“Yeah. Jubilee is next week. You have to get something to wear to that. I’m just saying.” She smirks then stands. “Wren got pizza and wings. We ’bout to eat and decorate that pretty ass tree,” she says.
“Your sister gon’ get you about cursing,” I warn.
After sucking her teeth, she says, “Ass is in the bible. Come on.”
While shaking my head at her, I ease off the ground, dust my jeans off, then laugh.She really just clowned my clothes.
As we walk back to the main house, her words about me staying run through my mind. I came to Miller’s Pointe to ranch at The Phoxes Den and see my uncle. I thought after a few months here, I would move on, find another prestigious ranch, and try to get on. Staying was never an option but neither was Wren. She’s everything that’s been missing in my life. Being with her, working on this ranch, and even being with Amara feels natural. It feels like home and I haven’t had that feeling since my grandparents were alive.
I’m at peace; my spirit is settled here and my previous need to travel and seek out new places has left. I’m no longer thinking of my next gig. I see my mornings, having breakfast with Amara and Wren. I can envision my nights with Wren, blessing herbody over and over like I did last night. I can see my life here clearly, with them.
“I’m gonna go up and wash my hands,” I tell her when we reach the back door.
“Ugh! You can wash in here. I’m ready to start the tree,” she sighs and again I shake my head at her.
I also walk inside the house and wash up in the guest bathroom. When I walk into the kitchen, two pizzas, a tray of wings, parmesan cheese, and ranch dressing are laid out on the table, along with a few bottles of water and Bleu Mountain. Amara hands me a plate with mistletoe designs around the edges then takes one for herself. Wren is on the other side of the island, smiling, looking beautiful as always. She watches as Amara piles two slices of pizza and a few wings on her plate then drowns her chicken with ranch.
“I got mega meat and super supreme,” Wren says.
“And the wings are honey barbecue,” Amara adds as she grabs her bottle of water.
When Amara walks out of the kitchen, my eyebrows raise and Wren catches them. “We work and eat when doing the tree. So we’re going in the living room. You should be hearing the Motown Christmas CD in about two seconds. It was our dad’s favorite. So, fill your plate,” she says as she grabs a plate for herself.
“We celebrated Christmas in my grandparents' house but it wasn’t like this,” I comment.
“Is it too much for you?” she asks with concern.
“Nah. Oh no. I like it actually. We just got a tree. My grandma decorated it and we open gifts on Christmas morning and ate the same dinner later that night.”
“What was the dinner?”
“Chili with cornbread.”
“Well, we definitely have more than that but I can make you chili and cornbread if you want.”
“Please don’t. I want whatever y’all usually have,” I tell her honestly and she smiles.
We fill our plates then join Amara in the living room. Wren is right, the music is playing and The Temptations are singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”. All four clear bins are open and she’s sitting on the floor in front of them with her plate of food beside her. Wren sits on the sectional and I sit next to her. After saying a quick prayer, I bite into the super supreme pizza slice.
“Did you decide on the colors?” Wren asks Amara.
“Yeah. I’ve been looking at the bins. I think we should do red and gold this year,” she says. “We have enough bulbs and bows.”
“That’s going to be really cute. Did you check the lights?”
“No but I will after I eat my wings,” Amara says.
“Lights are all me,” I interject. “I got it.” After killing my piece of pizza, I grab one of the wipes from the table, clean my hands, then stand. “Which bin?”
“This one,” Amara says, pointing to the one furthest from the tree.
I step to the bin and see it’s filled with all clear lights and two power bars. There are about seven large rolled strings of lights. I grab the power bars first, check them, then plug them in. Then I join Amara on the floor and check all seven strings of lights. One isn’t working, but when I find the three non-working bulbs and replace them with the extras, it works.
While I eat, Amara and Wren stand and work together to wrap the lights around the tree, starting from the bottom. When they reach the top, I stand and handle it for them. Then I sit back and enjoy watching them add ornaments and bows to the beautiful tree. The sight of them transforming the tree, themusic in the background, the logs crackling in the fireplace, and their smiles and laughter are everything.
“Where’s the box?” Amara asks after putting what looks like the last gold bow.
“Oh. Let me get it,” Wren says before adjusting a bulb and walking out of the living room.
