PART 19 – The Star on the Tree

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, Emily arrived carrying a box of Christmas decorations.

She had called the night before to make sure I still wanted help decorating.

I told her yes, provided she understood that I was not climbing a ladder.

"Deal," she had said. "I'll handle the high branches."

When she arrived, she set the box on the living room floor and took off her coat.

"Where's the tree?"

"In the closet."

She looked at me.

"You haven't put it up yet?"

"I was waiting until today."

"Good. I was afraid you'd done the whole thing without me."

"I considered it."

She gave me an exaggerated look of betrayal.

I laughed and brought the artificial tree into the living room.

We assembled it beside the window.

Emily worked on the branches while I untangled the lights.

For a few minutes, we had the same argument we'd had when she was a child.

She thought the lights should be wrapped around each branch.

I thought that was unnecessary.

She said it made the tree look fuller.

I said it made the process take all afternoon.

In the end, we compromised.

We wrapped some lights around the branches and left the rest alone.

When we plugged them in, one section remained dark.

Emily frowned.

"Don't worry," I said. "It always did that."

"Then why do you keep it?"

"Because it still works well enough."

She stared at the tree, then at me.

"That sounds like something Grandma would've said."

"It probably is."

We found the box of ornaments beneath the stairs.

Some were wrapped in tissue paper.

Others had been placed in small plastic containers to keep them from breaking.

Emily lifted a glass bird and examined its painted wings.

"I remember this one."

"You wanted to take it to school for show-and-tell."

"I told everyone it was made of real crystal."

"You were very convincing."

"I was seven."

"You were also very persistent."

We continued decorating.

Every ornament seemed to bring back a small piece of our old life.

A wooden bell reminded Emily of the year she had insisted on making all the gifts herself.

A red ribbon brought back the Christmas when she had wrapped a toy for the dog and then cried because he had torn it open.

We laughed about those memories without pretending every year had been perfect.

Finally, Emily reached into the basket and picked up the wooden star.

Its uneven points looked especially noticeable beside the shiny glass ornaments.

She held it out to me.

"Ready?"

I stood beside her.

Together, we placed it near the top of the tree.

It leaned slightly to one side.

Emily adjusted it.

I adjusted it again.

She stepped back and laughed.

"Mom, it's a wooden star. It doesn't need to be perfect."

"Then why did you move it?"

"Because you moved it first."

We left it crooked.

For a while, we sat on the sofa and admired the lights.

Emily leaned back against the cushion.

"I like being here."

"I'm glad."

"I don't mean because it's quiet. I mean I like visiting you here."

I turned toward her.

"Those are different things?"

"Yes. Before, I think I thought of your place as somewhere I could come when I needed something."

She paused.

"Now it feels like somewhere I want to come even when everything is fine."

I looked at the star.

"That means a lot to me."

She rubbed her palms together.

"I've been thinking about what happened with Patricia and James."

I waited.

"I was so busy trying to make everyone happy that I didn't stop to think about what I was asking you to give up."

"You wanted to solve a problem for them."

"I did. But I tried to solve it with something that wasn't mine."

I nodded.

"That's the part I need you to remember."

"I will."

We sat in silence for a little while.

Then Emily asked if I had plans for Christmas Eve.

"I haven't decided yet."

"Would you like to have dinner together?"

"I'd like that."

"Just us again, or should we invite Robert's parents?"

The question was careful, not fearful.

I thought about it.

"Let's keep Christmas Eve small this year. We can arrange another visit with them at a different time."

"Okay."

"And if we invite them here in the future, we'll all discuss it first."

"Of course."

She didn't look offended.

She didn't try to persuade me to change my mind.

She simply accepted the plan.

Before she left, she helped me put the unused decorations back in their box.

I carried the lighter items while she took the heavier container to the closet.

At the door, she hugged me.

"Thank you for letting me help."

"Thank you for asking."

She smiled.

"I'll see you before Christmas."

After she drove away, I switched off the living room lights.

The tree remained glowing beside the window.

The wooden star leaned slightly to the left, exactly where we'd left it.

I went to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

As I waited for the water to boil, I thought about how much energy I had once spent trying to prevent Emily from being disappointed in me.

I had believed that if I explained myself carefully enough, gave enough, and never made things difficult, she would always understand my intentions.

But love could not guarantee that another person would understand.

Sometimes love meant allowing a person to feel disappointed while refusing to pretend that their disappointment made your decision wrong.

I carried my tea into the living room.

The house was quiet, and I was alone.

I was also looking forward to Christmas.

Those two facts no longer seemed to contradict each other.

Click here to continue reading: PART 20: The Home I Kept