to the traditional family argument over finding a pine tree that’s slightly too tall for the ceiling?"
Emma laughed, setting down her mug. "I think we’ve had enough artificial drama for one lifetime. Let’s go with easy, cozy, and ours."
And that’s exactly what we did.
We bought a pre-lit artificial tree that stood six feet tall. The kids helped us unwrap boxes of ornaments we had collected over the years—simple things like a felt snowman Ellie had made at daycare out of cotton balls, a wooden star I had painted when I was a kid, and a shiny blue glass ball we bought during our very first apartment Christmas together.
When we plugged the tree in for the first time, the warm golden lights cast a soft, magical glow across our small living room. There were no designer velvet stockings embroidered with names we didn't choose. Instead, we hung four simple, mismatched red felt stockings from the edge of the TV console—one for each of us.
On Christmas Eve, instead of driving across town to sit in a suffocating living room where we felt like ghost guests, we made hot cocoa with mountains of whipped cream, put on our pajamas at four in the afternoon, and watched Elf while eating popcorn on the living room floor.
Noah fell asleep halfway through the movie, curled up right against my side, his breathing slow and peaceful.
Emma looked across the glowing room at me, her eyes shining in the soft light of the Christmas tree. She reached out, her fingers tangling with mine.
May you like
"Merry Christmas, Zane," she whispered.
"Merry Christmas, Em," I replied, looking down at my sleeping son, whose face was completely relaxed, free of any anxiety or longing. "This is the best one yet."
