Eight inches of plastic protruding roundly into the hallway put my one-and-a-half-inch turf to shame. I could hear a motor running. Behind the door, an electric pump fed air to the clear vinyl bubble via the door’s inexplicably present mail slot. A charming fireplace scene provided the globe’s centerpiece. Glittery paper confetti blowing within the plastic sheeting completed the picture.
“Don’t feel bad,” Ms. Allen said, patting me on the shoulder as I marveled at Marley’s ingenuity. “She wins every year. Except last, of course. That girl loves her holiday cheer.”
“I should have known,” I replied, thinking of the bins I’d unloaded at her house. I took in the meticulous details in front of me. Painted plywood underneath the bubble evoked an intricate snow globe base. On the background of faux bookshelves, she’d taken the time to write in the names of holiday classics.
Students were milling about, full of “oohs” and “aahs.” Many had made a beeline for Marley’s classroom as soon as the paper came off. Apparently, I’d been the only person unaware of her door design dominance.
The creator herself stood proudly next to her masterpiece, winking when she saw me. I shook my head at her while mouthing, “I surrender.”
“That looks really great, Ms. Davis,” said Henry, one of the student council judges. “A winner for sure. I can’t believe you got that motor thing to work.”
“DIY YouTube,” Marley said. “Saving Christmas since, well, I don’t know. Early 2000s maybe.” She hitched her shoulders. “All I know is you can learn anything these days. But you and your crew should look at all the entries before you decide.”
“Sure Ms. Davis. We’ll keep it fair.” He gave her a significant look. Code forI’ll go through the motions, but we both know you’ve got this in the bagbefore putting an arm around one of his buddies and dragging him down the hall.
Other students drifted by, widening their eyes in approval and giving Marley a thumbs up.
She approached me. “Are you mad?”
I laughed. “No. You win fair and square. I mean, it’s my own fault. I should have assumed you’d be the Martha Stewart of Coleman Creek High door design.”
“You’re right. You should have.” With that, she strolled off down the hallway.
“Where are you going?”
“To see your door, of course. Just because I’m in it to win it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate whatever you did.”
I followed her to my class in the next corridor, satisfied to see a few students clustered there. Even if it wasn’t a freaking full-sized snow globe, I’d still made a passable showing.
Marley stopped short. “It’s beautiful, James,” she said, taking in my sparkling tree. “You really did try.”
“Of course.”
Her eyes grew glassy as she examined the tree, pondering each ornament. She smiled when she noticed the ceramic dogs labeled “Bambi” and “Oscar.” Reaching out a hand to run it over the turf, Marley pinched a piece of tinsel between her thumb and index finger.
She seemed oddly emotional. Had she not expected me to put in any effort? Her next words gave me my answer.
“I know we made the bet, but you also told me how you’ve never been much of a holiday person, that it’s not really your thing.”
“But it is your thing.”
“All this…was for me?”
“Not exactly. I don’t think I ever consciously said to myself, ‘I’m going to take the holidays seriously this year because they’re important to Marley.’ It’s more like this is the first time I’ve felt inspired by the season. I like being with you and being part of this school.”
As the words tumbled out, almost without thought, I felt their strength. Every step I made towards solidifying this life—being with Marley, being a member of this community—felt right. And the safer I felt, the closer I was to being able to reconcile my past.
The bell rang and students dispersed into their third period classes. Marley grabbed my hand behind our backs, mindful not to attract their attention as she leaned into me. “I like being with you too, James, and that you made this door—” She stopped, running her pinkie along the outside of mine.
I tried not to dwell on how large and cumbersome I felt. The metallic candy canes of her sweater caught the twinkling lights on my door, and I saw the glow reflected in her brown eyes. This woman might be the one to truly accept me. The thought arrived unbidden. I could show her all the parts that hadn’t been good enough for others, but for her, they could be okay.
As I walked back to my classroom, feeling lighter, one of the other teachers caught my attention.
Mr. Bloxham—Travis—was the third-youngest teacher in the school. Even though he only had five years on me, our lives were very different. At thirty-three, he already had four kids and had been married a dozen years. We’d gone out for beers a few times, and he was the closest thing I had to a friend in Coleman Creek other than Marley.
“Drinks tonight?” he asked quietly, avoiding the ears of his geometry students.
It occurred to me he and I hadn’t hung out since before Thanksgiving. And we’d always had a good time, usually watching the Seahawks or Kraken games. I could see us becoming even better friends, assuming I stayed in town.
