Jessica always liked the holly tree. To her, it was like a permanent holiday decoration.
To me, it was one more reason to grouse.
I guess, then, you could say it was a win-win.
Jessica finishes hanging the painting and steps off the ladder. She backs up a few feet and appraises it.
“Is that straight?”
I stop in my tracks. I’m almost back to the couch. I can practically reach the potato chip bowl from here, that’s how close I am. I turn.
“Straight? Yeah. Looks straight to me.”
I spin back around and head for the couch. Everything is moving in slow motion. If. I. Can. Just. Get. To. The. Cushion. I feel like a fullback struggling for that final yard to the end zone.
“Come here just for a sec’,” she says.
UNH! Tackled an inch shy of pay dirt.
“Would you nudge it up just a little?”
I nudge.
“No, the other way.”
I nudge the other way.
“Perfect,” she says.
I look at the beaming Santa hanging on the wall, a guest in our home for the next month. I look around the house. It is festive with twinkling lights wrapped around the staircase banister, slender candles placed just so, and pretty
Christmas drawings from when our 14-year-old son was 3 years old.
I like it.
But I’ll never tell her that.
It would spoil the holiday fun.