I nod in a way that I hope is sympathetic.
“Anything that looked fragile was kept out of their reach,” Alistair adds. He is, indeed, wearing next to nothing, and I wonder how the med school panel he interviewed with the other day would react to him in his tiny elf hat and short shorts.
He points to the top half of the tree. “Check it out.”
I do, coming to stand beside Grant, letting my eye fall over the ornaments higher up. I gasp again. The Gorgon’s head from Bath, the miniature Rose Window from my trip to Notre Dame, and the delicate palm tree that had miraculously made it back from the Keys without losing a glass frond. They and all my other ornaments have been rescued from the underbed bin and finally put on display.
My first tree.
But not just mine. The childproofed section is full of unfamiliar ornaments from places I’ve never been but have seen in Hammond family photos. It’s their mom’s collection. My heart swells. I look at Ian, and I’m grateful for my deep aversion to the multicolored lights illuminating the tree, otherwise I’d be a mess. It’sourfirst tree.
“Christmas chaos.” He says the words with a sigh aching with memories. His arm comes around my waist, and I find myself softening to the profusion of color, if only to bask in the joy it brings him.
His joy, however, transitions to something closer to his fuck-with-you face. “Hey, Grant?” he asks. “Would you mind hitting the button on the cord? It’s close to the plug.”
Grant peers at the floor, nudging something below the tree with his foot. A moment later, the lights are a tasteful soft white.
“Oh, thank God,” I sigh, sagging in relief.
Ian laughs. “I thought you’d feel that way. This seems like a good compromise, yeah?”
“I love you,” I say, firmly. “This was very clever, and I love you for it. Do know that I love you anyway, and I love you for this.”
“I love you, too,” he says, and leans in, kissing my temple. While he’s close, he adds, quietly, “And we’ll take no offense to you moving around ornaments if you need to.”
“Thank you.” I kiss the corner of his mouth. “The ball distribution iskillingme.” I look back at the tree. “But it’s kind of great as-is?” Facing the guys, I say, “Thank you, truly. It’s perfect. It feels—”
“Cozy?” Grant offers.
Fresh tears spring to my eyes, and I nod. “Yeah.Cozyis perfect.”
“We don’t want to keep you from the party for too long,” he says. “We just wanted to be sure you got to see it first. It’s our thank-you. To you. For… a lot.”
I wave this off, painfully aware of the ongoing threat of tears. “You guys were keeping the toilets pristine even before I moved out.”
“Not that! Well, notjustthat,” Diego says. I’d been right about the hat.
“You inspired us,” says Grant, and he smiles, holding a hand aloft. “To bemore.”
“You believed that we could be,” Alistair adds, then shrugs. “I mean, I knew I’d get around to med schooleventually, but, I dunno. You were that extra push—shit, you’re crying.”
“Mm-hmm,” I wipe under my eyes.
Alistair shakes his head. “You always do this now. You used to be so hard!”
“Nothard! More like…insulated.” I say, and sniffle. I don’t have to be anymore.
I smile. “I’m so proud of you, what you’re learning and doing, and it is humbling and really gratifying to have contributed to that in any way. I love you to pieces.” I take in a long, shaky breath, and laugh. “And none of you can hug me right now because I’ll fall apart and also, Alistair, honey, is that the shimmer again?”
“It’sfestive.”
“Fair. Just… keep it off Mushu? It can’t be good for his leaves.” I look at each of them in turn. “Thank you for letting me into the Dawghouse. And into Firehouse, and into your lives.”
My roommates smile back, and my whole body hums with gratitude for them. Alistair, dazzling as always, literally so with his bronze shimmer; Diego, soft-faced and sweet, his cheeks encroaching on his eyes; and Grant, who opened the door between me and this weird, wonderful, empowering environment, his smile so much like his brother’s, and all the more endearing for the ways it’s his own.
His eyes widen, and his smile spreads to uniquely Grant proportions. “We should shotgun a beer! For old times’ sake!”
All eyes land on me, the onetime resident killjoy, who maybe never was all that bad. “Well,” I say. “Only if there’s cheese, too.”
Diego throws his arms up in victory. “I made miniature caprese! On toothpicks!”
The collegiate cave-pups whoop and jingle their way to the double doors. As they file out, the sound of the gathering outside floats in, conversations between some of my favorite people, my community, my support, overlapping with “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree” and a shriek from who I suspect is one of the other childcare kiddos fleeing from Penny, who has upgradedfrom capturing bugs to handling them. It’s chaotic. And a little invasive at times. But just like the truly bonkers tree beside me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
There’s room to be scared, but surrounded by all of this, I can’t find it. I’m not sad, either, and as the door closes on the din outside, I’m definitely not alone. I look at Ian, who watches me with a mix of curiosity and adoration, and when I wiggle my brows, I find that I am coy. His eyes smolder back, and it turns out, I’m also a little sexy.
“Thank you,” I say, and turn to face him fully, wrapping my arms around his neck. “For being strong enough for all of me.”
“Ellie Hayes,” he says, and kisses me. “You make it easy.”
