“Are those—” she starts.
“Christmas lights,” I finish.
I open the neighborhood group chat.
Neighbor 1:
My lights are back on. Thank God.
Neighbor 2:
It’s a Christmas miracle.
Joan Evergreen:
As a gift, how about a Christmas light show?
Fuck. The lights.
“We have to turn ours on,” I say, already panicking. “Mrs. Evergreen turned hers on.”
“And why exactly is this important?” She asks.
“The neighbors vote Christmas morning. We have four hours to get these lights up. And based on these messages, everyone’s lights came on ten minutes ago.”
She gasps dramatically. “Did your Christmas spirit finally kick in? Is this your Grinch heart growing three sizes?”
I glare. “Leave me alone.”
She snorts. “I’m just saying… someone’s getting festive?—”
I ignore her and bolt downstairs toward the generator panel. One flip, and the entire house buzzes awake.
Through the basement window, I see it—most of the ice has melted. Lights from every house glow in the reflection.
“Heaven, come up here!” Sutton shouts from above.
I race up the steps—and stop.
She’s fully dressed, bundled head-to-toe, eyes glowing with excitement.
“Are you leaving?” I ask, breathless.
“No,” she says, grinning. “But I am excited to see these famous lights. Hurry up and get dressed.”
Walking outside hand in hand,Sutton bundled up in her robe with a blanket draped over her shoulders, my jaw drops.
The entire house is glowing.
My brother outdid himself this year.
Snowstorm or not, the lights run up the roofline, across the porch, wrapped around every tree, and even across the frozen walkway. Reds, greens, golds — the whole place looks like it stepped straight out of a Hallmark movie. Twelve reindeer with a Black Santa in the back and Christmas light snowflakes shimmer across the yard.
Neighbors gather outside, whispering and pointing.
“Damn,” one of them says. “Heaven, your brother snapped this year.”
“Best one yet,” another adds.
