Chapter 15 Nola
NOLA
One week later
“Left . . . a little more . . . a little more . . . there! You got it!” Emma cheers from her place on the couch, where she’s guided Max through the process of setting the Christmas tree in just the right spot.
“Left of the fireplace but lined up just right so you can see it from the front window when you’re on the sidewalk is where we like it. ”
Max crawls out from under the tree and takes off his baseball hat, rubbing his hand over his head while scrutinizing the flocked artificial noble fir.
“Yeah, and who usually puts it up for you two?” His gaze slowly pulls to Emma and me, lounging happily with a bowl of popcorn between us.
We pounced on Max the minute he came home, corralling him into our Friday night project and then once he got to work, we slipped into our favorite sweatpants and cuddled up on the couch.
“Well, it’s a whole process,” I explain. “We haul everything in from the garage and pull down everything from the attic and it sits in the living room for a week—”
“Sometimes longer,” Emma casually mentions.
I look over at Emma. “I feel called out right now.”
With a shrug, she says, “Yeah, but it’s true.”
“Fine, usually it sits in the tubs and boxes for two weeks. Finally, we get tired of tripping over all of it and we slowly put it up.”
He skeptically blinks a few times. “You have all this stuff but you don’t finish getting it up until the week of Christmas?”
“You know it.” I toss a handful of popcorn into my mouth and talk around it. “This surprises you.”
“You come across as very organized.” He nods toward the kitchen where the laminated chore chart is on the fridge in full display.
“Everybody needs an Achille’s heel, Maxford.”
His brow arches and he mouths, “Maxford?”
“I’m trying it out,” I say, nonchalant. “You let your grandmother call you by your full name and as your wife, I think I’ve earned that privilege too.”
I’m rewarded with a delicious smirk. “You’re ridiculous on so many levels. Why even bother going through the motions of setting it all up if you don’t get to enjoy it all month?” He reaches between us for the bowl and I slap his hand away.
“No, no. You have more work to do.” I motion toward the last box waiting for him labeled stockings, and he patiently opens it, pulling everything out and laying the contents on the coffee table as he awaits our directions.
“Mine has the white embroidered ‘Mom.’ It gets the snowflake holder and goes on the mantle.”
Max selects the two items, places the holder in the center of the mantle, and hangs the green and red striped stocking from it.
“No!” Emma giggles. “That’s not where it goes!”
Feigning exasperation, Max turns around and puts his hands on his hips. “I give up! I can’t do anything right. If you’re so smart, why don’t you show me where it goes?”
Emma takes the bait and leaves her spot on the couch to fix his mistake, then hangs her own stocking next to mine. “Ooh!” Her eyes light up as if remembering something. “I’ll be right back!”
Flying down the hall toward her bedroom, Max plops down on the couch in the vacant spot and swipes a handful of popcorn. “Even if you two are completely helpless, this is nice.”
“What do you mean, Maxford?” I ask coyly.
“Not loving that,” he says, and I almost miss the grin that follows.
“I wouldn’t call us helpless. I would admit we tricked you into helping us decorate, but we decided it’s way better watching you work nonstop for three hours while we sit the whole time.
Though, I am very parched from telling you where to put things.
” Minus lights and ornaments on the tree, he got everything up—and in one evening.
It’s impressive. He not only did all the hard labor but also agreed to listen to the Backstreet Boys’ Christmas album on repeat and never once complained about how the evening went down.
Emma wasn’t wrong. We have a poor track record in the house being all Santa-ready this early in the season. It's almost become a Christmas tradition for us now. But having it done already is a marriage bonus.
“I never decorate for the holidays and I think I’ve denied myself something kinda great.” He admires his work. “Gets you in the holiday spirit a bit, doesn’t it?”
I turn toward the center of the couch, adjusting how I’m sitting so I can see him better. He’s slipped into the Adler family routine seamlessly, and I’m hesitant to let myself enjoy it. None of this is real, I remind myself for the hundredth time.
Having zero relationship expectations going into this arrangement is the driving force behind it working.
Neither one of us came into the agreement with a sense of attachment to the other, and since our wedding a week ago, my life hasn’t really changed all that much.
Max goes to school, then he spends most of the evening at the gym, getting back into prime shape.
