Trim The Tree

Rainey

“Mommy, what is this thing?” Tanner held up a dark brown blob of an ornament. It slowly spun on the metal hook in front of him. The look of disgust on his normally adorable face was laughable.

I stood from the couch and walked over to him. “Tanner, honey, Mommy made that when she was in preschool.”

“It’s really ugly,” he said, curling his lip. “Like super, duper, uper ugly.”

“It’s sentimental,” I said and ruffled his sandy blonde hair and laughed. There was something precious about the fact that kids didn’t have a filter. Not in the slightest.

 I took the ornament from him and examined the damage that another year in a box took on the fragile piece. I think it was supposed to be in the shape of a bear made from clay. One of the eyes was missing and there were several chips on the surface, but Mom insisted we keep it throughout the years. I knew not to throw it away. It was the first ornament we hung every year. She’d definitely look for it.

The door in the kitchen squeaked open.

Speak of the devil…

“Rainey?” Mom called out.

“In here,” I said, quickly placing the ornament on the tree. Tanner had already put several ornaments on the tree, so I had to make it look like we’d done that one first.

The branch bowed under the weight of the ornament, and a few needles dropped to the ground. Tanner insisted we had a real tree every year. I had his Dad, Killian to thank for that. Killian had told Tanner that real trees were the only option for Christmas. Thinking of Killian made my head hurt. He had a stubborn personality that had a way of grating on my nerves.

And at the impressionable age of six, anything Killian said was final in Tanner’s eyes. And I couldn’t say much. He didn’t see his father often, and I wanted to give him as normal of a childhood as I could even though his parents were separated.

“Grandma!” Tanner cheered. “Want to help me put the ornaments on the tree?”

Mom stood in the doorway, holding a plastic container in her hands. She narrowed her eyes at the tree and seemed satisfied when they landed on the ancient bear slash blob ornament. She put the container down in the kitchen then came back into the living room, raking her fingers through her short blonde hair as if the walk upstairs had ruined her perfectly coiffed style.

“Of course I do.” She smiled down at my son.

“Let me warn you now…” he paused and glanced back at me before leaning in toward my mother and lowering his voice. “Some of these are ugly. Really, really ugly, Grandma.”

She laughed before turning to me. “I don’t understand why you’re setting up so soon,” she said, her arms folded across her chest. “That tree might not last until Christmas.”

 “Tanner insisted that we get the tree as soon as Thanksgiving was over.” I shrugged. In a way it was a good idea, but my mother was probably right. I wasn’t going to last. I promised myself I was going to get a job before Christmas. By decorating early, that was one less thing I had to do while I focused on interviews.

“I’m going to water it every day!” Tanner bounced around excitedly. He’d already hung about ten ornaments in a small clump on the tree right at his eye level, and we were running out of the - quickly.

 “Honey spread them out a little more.” I ruffled his hair.

“Let me help you, dear,” Mom said and started for the ornament box. Most of the ornaments were from her collection, but she saved most of the fragile ones for her fake tree that would go up later in December. She was always last minute, but maybe it was an activity that she and Tanner could do while I was interviewing. Or working. I hoped for the latter.

Mom had to squeeze by me since the room was too small for three people, a tree and numerous boxes of decorations.

“Grandma, you’re tall, how about you put on the ornaments near the top and I’ll do the bottom ones,” Tanner said.

“That’s a good plan,” Mom said, digging into the box between them.

I sat back down on the couch and watched them put a few on the tree. Mom tried to give Tanner a history lesson on each piece, but he wasn’t paying attention. He frequently had that blank expression on his face when I was trying to tell him something important too.

“Do you want some coffee?” I asked. I already knew the answer before she said it. Mom was a caffeine addict.

“Do you need to ask?” she replied, giving me one of her famous looks. My mother could convey a how range of emotions with one of the many expression she loved to use.

I went into the kitchen and pulled out a filter and the can of coffee. There was just enough for one pot, so I jotted down a note to pick up more. My grocery list was getting larger each week and with no paycheck, I’d have to borrow more money from my parents. I knew they didn’t mind, but I hated doing it. I made a mental note to go downstairs to use their computer and find at least three more job openings this week. I dumped the remainder of the coffee into the filter and filled the water reservoir.

While the coffee was brewing, I glanced at the food container on the counter and peeled the top away from one corner. The scent of the lasagna made my stomach growl. It was still warm. I grabbed a fork from the drawer and took a quick bite. So delicious! I quickly covered the food again and placed it in my refrigerator for tonight. I was afraid of eating the whole damn thing if I saw it again.