I did not want to go.
For a variety of reasons, none of which I’d be proud to tell Marley.
I settled for giving her the easiest of my excuses. “I don’t want to travel back to Seattle that weekend just to go to the reunion, come back here for the last week of school before break, and then go back to the city again to spend the holidays with my family. Besides, I’m sure no one will miss me.”
“No way. Of course they’d miss you.”
It wasn’t surprising Marley couldn’t conceive of a scenario where people weren’t excited to see old friends and classmates. She had a big, open heart. Making people feel welcome and wanted was in her DNA.
I felt so grateful we’d become friends. After I’d gotten the Marley seal of approval, and especially after we’d planned the scavenger hunt, my place in the Coleman Creek community solidified. Students seemed more open to accepting me. The rest of the faculty looked at my long hair and nose piercing with indulgence rather than suspicion. I doubted Marley realized how much she’d helped pave my way.
She looked like she might try to argue with me about the reunion, so I decided a subject change was in order. “Hey, is there a particular reason everyone is so into the holidays? Or is it just a small-town thing?”
The enthusiasm expressed by my fellow teachers contrasted with my own recent history of viewing the season as something to be endured, not celebrated. Last year, I’d been signing divorce papers around this time, but even before that, I couldn’t remember a year where I’d felt festive. Not since childhood.
“Kind of both,” Marley explained. “You’ve been here a while, so you understand Coleman Creek isn’t the charming kind of small town with, like, kitschy gift shops and B and Bs.”
“I think it’s charming in its own way.” I smiled, leaning my elbows back against my Mazda and crossing one ankle over the other.
She rolled her eyes. “Well,obviously—But what I mean is, we may not be a cute, touristy place, but we are a tight community, and the holidays are a chance to really lean into that. Once the lights and decorations go up, you won’t even recognize this place. And the high school is a big part of that. Lots of folks in town will come out to watch our talent show and buy their trees from our lot. Teachers take pride in that. And the students might pretend to be too cool, but secretly they love the cookie swap and the door decorating contest, the way Principal Nadal gives out candy canes to each individual student on the last day before break.”
I thought about the school I’d completed my training at last year. The administration hadn’t wanted to risk any parent complaints about which holidays were being acknowledged, so they’d opted out of any celebrations or decorations at all.
“That actually sounds…really fun,” I stammered, meaning it. “I signed up for the tree lot and to chaperone the dance. Maybe I’ll do more.” I lifted an eyebrow at her. “I don’t want to look lazy since you volunteered for basically everything.”
She released a small laugh. “Yeah. I love all of it—the decorating, the presents, the parties, the food. I’m looking forward to getting back in the swing of celebrating since I limited myself last year.”
“Because of your mom?” I ventured carefully.
Marley nodded. "The part of me that loves the season comes from her, too. She was always Christmas crazy. So, last year, just a few months after she died… I wasn’t feeling it.”
She turned and tossed her purse into the passenger seat of her old red Ford F150, parked behind my car. I hadn’t missed the catch in her voice. I thought about how we’d both had crappy holidays last year. Not that my split from Cindy compared to her first Christmas without her mom, but still. I almost opened my mouth to tell her, but then stopped short. Other than once mentioning I was divorced—and then quickly changing the topic—I hadn’t shared anything about it with Marley. Why make things heavy?
“Hopefully, you can enjoy it this year,” I said.
“I think I’m in the place now where I can be happy remembering the good times.” Marley raised a hand to shield her eyes from the improbable November sun as she peered up at me. “That’s why I’ll be giving you a taste of my mom’s fantastic holiday wardrobe. Alice Davis was famous for her impressive collection of Christmas sweaters—not to mention headbands, hats, and brooches—that yours truly has now inherited.”
I grinned, imagining Marley wearing a reindeer headband or light-up tree pin. “I’ll look forward to that.”
“Trust me, nothing can prepare you for the sweater with the Elf on the Shelf stitched to the shoulder. It has bells, James.Bells.” Her tone deepened. “Honestly, skipping the festivities last year made it worse. Too much time to think about what was missing. I’m still figuring out what life looks like without my mom. Part of the process, I guess.”
“Well, that may be true, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Marley angled her head to the side as she sucked on her bottom lip, expression unreadable.
“Do you really mean that, James?”
“Of course.”
“Well, there actually is something.” She whooshed out a breath. “As much as I’ve decided to get back into the holiday spirit, I’ve also been sort of overwhelmed with getting started. I wouldn’t mind an assist with some of the decorating at my house, pulling out boxes and putting things on display and whatnot. My sisters leave Thanksgiving night. I could ask some of my other friends, but… I don’t know. I just feel like it’s been fun hanging out these past few months, getting to know you, talking about stupid stuff. Feeling normal. If you’re willing, of course. I get that tacking up lights and tinsel isn’t exactly an exciting offer.”
I pretended to think about it a moment, even though I already knew my answer. “Actually, it sounds nice. I haven’t done any Christmas decorating in years. I’d love to help.”
“Really? I know we’ve hung out at my place before, but asking you to get up on the ladder and tote heavy boxes seems a lot less fun than me kicking your ass at Scrabble.”
“We’re friends, aren’t we? I don’t mind a little labor. Also, the only reason you beat me at Scrabble—once—is because you cheated.”
“I didn’t cheat. Proper nouns are acceptable in twenty-first century Scrabble.”
