Chapter 7
dax
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman to agree to anything as much as I want Clementine to say yes to coming inside and seeing my trees.
I’m only slightly embarrassed at the fact I live with my parents, which isn’t as creepy as it sounds because it’s a full apartment they could rent out to a stranger, but instead rent to me.
For very cheap.
It’s not like I advertise where I live to many people. Sure, my siblings like to razz me, but it’s their job. I give it right back about different things.
“If you have something else to do, they can come back another time to see the trees.” Please say no, I silently beg.
“I’m certain we have time for a quick visit. Three trees in one house is a record for us.”
“Oh, goodie. This will be so fun. When are we getting our tree, Mama?”
From my position in the front seat, I don’t miss Clementine’s gasp, nor her whispered, “Oh, shit.”
“Soon, Jace. We’ll need some help getting it into the house and all set up. Remind me to ask Uncle Beckett to help us.”
“I’ll do it.” I don’t even question the words spewing from my mouth. Maybe it was the whole “uncle” thing since I decided I’m going to be their surrogate uncle, too.
Or maybe it was the way her voice sounded sad at having to admit she needed help. That she couldn’t do something on her own.
No matter the underlying reason, I’m happy to help.
Clementine pulls into my driveway, and I direct her to park behind my truck. When the van’s parked and shut off, she looks over at me, her green gaze sizing me up. “You know what? After today, I’m not questioning your motives. Thank you. We’d love to take you up on your offer.”
Atlas appears between our seats. “How about tonight?”
Clementine’s not shocked by his closeness. “We’ve taken enough of Dax’s time, don’t you think? One day soon, though.”
“Tomorrow?” Jace wonders hopefully.
I stifle my laughter. I’ve already overstepped a bunch today, so I’ll follow her lead on this one.
“It’s a school and workday, so we’ll have to play it by ear. Dax might have other things to do tomorrow after work.”
“I don’t.” The words escape me instantly, with no thought involved. I’m pretty sure the only things on my agenda are work and Monday Night Football, but if not, whatever’s on my calendar can be moved.
“He doesn’t,” Atlas confirms, his attention on his mom.
“Guess it’s settled then,” Clementine says resignedly, yet her tone gives no bearing about her opinion. “Tomorrow we’re getting our tree.”
Jace and Atlas hoot and holler, their cheers infectious. I refrain from joining in for her sake, not theirs.
“Dax, can we see your trees now?” Jace pleads, complete with his hands folded under his chin. “Please,” he adds without prompting.
“Let’s do this.”
We pile out of the car and head into my apartment through the door by the garage. I usually use the entrance in the back, but it’s less intrusive this way. It’s also less crowded.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” The boys take off for the larger of the two trees, while my sight trains on Clementine, who scrutinizes the place with shrewd eyes.
The dishes in the sink.
The papers stacked on the counters.
The pile of laundry on the couch.
I can’t be certain she’s looking at any of those, but I’m suddenly more self-conscious of how untidy I am. Not that her house was immaculate, though hers is a work in progress.
“It’s . . . bigger than I pictured. Very spacious living space.”
“Yep. It spans the entire house, so it’s a decent size.”
“And it’s got a bedroom?”
I point to the closed door, pleased I had the forethought to close it earlier when I left, which isn’t usually the case. “Through there.” I point to the slightly ajar door. “And a full bathroom. The only downside is my parents living upstairs. Otherwise, it’s a sweet crib.”
My use of “crib” garners a look from Clementine, one that begs the unspoken question, “Seriously?”
“Was it always a finished apartment? I pegged it as more of a finished basement with your stuff.”
“That’s what it was growing up, but Dad had it converted a few years ago when Beck moved out. It was supposed to be supplemental income for them, but well. They got me instead.” I laugh to curb the tension and at myself.
“I’m sure they’re happy to rent it to you rather than a stranger they don’t know.”
“Oh, sure. Let’s go with that.” I don’t want to get into it with Clementine. I don’t need her judgment, and the boys don’t need to think I’m pathetic.
They’re studying the tree on the far side of the room, taking in all the ornaments with wonder, respectful not to touch anything.
“So why two trees?” Clementine ponders, changing the subject, which I appreciate.
“Why not two? This way, both sides of the apartment have joy and one side doesn’t feel left out.”
I’m not sure how to explain the need for two. Initially, it was a dare from Beck, but after that first year, they both stuck. It’s only a hassle when it’s time to clean them up, but for the rest of the season, they bring joy. When they’re both lit, I almost don’t need any other lights.
“Fair. Just because I don’t want two doesn’t mean I should yuck someone’s yum. I barely tolerate one as it is.”
I gasp, my hand covering my heart, feigning shock. “That saddens me. How can you not find the exuberance in a Christmas tree? What’s not to love?”
“The setting up, the decorating, the undecorating, the pine needles you find for months after it’s taken away. Shall I go on?”
“No, I’ve heard enough. Why not get an artificial one for less trouble?” I have to choke the word out. Fake trees are fine for some people. I’m not one of them.
