“Yeah. She would.”
We climb into Holly’s car. She’s quiet as she starts the engine and pulls away. The scent of pine fills the car. The tree shifts on the roof.
“You bought a tree,” she says finally.
“Yeah.”
“Cole—”
“I haven’t had a tree up in three years,” I say. “Couldn’t stand the thought of it.”
Holly’s quiet as if waiting.
“But this morning…” I take a breath. “I want Christmas again. And I want you there when I do it.”
She’s crying. I can hear it in her breathing.
“So we’re doing this?” she asks.
“If you want to.”
“I want to.”
“Good. Because I already bought the tree.”
She laughs through her tears and heads toward the ridge road.
Snow glints in the sunlight. The road is clear and bright. Holly’s hand rests on my thigh, warm and steady. Through the trees, the cabin looks different. Less isolated.
I untie the tree and carry it inside while Holly unlocks the door. The pine smell fills the space.
Inside, I set the tree against the wall and build a fire while Holly changes into warmer layers. She comes back wearing my thermal shirt and thick socks.
I’m standing in front of the closet.
The one I haven’t opened in three years.
“Cole?” Her voice is quiet.
“I want to do this. With you. If you’re okay with it.”
She crosses to me and takes my hand. “What do we need to do?”
My hand hovers over the doorknob. Three years. Three Christmases without opening the box and decorating.
Holly touches my lower back, and I open the door.
The hinges creak. Dust motes swirl in the afternoon light filtering through the window.
The box sits on the top shelf where I left it. Dust coats the cardboard, but Emma’s handwriting is still clear in black marker:CHRISTMAS. She drew a little star next to it. I’d forgotten that.
I reach up. The box is lighter than I remember.
Or maybe I’m stronger now.
Holly’s there when I turn, ready if I need her. “You sure about this?”
“Yeah. It’s time.” I set the box on the table and lift the lid. “Past time, probably.”
