Right now I choose to focus on the joy of turning on the Christmas lights beside my handsome husband. Because everything else is too upsetting and uncertain.
Quinn steps outside. He hasn’t bundled up properly, so I slip off my red-and-green scarf and hand it to him. His neck gets cold quickly. He thanks me, wrapping it around himself.
He looks up at our two-story house with a hint of hopefulness in his expression. Twinkle lights always get a dazzling smile out of him. If I were to draw that smile, it would be a lighthouse on a dark shore.
I sorely need that guiding light tonight.
I grab the extension cord and the nearest plug. “Let’s do it together.” I keep the receptive end.
“Since when do you choose that position?” he half-heartedly jokes.
I blush. But he can’t tell because it’s dark. And my cheeks are probably already pink from the cold. “Don’t spoil your Christmas gift now.”
He snorts loudly. Rolls his eyes at me. “Santa must’ve gotten my letter this year.”
“He’s known to make the wishes of good boys come true.” Our banter always makes me feel better.
“Oh, I’ve been good, have I?”
“Very, very good.” To wipe away everything I overheard and to ease Quinn’s doubts about us, I lean in and kiss him.
Quinn’s lips always taste the slightest bit like the peppermintChapStick he’s loved as long as I’ve known him. The kiss is quick. It’s cold. But his lips remind me how uncontainable our love is. Is it interminable, too?
God, I hope so.
“I love you,” I whisper to him. Say it with my whole heart. I won’t let that go. Not without a fight. “Now let’s see this sucker shine.”
The plugs come together.
Our home glows. Yellow and bright and lovely. It gives me hope. Warms my heart.
For about a minute.
And then everything flickers, dulls, sparks, and stops working.
“Huh?” I don’t know why, but I jiggle the cords. That’s when I notice the lights in our windows are out, too. “Shit. I think I tripped a breaker.”
“Well.” Quinn follows the line of the extension cord. To another extension cord. To a string of lights. On and on like that all the way to the outlet. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do this.”
“I feel like my dad did it all the time.”
Quinn sports a crestfallen frown. “Maybe call him? See if he can come and help?”
“It’s”—I check my watch—“almost tenP.M. He’s probably getting ready for bed.” I don’t know that for certain. But I avoid calling him when I can. He raised his boys to be self-sufficient. Letting him down the night before Christmas is the last thing I need.
“Shit,” Quinn mutters to himself.
“What?”
“The ham,” he says. “Can’t cook it now unless I want to figure out how to light the stove and do everything by candlelight like I’m a Dickens character. Guess it’s going in the fridge until tomorrow. Hopefully it keeps. I’ll just have to be a bad host on Christmas.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask. I’m genuinely confused. Quinn is so good with my family. Especially since his isn’t around much anymore.
“Never mind.” He starts walking up the steps toward the door. Before he disappears back inside to deal with the uncooked ham, he asks directly, “Are we happy?”
I’m taken aback by this massive question. He just told Veronica that he probably wouldn’t pry. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” Every muscle in my body constricts. Even my toes in my boots curl up and go rigid.
“Because…” His sentence disappears like the cloud of his breath.
