Bob chuckles again, shaking his head.“Sure, sweetheart.If you can stay consistent for more than three days, I’ll buy you that glass painting kit you’ve been wanting.”Sophie’s eyes light up, and I make a mental note to ensure she actually follows through, if only to see her win that bet.
“Speaking of staying consistent,” Bob says, his tone shifting to something purposeful, “we need to start decorating today.Since you two are already up, I’ll head up to the attic and get those boxes down?—”
“I’ll help,” I offer immediately.
Bob’s expression shifts to something between surprise and approval.“You sure?There’s a lot of them.Heavy, too.”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, then.”Bob claps his hands together, rubbing them with enthusiasm.“Let’s get started.No time like the present.”
I notice Sophie slowly edging toward the hallway, her movements subtle but deliberate.She’s almost made it to freedom when Bob reaches out without looking and grabs the collar of her sweatshirt.
“And where do you think you’re going?”he asks mildly.
“Bathroom?”Sophie tries.
“Nice try.You’re helping.”
“But, Dad?—”
“No buts.You wanted to skip tree shopping, so you’re doing decorations.Fair is fair.”Sophie groans dramatically but doesn’t fight it, and I hide my smile behind another sip of hot chocolate.
We finish our drinks, and Bob leads us upstairs to the attic access in the hallway ceiling.He pulls down the folding ladder with practiced ease, and dust motes dance in the dim light filtering up from below.
“I’ll go up first,” Bob says, already climbing.“Alexander, you follow.Sophie, you stay down there and stack the boxes as we hand them down.”
The attic is cramped and dusty, filled with the accumulated memories of years—boxes of knickknacks, unused kitchen supplies, and baby clothes, all labeled in Carol’s neat handwriting, and what appears to be an alarming number of Christmas decorations.I have to duck to avoid hitting my head on the slanted roof beams as Bob navigates the space with the confidence of someone who’s done this countless times.
It takes us half an hour to get the boxes down.
“That’s the last one,” Bob says, taking the final box from my hands.“Sophie, grab that end.Let’s get these outside.The rest of them are in the garage.”As we carry the boxes out into the cold morning air, I notice Bob’s entire demeanor has changed.There’s an eagerness in his movements, an almost childlike excitement that makes me smile despite myself.
“You’re really into Christmas,” I observe.
“Huge on it,” Sophie confirms, her earlier reluctance forgotten as she grins at her father.“He’s been dying to put these up.Usually he’s the first one to decorate the yard in the whole neighborhood.”
Bob laughs, a bit sheepishly.“What can I say?I like Christmas.Always have.”He sets down a box and looks up at the early morning sky, his expression softening.“There’s something about this season, the way it brings families together, makes you believe in miracles again.That feeling in your chest when you’re a kid on Christmas morning.That nostalgia.That joy.I never want to lose that.Every year I try to hold onto it a little longer.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard.I’ve spent so many years viewing Christmas as an obligation, I’d forgotten people like Bob exist—people who genuinely believe in the magic of it all.
“This year’s special,” Bob continues, clearing his throat.“Having Olivia home for longer than a few days.”
We start unpacking the boxes, and I’m genuinely surprised by the sheer variety of decorations.There are inflatable snowmen, strings of lights in every color, wooden reindeer, candy cane pathway markers, and an impressive collection of lawn ornaments.
“We’ll start with the small ones,” Bob decides, pulling out a box of illuminated candy canes.“Work our way up to the big stuff.”
I’m helping Sophie stake the candy canes along the walkway when I notice Bob has gone still, staring across the street at a neighbor’s house.Following his gaze, I see an elaborate display on the roof—a family of illuminated snowmen in graduating sizes, from a massive eight-footer down to what must be a two-foot baby snowman, all glowing despite the early hour.
“Something wrong?”I ask.
Bob’s jaw tightens.“See that display?”
“Yes.”
“That’s mine.Or it should be.”His voice carries an edge I haven’t heard before.“I ordered it special from Charlotte three years ago.Had it custom-made, paid extra for shipping.It was supposed to be my crowning achievement.”
“What happened?”