“You’d think it would be easier, yet I can’t get myself to do it.
There’s something about walking into a house with the fresh scent of pine tingling my senses.
I can’t give it up.” She shrugs, as if that explains it.
And I totally get it. Two trees equate to double the scent.
“Besides, my cousins own a Christmas tree farm. I might be ousted from the family if I went fake.”
My brows raise. “Willa’s never mentioned that. Where’s the farm?”
“Oregon. A bit of a hike for a Christmas tree.”
“Okay, yeah. Too bad. I could have been convinced I need a third tree to support them.”
It’s Clementine’s turn to be shocked. Then she falls into a fit of giggles. Three might be overkill for this space, though if my house were bigger and had more rooms, it’s something I’d consider. One for each room, possibly.
“We’re ready to see the third tree now,” Atlas proclaims.
“Prepare to be amazed, boys. Mom and Dad’s tree is something else.”
I lead the way upstairs to the living room. They may have been here last year to see the tree, but this year’s is slightly bigger. Mom put up a stink when Dad carried in the nearly ten-foot tree, but secretly, she loves it.
It’s always been Dad’s job to get the tree.
I think it started when we were little, and it was just Autumn.
The narrative goes Mom was sick the day they were supposed to pick out the tree, but Dad didn’t have another available opportunity, so he went by himself, coming home with a tree that was way too big, in Mom’s opinion.
The details are a little hazy—I stopped listening a long time ago—but somehow it became his job ever since.
Probably adds to the reason I have two. I never had the privilege of choosing a tree until I moved into the basement apartment. Two equates to double the pleasure.
“Oh, wow,” Jace utters. He races up to it, stopping before he crashes into it, tilting his head back so he can see the top. “It’s so big.”
“It’s the biggest one they’ve had.”
“So many ornaments. How do they have so many?” Atlas marvels, his vision bouncing to every part of the tree.
“Years and years of collecting them. And they’ve given some to us kids so we have some for our trees.”
Jace looks at Clementine. “We should get a tree this big. What do you think?”
“I think it wouldn’t even fit in the doorway. Our ceilings are way too low for a tree this tall.”
“Someday I’m going to have a tree like this and put all kinds of ornaments I make on it.”
Clementine musses his hair. “Sounds like a plan, Jacey. I would love to see what you’ll create.”
“I thought I heard familiar voices.” Mom appears in the doorway, an apron tied around her waist, her gray hair pulled in a ponytail.
“We needed to see the three trees at your house. How did you decorate the top of this one?” Again, Jace bends backward to view the top.
Mom chuckles. “A very tall ladder. Dax’s dad is very careful when he decorates the top. Do you know the star on the top is over fifty years old? It was Dax’s grandparents’ topper for their tree.”
“They don’t need it anymore?”
Mom gazes at Atlas. “Nope, so we’re the lucky ones who get to have it on our tree.”
“Mama, do we have a star for ours?”
“I’m, uh, not sure. We’ll have to check the boxes when we decorate.
” A wistfulness infiltrates her voice. I can’t be certain why.
Maybe it has something to do with their moving.
I wonder how they split their stuff, who got what.
It’s never been a consideration to want to know, but Clementine has a way of making me want to know everything.
“The Christmas Barn sells all kinds of decorations. I bet they’ll have a star if you need one. We can go there after we get your tree.”
“When are you getting your tree?” Mom asks.
“Tomorrow,” Atlas declares happily.
My heart twinges in my chest at how happy this makes him.
Yet, it’s Clementine’s shy smile that about does me in.
“Boys, we should get going. I’m sure the Nicholases have things to do, and we’ve got to get home for baths and books.”
“What about dinner?”
“I’ve got a box of mac and cheese with your names on it.”
“The blue box or the purple one?” Atlas inquires, analyzing his mother.
“I can’t remember. But you like them both, remember?”
“But I like the blue box better.”
“We’ll talk about it at home.”
“We’re having macaroni and cheese, too,” Mom reveals.
Atlas spins her way. “From the blue or purple box?”
“Oh, it’s not from a box. I made it from scratch.”
Jace steps up to Mom. “What does that mean?”
“It means it’s more delicious than any color box,” I acknowledge. “She bakes it in the oven with breadcrumbs, and it’s the most delicious combination of crust and cheesy goodness.” For full effect, I rub my abdomen.
“I only know it’s better than a box if I taste it.”
“At-las,” Clementine hisses, stepping up to him and speaking in his ear. Whatever she says to him makes his face flush red.
“Sorry,” Atlas mumbles, his gaze directed toward the floor.
“Of course you have to try it to see if you like it. It’ll be ready in ten minutes, and there’s plenty to share.”
“Oh, we can’t impose,” Clementine starts.
“Nonsense. It’s not an imposition in the slightest. We’d love to have you. If you’ve got the time to eat with us.”
When I volunteered to bring her van back to her and spend some time with her boys, I didn’t foresee eating every meal of the day with them, but I’d be disappointed if Clementine doesn’t agree to stay.
Hell if I can put the reason into words.