It’s really fine. Why would you? Hell, you don’t have any decorations up, no tree. I figured you weren’t into the holiday thing. No biggie.
Crap.
Uh…
Oh God, or are you Jewish?
Or Buddhist? Muslim? Nothing?
I didn’t mean to imply anything. It’s all cool. Really.
Shit. Did I offend you by giving you a Christmas present?
No!
Jesus. He is not making this easy.
I celebrate Christmas.
Oh. Okay. Just not into it then?
I mean, that’s cool.
There’s a beat of silence where I think maybe we’re going to move past the subject, then:
You would tell me if you were Jewish or something, right? Because I feel pretty shitty about making assumptions.
I cringe, because I realize I’m going to tell him the pathetic truth.
There is an artificial tree in the hall closet.
… a Christmas tree?
Yes, a Christmas tree. A tiny, embarrassing decorative facsimile of an evergreen with little silver and gold baubles that came in a set from Bloomingdale’s that I hid in the closet because I didn’t want you to see how I lived.
There’s a long pause.
George…
No, it’s fine. Really. My point is it’s Christmas and you’re alone in my apartment and you made me a freaking “Writer’s Block.” You should have a tree if you want it.
I look over at his beautiful fir tree in the corner, all decked out in years of unique and personal ornaments. My heart squeezes.
I mean. That would be nice.
Are you sure?
A laugh hiccups out of me.
I don’t know how sure YOU are going to be once you see this thing. But yeah. It’s on the left, behind the longer coats.
BRB
While he’s gone, I sip my coffee and make some toast out of the insanely good loaf of home-baked bread I thawed yesterday. I guess I should start thinking about the chapters I have to draft today. I have a thought about a side character Sebastian is going to meet at the masquerade ball in Zurich and start jotting some notes.
It takes a while, but eventually Owen texts back.
Got it! This is charming. You made it sound like it was an abomination.
