“Yes! ‘Cause Holly helped us pick it! So that means it’s magic!” Tabby declares, utterly serious.
Denton looks at me, a question in his eyes. I nod, touched beyond words. “The Holly Tree it is,” he agrees, his voice soft.
He pays the lot attendant, hefts the massive tree onto his shoulder with effortless strength (a sight that definitely doesn’t make my knees weak), and secures it to the roof of the SUV.
Tabby chatters non-stop the whole way back to his building about tinsel and lights and which ornaments will go where.
Walking into Denton’s apartment with a giant Christmas tree feels… surreal. The beautiful space – all clean lines and minimalist furniture in shades of gray, ivory and charcoal – seems to hold its breath as we maneuver the fragrant giant through the doorway.
Denton wrestles the tree into a stand in the corner of the living room, near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Tabby bounces beside him, offering highly specific (and largely impractical) advice on tree placement. “More to the left! No, Daddy, theotherleft! Now it’s crooked! Holly, tell him it’s crooked!”
I can’t help but laugh. “It looks magnificent, sweet pea. Perfectly straight. Your dad’s a pro.”
Denton shoots me a grateful look as he tightens the final bolt. He stands back, wiping his hands on his jeans, surveying the tree now dominating his pristine living space. Instead of discomfort or resignation, there’s a look of… satisfaction on his face.
“Yay!” Tabby claps her hands excitedly. “Sparkly box time!”
Denton nods, heading down the hallway towards what I assume is a storage closet. He returns moments later carryinga large, slightly battered cardboard box. It’s labelled simply, in neat block letters:XMAS.
He sets it down carefully on the sleek coffee table and lifts the flaps. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a treasure trove of Christmas past. Shiny glass balls in red and gold. Delicate hand-painted wooden ornaments. Quirky felt reindeer with googly eyes. And nestled carefully on top, a beautiful gold star.
Tabby dives in with the abandon of a pirate discovering treasure. “Look, Holly! I made this one in preschool!” She holds up a lopsided clay snowman with one eye slightly higher than the other. “And this was Mommy’s favorite angel!” She carefully lifts a delicate porcelain angel with faded gold wings and a serene smile. “She’s pretty, right?”
“She’s beautiful, sweet pea,” I say softly, taking the fragile ornament. My throat feels tight. This is Sarah’s box. Sarah’s memories. And Denton is letting them out. Letting Tabby share them.
We all wrestle with the string lights, all doing our part to get them up in a uniform manner. When we finally plug them in, Tabby jumps with excitement. “So pretty!” she exclaims.
Then Denton reaches into the box, his large hand closing gently around the gold star. He holds it up, the metal catching the late afternoon light filtering through the windows. He looks at it, his thumb tracing the points. A thousand emotions flicker across his face – grief, yes, but also tenderness and love.
Tabby breaks the quiet. “Daddy puts the star on top! But you need a ladder. It’s very high!”
He looks from the star in his hand to the top of the very tall tree, then at Tabby’s expectant face. A small smile touches his lips. He looks at me. “Think you can handle ornament distribution while I find the step stool?”
“I think I can manage,” I smile, taking a wooden snowman out of the box.
Tabby and I begin the joyful, messy business of decorating. She directs operations with the precision of a five-star general. “That red ball there! No, higher! Beside the glittery snowflake! Ooh, Holly, put the funny reindeer right here, where everyone can see his wobbly eye!”
I follow her instructions, hanging ornaments with care. The scent of pine is intoxicating, mingling with Tabby’s bubblegum-scented shampoo.
Laughter fills the room – Tabby’s bright giggles, my own laughter, and even low chuckles of amusement from Denton as he wrestles with the step ladder and the precarious task of placing the star.
He climbs the steps carefully, the gold star held high. Below him, Tabby watches, eyes wide. He stretches up and carefully places the star onto the center of the tree. It sits there, perfectly placed and gleaming softly.
“Perfect!” Tabby says, clapping.
Denton climbs down, his gaze fixed on the star for a long moment. Then he looks around the room. At the tree, now shimmering with color and light, transforming the stark space. At Tabby, beaming up at it. At me, standing amidst the scattered tissue paper and ornaments.
He walks over to me, his eyes warm. He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches out and gently plucks a stray pine needle from my hair. His fingers brush my temple, sending a familiar spark through me. The look in his eyes says everything.Thank you for this.
We finish decorating, adding silver tinsel that Tabby insists on arranging in “waterfalls.” The once-sterile apartment is alive.
Later, after eating pizza on the couch amidst the debris, Tabby begins to fade. Her eyelids droop, her head nodding against Denton’s shoulder. The lights from the tree cast a soft, magical glow over them.
I watch them, my heart so full it feels like it might burst. He carefully extricates himself, lifting her gently into his arms. He carries her down the hallway to her room. I start quietly gathering stray mugs and pizza plates, the domesticity of the action feeling strange.
A few minutes later, Denton returns. He reaches out to me, his hand cupping my cheek. His thumb strokes my skin, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration in the quiet hallway. “For bringing the magic back.”
