We hit the ornament aisles first. On one side was my wish: simple glass balls, white and silver, beautiful and breakable. But that other side… Lord, have mercy. Candy canes, glittery stars, tiny dancing Santas, plastic tacos, flamingos wearing scarves, and things that looked like they’d been designed by bored elves on too much sugar.
“Zi, we not buying anything that lights upandmakes noise. Pick one. Lights or sound,” I instructed.
Aziza held up a tiny ornament shaped like a boom box that did both. “What about this?” she asked.
“No.”
“What aboutthis?” Zoriah showed a glittery pickle.
I gagged. “Absolutely not. Put that down. That’s a felony.”
Jabali picked up a glass ball. “This is nice. Simple. Grown. I like this.”
I warmed that he chose what I liked, then watched in betrayal as he reached for a pack of neon-colored snowflake lights with the other hand.
“For their rooms. Compromise,” he coaxed.
“You say that like you know what that word means,” I said, thinking about what he had coerced me into.
“I do,” he assured me.
The girls were in heaven, darting from display to display, debating the importance of glitter.
“Mama, can we get these?” Aziza held up a box of rainbow string lights shaped like dinosaurs.
“What does a dinosaur have to do with Jesus?” I asked.
“He made them. Before people. So, they celebrated Christmas first.”
I just looked at her. Her silly ass daddy grinned.
“See? She thinking outside the box. I like that.”
“You would,” I muttered.
While the girls argued about whether they needed more reindeer or more penguins, I slipped toward the other side of the aisle and picked up a box of glass ornaments—frosted white, clear, a few with delicate silver patterns. They calmed my brain just looking at them.
“Don’t worry, baby, I see you. You coming home,” I whispered to the box.
“You talking to the ornaments now?” Jabali asked, appearing at my elbow.
“Yes,” I said. “They’re the only ones who understand me.”
He laughed, quiet. “We can get those. We not turning your house into a kindergarten class. We just adding some energy.”
“Energy is not the word I’d use. Chaos really is more accurate,” I sighed, watching Aziza put an ornament shaped like a slice of pizza into the buggy.
“ChaosisChristmas for the people of Emancipation. It’s in my baby’s blood,” he said.
I side-eyed him. Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the aisle like a trumpet.
“Well, well,well.”
We all froze.
“No,” Jabali muttered. “Oh, hell.”
I turned.
