13. Lucy
13
LUCY
The day after Thanksgiving dawns crisp and bright, the kind of weather that begs for sweaters and scarves and hot chocolate in hand. The boys are buzzing with excitement as we pack up the car, their enthusiasm spilling over into loud, animated chatter. Today, we’re headed to Six Rivers National Forest to pick out a Christmas tree. You just need a permit and a saw and you’re good to go. A first for me, and apparently a cherished tradition for Joel and the boys.
"Alright," Joel says, his voice steady amidst the chaos, "does everyone have their gloves?"
"Got mine!" Finn declares, holding up his hands like a prize fighter.
"Me too," Miles adds, though his are already tucked snugly around the cast on his arm. His smile falters briefly as he looks down at it. "But I can’t help with the cutting."
I crouch down next to him, my own gloves in hand. "You’ll be the most important person there, the decision-maker. We can’t pick a tree without your expert opinion."
He brightens, the disappointment melting from his face. "Okay. I can do that."
The drive to the forest is filled with holiday music, the boys belting out every chorus while Joel navigates the winding roads. Lucy’s mom chats with Aiden in the backseat of the SUV, and I sit shotgun, sneaking glances at Joel as he drives. There’s something undeniably comforting about him, the way he hums along to the music under his breath, the steadiness of his hands on the wheel. It feels… natural. Like this is how it’s supposed to be.
When we arrive, the air smells so good. A sharp, clean scent that fills my lungs as I step out of the car. The forest stretches out in every direction, tall and majestic, the kind of place that makes you feel small in the best way.
Joel hoists the saw over his shoulder and grabs a thermos of hot chocolate from the car. "Alright, troops. Let’s find the perfect tree."
We set off, a small procession weaving through the forest trails. Finn runs ahead, darting from one tree to another, proclaiming each one "the best tree ever." Miles stays close, pointing out contenders with the discerning eye of a critic. Lucy’s mom and Aiden walk a little ways behind, their conversation a constant murmur of shared memories and playful bickering.
I stick close to Joel, our steps falling into an easy rhythm. "So, do you do this every year?"
"Pretty much," he says. "It’s kind of our thing. The boys love it."
"I can see why," I say, glancing around. "It’s beautiful out here."
"It is," he agrees, his gaze lingering on me for just a moment longer than necessary. My cheeks flush, and I’m grateful for the cold air to mask it.
After what feels like hours but is probably closer to thirty minutes, Miles spots it - the tree. It’s tall and full, with just the right amount of character to make it perfect. We all gather around, admiring it like it’s a work of art.
"This is the one," Miles declares with authority as he points to the seven-foot-tall Douglas Fir.
Joel sets down the thermos and adjusts his grip on the saw. "Alright, let’s make it official."
As he starts to cut, Finn bounces around excitedly, peppering Joel with questions about sawing techniques. Miles watches intently, his cast resting on his lap, a mix of excitement and longing on his face. I kneel beside him again, handing him a cookie from the tin I brought along.
"You picked a great tree," I say. "It’s perfect."
He beams, taking a bite of the cookie. "You think so?"
"I know so," I reply, ruffling his hair. "You’ve got an eye for this."
It doesn’t take long for Joel to finish, and soon we’re hauling the tree back to the car, everyone pitching in where they can. The boys chatter nonstop on the drive home, already making plans for decorating it. Joel and I exchange amused glances, our shared smiles a quiet acknowledgment of the joy bubbling in the backseat.
The next morning, the car is quiet except for the hum of the engine as I drive my mom to the airport. The roads are clear, the sky that pale, crisp blue that only seems to come with winter. Mom sits beside me, her hands folded in her lap, a small, content smile tugging at her lips.
“Yesterday was perfect,” she says, breaking the silence. “That tree, those boys, the way the house smelled like pine and cinnamon... It felt like the kind of memory you hold onto for years.”
I glance at her, smiling softly. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. It was nice having everyone together. Thanksgiving was, too.”
“It really was,” she agrees, her tone warm. “I loved seeing you so happy, Lucy. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that light in your eyes.”
Her words catch me off guard, but before I can brush them off with a joke, she turns in her seat to look at me fully. “And Joel… he seems like a good man. I saw the way he looks at you, Lucy. Like you’re more than just the nanny or his best friend’s sister. Like you Matter to him.”
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and I focus on the road ahead, my heart doing a strange little dance in my chest. “It’s complicated, Mom.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart, life is complicated. Love doesn’t come with a perfect set of instructions. But if Joel is what you want—if he makes you happy—don’t let fear hold you back. Don’t waste time waiting for the stars to align. Just… go for it.”
Her words hang in the air, and I don’t know what to say. I’ve spent so much time telling myself that Joel is off-limits, that there are too many reasons why it can’t work. But hearing her say it so plainly, so Matter-of-factly, makes me wonder if I’m the one making it more complicated than it needs to be.
We pull up to the airport drop-off lane, and I put the car in park, turning to face her. “Thanks, Mom. For everything. For coming, for the advice…”
She smiles, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “That’s what moms are for. Now go decorate that tree and think about what I said, okay?”