Twice during the past week, he went to Stella’s for dinner.
He later told me she asked why I stayed at home, and he reminded her that I have a child and we’re not really married.
The silicone rings we wear on our left ring fingers are purely props.
She finished their conversation by telling him to just wait.
As for Emma and me, our life is Groundhog’s Day.
For the sake of routine, Emma still does carpool with Reese’s mom in the mornings and I pick the girls up in the afternoons.
After dropping off Reese, I take Emma to any afterschool extracurriculars, then we rush home for homework and dinner.
The only thing that’s changed is the book we’re reading for book club over dinner.
This week we started The Hunger Games and re-reading those books through the lens of adulthood is terrifying.
With tonight being a Friday night, I assumed Max would stay late at the gym or visit Stella.
There had to be somewhere else he’d rather be.
Instead, he surprised me by coming home after school and asking what the plan was.
The question stopped me in my tracks, but Emma mentioned wanting to decorate and here we are.
“Guess what I found? My lost water bottle.” Emma slides on socked feet back into the living room and proudly holds up her bottle.
Max and I hide laughs. My brilliant child cannot keep track of that to save her life.
“It was in my closet, but more important than that, I found this!” She displays a rosewood-colored mink faux fur stocking with Coach written across the top in glitter Sharpie.
“I didn’t have enough money to also get you a holder, so we’ll just do this. ”
She hands off the stocking to Max and goes into the kitchen, rummaging around in our junk drawer. He holds up the gift, suppressing the smile threatening to take over his face. On her way back into the room, Emma snatches it from his hands and sits on the floor at the coffee table. “Here we go.”
With masking tape, a Santa snow globe, a couple command strips, and the stocking, we watch her fierce determination as she fastens them into a makeshift stocking holder and stands to hang Max’s stocking from the mantle on the other side of hers.
“Em, I love it,” I tell her, a bit confused. “When did you get that, uh, unique stocking?”
She looks at it, running her fingers down the faux mink fur absentmindedly, then glances at my green and red striped one, next to her green and red polka-dotted one.
With a satisfied look on her face she says, “Reese’s mom took us into Pottery Barn yesterday after school when you had a meeting and I saw this.
I knew Coach needed one if he’s staying here, and it was the only one I could afford.
” Pausing, she grimaces. “Sorry it’s pink. ”
“I think it’s perfect,” he tells her, and she appears pleased. “Did you tell them—”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t say it was for Coach.
I picked it up and pretended—pretended, Mom, not lied—I wanted a stocking for my bedroom.
Just like we talked about a million times already.
But it wouldn’t matter anyway because everybody’s talking about the two of you getting married.
It would make sense he got a stocking at our house. ”
“Does it bother you they’re talking about us?” I ask her, worried we’re causing her undue trauma.
“Naw. They’ll find something else to obsess about soon enough.
I do know Blake keeps complaining his mom has been pretty cranky.
” Learning the PTO president doesn’t like this union makes me laugh out loud and feel some unexplained twinge of pride.
Emma shrugs and strides across the room, tapping Max’s foot with hers. “You took my seat.”
Max doesn’t budge. “You didn’t call savesies.”
Emma stands, stunned, and I bite my lip, watching this go down. Being an only child with a single parent means a lot of what she wants, she gets. Especially when it comes to her favorite spot on the couch. We Adlers are pretty territorial.
“But,” she stammers. “But that’s my spot.”
He scoops a handful of popcorn and stares her down, a smirk rising in the corner of his mouth. “I can see why—it’s a good spot.” He pops pieces into his mouth. “I’m enjoying it.”
“Mom,” she laments, looking at me to go to bat for her.
“We have two chairs.” I nod to the two funky corduroy reading chairs perpendicular to the sofa. “You’re more than welcome to sit in one of those.”
“But he needs to put the lights on the tree,” she says, as if Max wasn’t in the room. “Tell him to get up and do it.”
“I think we’ve asked enough of him for one night,” I tell her right as Max stands.
He takes his time stretching, pulling his arms up and letting the bottom of his hoodie rise enough that I catch some skin.
It’s skin, one whole inch of skin, and now this room is warmer than I can handle.
Heat rises in my cheeks, and I stare a second too long before catching myself.
“Mom, are you okay?”