Chapter 1
Marcus
“I think the tree looks better next to the window,” I say, trying to decide on the best location for Mom’s Christmas tree in the theater room.
“I agree. That’s a good spot for it. It makes the room look cozy,” Marissa says, standing back and looking at it from the middle of the room.
“I only saw pictures of the tree in Mom’s house, but she always had it next to the window in the living room,” I say, moving the tree away from the fireplace and next to the window.
“Then it should be next to the window,” she says, watching me center the tree in its spot.
We kept Mom’s tree, ornaments, and a lot of her Christmas decorations from the house. I just couldn’t part with them. We love Christmas and always do a lot of decorating in our big house, so I knew we’d be able to find a place for her tree and decorations.
“Is it centered properly?” I ask, moving it a little to the left.
“It looks perfect right where it is. You should plug in the lights to see how they look next to the window,” she suggests, inspecting the tree from the middle of the room.
“That’s a good idea, baby,” I reply, taking the cord and plugging it into the wall.
Suddenly, the tree comes to life. The beautiful multi-colored lights shine brightly, giving the room a Christmasy ambiance. I know Mom would be happy we’re using her tree. She used to send me pictures of it every year, and now it’s decking the halls of our theater room.
“What a cute candy cane ornament. It looks homemade,” she says, taking it out of the box of ornaments and admiring it.
“I made that for Mom when I was in the third grade. Our class made them for our parents. She had it on the tree every year since I gave it to her. She loved that stupid thing,” I say with a smile.
“It’s not stupid. It’s special because you made it. And it was obviously very special to her,” she says, holding it up and inspecting it closely.
“She was very sentimental about things like that,” I say, walking over and rummaging through the box with her.
“I love this one with your family photo on it,” she says, pulling it out of the box.
“She had that one made several years ago using one of our family portraits,” I reply, watching her look the ornament over.
“Her ornaments are all so special,” she says, carefully putting it back in the box.
“She took Christmas very seriously. All her ornaments and decorations had to be special,” I say, smiling at the thought.
We rummage through the boxes for a little while, then start placing the ornaments on the tree one by one. As we’re decorating the tree, I feel more and more like Mom is here with us. It’s so hard without her, but I know she’s still with me…just like Dad has been all these years.
Once we’re finished putting all the ornaments on the tree, we stand back and admire our work. It looks beautiful. I think Mom would be pleased with it. I miss her voice of approval so much.
All of a sudden, Marissa’s cell phone rings. She walks over to the end table and picks it up, glancing down at the screen. I watch as she swipes the screen to answer and lifts the phone to her ear.
“Hi, Daddy. What’s up?” she asks, walking across the room.
As she’s engaged in a conversation with her dad, I turn my attention back to the tree. Suddenly, I’m reminded of Christmas when I was eight years old. I remember helping Mom and Dad decorate the family Christmas tree in the living room of our house.
“Would you like to put the candy cane you made me on the tree, honey?” Mom asks, holding it up to admire it.
“No…you can do it, Mom. I made it for you,” I say, staring up at the half decorated Christmas tree.
“I think it should go right in the center of the tree. That way, everyone can see it,” Dad says, looking at her.
“I agree. Honey, why don’t you put it on the tree,” she says, handing it to him.
“I’d be honored,” he says, taking it from her and placing it on the tree, directly in the middle.
“Perfect. I’ll cherish it always,” she says, staring at the tree with a smile on her face.
We suddenly hear the timer going off in the kitchen. Dad looks at her, then she turns to look at the clock on the wall. She must be baking something.
“It’s time to take the cookies out of the oven. Who wants to help me ice and decorate them once they're finished cooling?” she asks, looking at us.
“I do,” I say, raising my hand and jumping up and down at the same time.
“It looks like he beat you, David. You were too slow volunteering,” she says, winking at him.
“I guess so. I just can’t compete with the expert cookie decorator and taste tester,” he says, looking at me and smiling.
“Okay, you two finish decorating the tree and I’ll go take the cookies out of the oven,” she says, walking over and giving Dad a kiss before leaving the room.
The memory puts a smile on my face. Christmas is so different this year without my mom, but at least I have my memories. Nothing can take them away from me.
“That was Daddy. He just heard from Dale that there’s been a lot of robberies in the area lately, and he wanted to warn us about it,” she says, laying her phone down on the end table.
“It’s that time of year. I’m glad we have an alarm system and security cameras,” I reply, leaning in and planting a kiss on her lips.
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