“Ms. Serena helped me cut. I decided about the cotton, though. So, it could be… what’s that word?”
“Dimensional?”
“Yes! That. We gon’ put it on my tree, right? Please, Mama?” she coaxed, her brown eyes liquid and beautiful, just like his.
“We are. Front and center!”
She leaned into my side, and I wrapped an arm around her. For a moment, I just held her against me. At nine, she’d soon be stingy with these snuggles. I wanted to store them up for the times she was an attitudinal teenager who couldn’t stand me.
Her gaze slid to the empty corner by the staircase. She sighed, and I knew where the next conversation was going.
“Mama?”
“Hmm?”
“How come we don’t got a big tree down here? Like at Granny and PopPop’s house in Houston? And on TV in the movies me and Mr. Benton be watching.”
How do you tell your child that ten years ago, Christmas time became the time of your biggest humiliation and your most painful heartache? I didn’t know how, so I avoided it.
“Because Mama likes things quiet and trees are messy. Granny Amanda used to have pine needles everywhere. You know Mama don’t play about a clean house. I’d have to hire somebody just to vacuum around it,” I explained.
She frowned. “You already got Mr. Benton. He like vacuuming.”
“Mr. Benton is like me. He likes the house clean. He and Ms. Mabel do a great job. Let’s not make more work for them.”
“You don’t like Christmas?” she asked, her eyes probing my face in a way that was way too old for a nine-year-old.
“I like you, and you like Christmas. So, we make your room special. That’s enough,” I said, kissing her sweet face,
I could tell that didn’t satisfy her. She thought for a minute, chewing her bottom lip. “When I get big, I’m gon’ have a big tree in my house. In the middle. And I’m gon’ invite you over, and you can’t say no, ’cause I’m your child. You just gon’ have to deal with my tree,” she announced.
I smirked at her, tugging on one of her tight spirals. “We’ll see.”
She wiggled free. “I’m gon’ find Ms. Serena.”
“Do that,” I said. “She probably has a lesson for you.”
“Ugh! When is Christmas break?” She shot me an annoyed look before running upstairs.
I watched her go, feeling kind of bad. I wanted her to have a good childhood, to be able to look back and feel happy. I wanted to help her build traditions.
Just not ones related to Christmas and being in this town didn’t help. I settled in the living room on the big, gray couch, laptop in front of me. For a while, I worked on the next chapter of my newest book. I was a free-writer, a bad habit, but it had worked for me so far.
“Knock, knock,” Serena called after a while.
She was leaning over the railing, Aziza peeking around her hip.
“Can we come harass you?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Like y’all ever wait for permission,” I said.
She laughed and came down. Serena was all pretty and curvy in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. She was Aziza’s nanny and teacher, homeschooling my baby so she didn’t have to deal with bullying or the feeling of being an outsider. She was wonderful at what she did, the best in her field, and I loved that for us.
“First of all, your daughter is a genius,” she said, lifting the star. “Second, we need to talk logistics.”
“Logistics?”
“Okay, remember that light show in Ruston I mentioned? Music, fake snow, food, hot chocolate, little train?”