I nod, pulling her into a hug before she grabs her bag and heads inside. As I watch her disappear through the sliding doors, her words echo in my mind. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s time to stop overthinking and just let myself be happy.
On Saturday, the house is transformed into a hub of holiday activity. Strings of lights and boxes of ornaments are scattered across the living room, and the smell of fir mingles with the faint hint of coffee from the kitchen. The boys dive into the decorations with unbridled enthusiasm, pulling out everything from glittery baubles to handmade ornaments from years past.
"Careful with that one," Joel warns as Finn picks up a particularly fragile ornament. "It was your mom’s favorite."
Finn nods solemnly, cradling it like a treasure as he places it on the tree. Miles, meanwhile, is busy directing the placement of lights, his cast not slowing him down in the slightest. Their laughter and banter adding to the festive chaos.
And then there’s Joel and me. We move around each other seamlessly, handing off ornaments and adjusting lights, our interactions punctuated by easy smiles and soft laughter. It feels… good. Right.
"It’s looking pretty great," Joel says as we step back to admire our handiwork. The tree glows warmly, a kaleidoscope of colors and memories. "What do you think?"
"I think it’s perfect," I say, my voice soft. And for a moment, I’m not just talking about the tree.
Several days later, the tree stands as the centerpiece of the living room, its lights casting a cozy glow over the space. Outside, the world is quiet, the first hints of snow dusting the ground. Inside, it’s warm and alive with laughter.
We’ve all settled in for the evening, the boys sprawled on the rug playing a board game while Joel and I sit on the couch, mugs of hot cocoa in hand.
"I hope you know I’m in love with your kids," I say, nodding toward Miles and Finn.
"They are pretty amazing, aren’t they," Joel agrees, his voice filled with quiet pride.
Finn’s laughter rings out as Miles groans dramatically, apparently losing a key property in their Monopoly game. The sight of them sprawled on the floor, completely absorbed in their own world, fills me with a warmth I didn’t realize I’d been missing. They’re so different yet perfectly balanced. Miles with his careful, methodical nature and Finn with his boundless, unfiltered enthusiasm.
"They’re more than amazing," I say softly, my gaze lingering on them. "They’re everything."
Joel looks at me, his expression thoughtful. "You’ve been good for them. They’ve… they’ve needed someone like you."
Joel looks away, his gaze settling on the flickering glow of the fireplace. For a moment, he’s silent, his jaw tightening like he’s holding something back. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost hesitant, like he’s unearthing something he doesn’t share often.
“When Lina got sick, I thought… I thought we’d have more time,” he begins, his words measured and deliberate. “She was so strong, so full of life, even when the diagnosis came. She fought like hell for me, for the boys. But cancer doesn’t care how strong you are.”
I feel my breath hitch as he continues, his green eyes clouded with the weight of memories. “Miles was five, Finn was barely three. They were too young to understand what was happening, but they knew something was wrong. Finn started acting out. Tantrums over the smallest things, refusing to sleep unless I stayed in the room with him. And Miles… he tried to be so brave, holding it all in like he thought he had to take care of me and his little brother. It broke my heart.”
He pauses and I see a flicker of pain cross his face. “After she passed, I was a wreck. I didn’t know how to grieve and still be what they needed. It felt like I was failing them every day. I worked too much, trying to keep things together, and they got the worst of it.”
Joel exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging. “I’ve spent so much time trying to fix the cracks that losing her left behind for them and for me. But I’ve realized… some cracks don’t ever fully heal. They just become part of who we are.”
I reach over, my hand lightly brushing his.
He glances at me, his expression softening, though the shadow of loss still lingers in his eyes. “I think… with you here, Lucy, they’re starting to find their light again. And maybe I am too.”
Finn’s triumphant cheer breaks the moment. He has taken over as the undisputed Monopoly champion, his glee evident in the pile of brightly colored money in front of him.
"Think you can beat Finn at Monopoly?" Joel asks, nodding toward the board game.
"Not a chance," I reply, laughing. "He’s ruthless."
As the evening wears on, the house grows quieter, the energy of the day giving way to a soothing calm. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, and the glow of the Christmas tree lights create a magical ambiance. It feels like the kind of night you want to hold on to, the kind of night you wish could last forever.
Joel and I stay on the couch long after the boys have gone to bed, our conversation drifting to lighter topics like holiday plans, favorite childhood memories, and the merits of marshmallows in hot cocoa. But beneath it all, there’s an undercurrent of something deeper.
"This has been a good day," he says finally, his voice low. "A really good day."
"It has," I agree, my gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "Feels like… like a family."
He reaches for my hand, his touch warm and steady. "Lucy, I…"
The sound of the clock chiming midnight cuts through the air, startling us both. He pulls back slightly, his expression shifting to something more guarded. The moment is gone, but its weight lingers, a shadow cast by the firelight.
It feels like things are about to change for Joel and me. I guess I’ll have to wait and see.