"Love, peace, joy, hope — so many beautiful words are woven through our Christmas songs and prayers and traditions." --Bill Clinton
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"You wanna decorate the tree?" Roselle asked. "Just us?"
Armani shrugged. "Well, yeah." He took the tree and placed it in the living room, He ran his fingers through its scaly leaves and marveled at it. "It's silly, but I've been dreaming about decorating a tree for more than a dozen years. The last time I got to decorate a tree was when I was seven."
She admired how tantalized he was by the pine tree, but she shook it off and nodded. "I'll get the decorations."
* * *
The took turns placing the ornaments on the Christmas tree. The tree was humongous and quite a bit of space to fill.
"Can I ask you something?" Roselle questioned.
Armani placed an ornament that looked like a giant, sparkly snowball. "Shoot."
"Well, first of all, why are you here with my family? I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, but I thought you'd want to spend Christmas with Lily. Isn't she having a huge party?"
"Honestly, I'm sick of parties." He rubbed his forehead. "You have no idea how much schmoozing and socialization is required when you're a politician."
"Yeah, I don't know how you do it. I could never do what you do."
"Why not? Maybe after my term is over you could be president too."
She chuckled. "Yeah, right."
"But besides the parties, I just wanted a Christmas that felt . . . homey and comforting. Christmas here with you guys in my home town is a dream come true. In a weird way, I think of your parents as the aunt and uncle I never had. They're like my extended family."
"Did you tell Lily you wanted a comfy Christmas?"
"I tried, but she wasn't having it. She's so . . ."
"Attention-seeking?"
"I was going to go with 'extravagant'."
Roselle rolled her eyes. She placed an ornament in the shape of a flute-playing angel on the tree. "Does she know you're here with my family? I feel like she'd flip."
"She does know, but she didn't flip. Her exact words were, 'I don't care. Do whatever you want'."
She whipped her head at him. "And then you left?"
"Yeah."
"You dummy! When a girl says that, it's bait. She's going to kill you when you get back."
"Oh, I know. I'm trying to teach her a lesson about her passive-aggressive behavior. I'm not putting up with it. I admire authenticity and realism. Maybe next time when I do something she doesn't want me to do, she'll tell me up front instead of playing games. If you hadn't noticed, I like to take people's sarcasm and spin it on its head. It makes it all the more satisfying when I actually do what they never thought I would."
"Like the time you were five and tried to pay my dad the rent for the house?"
Armani looked up in thought for a minute. "Oh, that!" He chuckled. "Yeah, I remember that. I still remember the look on his face when a five-year-old handed him an envelope with two-thousand dollars."
"You really always have been . . . something else, Armani."
"So have you."
Roselle reached for another ornament in the box, but it was empty. "Oh, I guess we're done decorating the tree," she said.
Armani pulled out the star. "Not quite yet. Come on, put this on top."
She took the star from his hands, and went over to the tree. Dang, it was a tall tree. She tried going on her tippy-toes, but she still couldn't reach the top. Then she started jumping. "DANG IT!" she shouted once she had enough.
"Easy there, treefrog. Just get a chair."
She grumbled and tossed him the star. "Here. You do it."
He blushed. "I wouldn't feel right doing that. I'm just a guest here. You need to be the one to do it."
"You're the one that said you felt like you were at home here. You're not just a guest. My parents think of you as family too."
"Well, how about we both put the star on then?"
"What do you--AHH!" Before Roselle could complete her thought, Armani swooped her up and put her on his back.
"Teamwork! There. Now you can reach the top."
She climbed to the top of his back, sitting on his shoulders. "Warn me next time before you do that, dummy!"
He laughed. "Sorry."
They both put their hands on the star, their fingers touching.
"On the count of three," Roselle said.
They both counted. "One, two, three."
She clapped. "Woo!"
"Hey, be careful up there, I'm gonna--"
"AHH!"
Roselle fell off Armani's shoulders, but he caught her before she hit the floor. For a few seconds, he held her in his arms in the bridal carry position. Her arms were around his neck, and all they did was breathe deeply and stare at each other.
The only lights illuminated were the backlight in the kitchen, and the one from the fireplace, which crisped gently in the background, filling the room with warmth.
"Let's put on the tree's lights," said Armani with a soft, raspy voice.
"Y--yeah. Good idea."
He carefully placed her back on the floor, and she switched on the tree's lights. They were multicolored and luminescent, engulfing the room with a raw feeling of Christmas cheer. They took a moment to marvel at it.
Roselle glanced at Armani, who was still taking in the scene. "Do you feel it too?" she asked.
"Yeah. Actually, I feel something that I haven't felt since I was a child. Christmas spirit. It's hard to explain, but--"
"I know exactly what you mean." She turned on the radio, which played Christmas melodies. "Let's decorate the rest of the room."
* * *
The pair spent the next half hour or so dancing along to the Christmas music and decorating the living room. Afterwards, they both had hot chocolate and spent time talking with one another until they fell asleep.
* * *
"Ahem."
Roselle awoke to her father glaring down at her, looking rather peeved. After being conscious for about ten seconds or so, she realized she was leaning on Armani's chest. "AHH!" She shrieked and jumped, accidentally falling off of the couch.
"You okay?" asked Armani.
"You were awake and you let me just . . . sleep on you?!"
He scratched his head. "Yeah, that was awkward. Aha, honestly I woke up to you sleeping on my chest and I wasn't sure what to do. I decided to let you rest."
"So, is there any funny business going on between you two?" Mr. Reyes asked.
"No, I swear!" Roselle clasped her hands, pleading. "We were just doing the decorations last night and--"
"Okay, I don't care. Now move out of the way. I want to sit there and watch the news."
They did as told, and Mr. Reyes plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV.
"How are you feeling? And how are the others?" asked Armani.
"I just checked. Everyone's still sick. I'm fine now, though. I think it's because I didn't eat much." He coughed. It was slight at first, but it gradually increased. He took a sip of beer.
Roselle put her hands on her hip. "Are you really drinking at eight in the morning?"
"Sure. Why not?"
The news played. It was the usual; weather, sports, and politics. When a certain politician was announced to be in office, however, Mr. Reyes grabbed his bottle of beer and threw it through the window, smashing it. "AGH! ANYONE BUT THAT GUY!"
Roselle and Armani exchanged glances with one another. "Uh . . . Dad?"
"I can't believe that S.O.B. is in office now."
She hung her head, expecting to hear a lecture about politics. "Here we go . . ."
Instead of a lecture, he sighed. "You know what? Never mind." He glanced at the window and facepalmed." I'm going to take a number two. You guys wait here. We're all going to the department store to get another window before anyone notices. And clean up that broken glass while you're at it." With that, he walked off.
When he was out of earshot, Roselle and Armani grabbed a pan and broom and swept the floor.
"Your dad seems . . . as lively as ever," said Armani.
"Something is wrong."
"Well, hasn't he always been like that?"
"Kinda, but he's different somehow. He used to never drink in the morning. He would never smash things. He's not working for the fire department anymore. He would be so opposed to us getting boyfriends, and now suddenly he's eager for Michelle to have kids. And here's the biggest red flag of all: when that politician he hated got into office, he didn't lecture us for an hour."
"You want your dad to lecture us about politics like when we were kids?"
"No, but since he didn't, I'm worried now. He's not himself."
The toilet flushed, and Mr. Reyes walked into the living room. "Come on, kids. We're buying a window." He walked outside.
Armani stroked his chin. "I guess we'll just have to investigate ourselves, then."