Max selects the two items, places the holder in the center of the mantle, and hangs the green and red striped stocking from it.
“No!” Emma giggles. “That’s not where it goes!”
Feigning exasperation, Max turns around and puts his hands on his hips. “I give up! I can’t do anything right. If you’re so smart, why don’t you show me where it goes?”
Emma takes the bait and leaves her spot on the couch to fix his mistake, then hangs her own stocking next to mine. “Ooh!” Her eyes light up as if remembering something. “I’ll be right back!”
Flying down the hall toward her bedroom, Max plops down on the couch in the vacant spot and swipes a handful of popcorn. “Even if you two are completely helpless, this is nice.”
“What do you mean, Maxford?” I ask coyly.
“Not loving that,” he says, and I almost miss the grin that follows.
“I wouldn’t call us helpless. I would admit we tricked you intohelpingus decorate, but we decided it’s way better watching you work nonstop for three hours while we sit the whole time. Though, I am very parched from telling you where to put things.” Minus lights and ornaments on the tree, he got everything up—and in one evening. It’s impressive. He not only did all the hard labor but also agreed to listen to the Backstreet Boys’ Christmas album on repeat and never once complained about how the evening went down.
Emma wasn’t wrong. We have a poor track record in the house being all Santa-ready this early in the season. It's almost become a Christmas tradition for us now. But having it done already is a marriage bonus.
“I never decorate for the holidays and I think I’ve deniedmyself something kinda great.” He admires his work. “Gets you in the holiday spirit a bit, doesn’t it?”
I turn toward the center of the couch, adjusting how I’m sitting so I can see him better. He’s slipped into the Adler family routine seamlessly, and I’m hesitant to let myself enjoy it.None of this is real, I remind myself for the hundredth time.
Having zero relationship expectations going into this arrangement is the driving force behind it working. Neither one of us came into the agreement with a sense of attachment to the other, and since our wedding a week ago, my life hasn’t really changed all that much. Max goes to school, then he spends most of the evening at the gym, getting back into prime shape.
Twice during the past week, he went to Stella’s for dinner. He later told me she asked why I stayed at home, and he reminded her that I have a child and we’re notreallymarried. The silicone rings we wear on our left ring fingers are purely props. She finished their conversation by telling him to just wait.
As for Emma and me, our life is Groundhog’s Day. For the sake of routine, Emma still does carpool with Reese’s mom in the mornings and I pick the girls up in the afternoons. After dropping off Reese, I take Emma to any afterschool extracurriculars, then we rush home for homework and dinner. The only thing that’s changed is the book we’re reading for book club over dinner. This week we startedTheHunger Gamesand re-reading those books through the lens of adulthood is terrifying.
With tonight being a Friday night, I assumed Max would stay late at the gym or visit Stella. There had to be somewhere else he’d rather be. Instead, he surprised me by coming home after school and asking what the plan was. The questionstopped me in my tracks, but Emma mentioned wanting to decorate and here we are.
“Guess what I found? My lost water bottle.” Emma slides on socked feet back into the living room and proudly holds up her bottle. Max and I hide laughs. My brilliant child cannot keep track of that to save her life. “It was in my closet, but more important than that, I found this!” She displays a rosewood-colored mink faux fur stocking with Coach written across the top in glitter Sharpie. “I didn’t have enough money to also get you a holder, so we’ll just do this.”
She hands off the stocking to Max and goes into the kitchen, rummaging around in our junk drawer. He holds up the gift, suppressing the smile threatening to take over his face. On her way back into the room, Emma snatches it from his hands and sits on the floor at the coffee table. “Here we go.”
With masking tape, a Santa snow globe, a couple command strips, and the stocking, we watch her fierce determination as she fastens them into a makeshift stocking holder and stands to hang Max’s stocking from the mantle on the other side of hers.
“Em, I love it,” I tell her, a bit confused. “When did you get that, uh, unique stocking?”
She looks at it, running her fingers down the faux mink fur absentmindedly, then glances at my green and red striped one, next to her green and red polka-dotted one. With a satisfied look on her face she says, “Reese’s mom took us into Pottery Barn yesterday after school when you had a meeting and I saw this. I knew Coach needed one if he’s staying here, and it was the only one I could afford.” Pausing, she grimaces. “Sorry it’s pink.”
“I think it’s perfect,” he tells her, and she appears pleased. “Did you tell them?—”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t say it was for Coach. I picked it up and pretended—pretended,Mom, not lied—I wanted a stocking for my bedroom. Just like we talked about a million times already. But it wouldn’t matter anyway because everybody’s talking about the two of you getting married. It would make sense he got a stocking at our house.”
“Does it bother you they’re talking about us?” I ask her, worried we’re causing her undue trauma.
“Naw. They’ll find something else to obsess about soon enough. I do know Blake keeps complaining his mom has been pretty cranky.” Learning the PTO president doesn’t like this union makes me laugh out loud and feel some unexplained twinge of pride. Emma shrugs and strides across the room, tapping Max’s foot with hers. “You took my seat.”
Max doesn’t budge. “You didn’t call savesies.”
Emma stands, stunned, and I bite my lip, watching this go down. Being an only child with a single parent means a lot of what she wants, she gets. Especially when it comes to her favorite spot on the couch. We Adlers are pretty territorial.
“But,” she stammers. “But that’s my spot.”
He scoops a handful of popcorn and stares her down, a smirk rising in the corner of his mouth. “I can see why—it’s a good spot.” He pops pieces into his mouth.“I’m enjoying it.”
“Mom,” she laments, looking at me to go to bat for her.
“We have two chairs.” I nod to the two funky corduroy reading chairs perpendicular to the sofa. “You’re more than welcome to sit in one of those.”
