Chapter 9
Fall comes to an end and December arrives, that clichéd time of the year when the city is choked in garlands and there are
all these dehydrated Christmas trees being sold at every other street corner. The Redstockings never get a tree; we don’t
support deforestation. But this year Hal drags one back to the Inn one night.
It’s a Charlie Brown situation. The tree isn’t actually a tree; it’s a shrub that’s basically scraped clean of needles. Apparently
it was being thrown into the dumpster because it was such a sorry sight, but Hal took pity on it and rescued it at the last
second. It’s got Hal thinking about starting a company that finds homes for rejected Christmas trees. It could expand to rejected
groceries and clothes and stuff, too, so the revenue wouldn’t be so seasonally dependent. Not only would it be good for the
planet, but it would help low-income neighborhoods too.
“Show me a more progressive business model,” Hal says, then tunes out Tara when she starts explaining a new law she read about,
proposed in one of the socialist countries in Europe—Sweden, or maybe it was Spain.
“The law would insist that in order for billionaires to purchase a second or third piece of property, they have to build affordable
housing structures on the land,” Tara says as we take the tree into the garden, hauling it by its little stump.
“That’s politics, not business,” Hal says. “Business is a more efficient agent of change, not mired in all the bureaucracy.”
“Business can be bureaucratic too,” Jenni says. “Remember that think tank I worked for? Completely allergic to innovation.”
“Everything is tainted when there’s commercial value attached to it,” I say. “Business, politics, even art. Especially art.”
“Which is why you’re opting out of participation altogether?” Hal asks.
“I’m not opting out,” I say. “I’m just honoring my own creative process, not cramming myself into the industry’s rigid little
box in order to be chosen.”
Tara speaks up. “Like I’ve done, you mean?” she asks, jawline even stronger than usual. She only ever provokes things with
us when she’s looking for an excuse to be mean to herself.
“Of course not,” I say. “You’ve managed to achieve success and stay authentic. A unicorn, you are.”
We all agree and Tara looks relieved though unconvinced. She sets about hanging her most flamboyant earrings as ornaments
on the tree while Jenni drapes it with lights as if nothing were wrong with it, as if it were the damn Rockefeller Center
Christmas tree. The branches sag nearly to the ground, but they don’t snap. They’re resilient like that.
I make some spiked hot chocolate for us as we sit out there and exchange gag gifts. We never buy anything for each other—that’s
against the rules—but we have this tradition of regifting things from around the Inn. The point is to make it ironic.
Tara raises a mug to the four of us. “To the best platonic soulmates out there,” she says.
“The Anti-Marriage Pact was the best thing we ever did,” Hal chimes in, making it seem like it was her idea, not mine.
I don’t correct her because that’s the proof of great leadership, when other people feel ownership of your ideas.
Hopefully the historians will be competent enough to uncover the truth.
I’ll leave some journals documenting the whole thing to help them out.
Jenni shifts in her chair. “I know I’ve been spending a lot of time with Peter,” she says, guilt dribbling from her words
like water from a faucet that appears to be off but isn’t. “And I appreciate how accepting you’re being.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘accepting’ is the adjective that fits best,” I mutter, but I withhold calling her out on it much more. It
would just put her on the defensive and push her closer to Peter.
Tara and Hal seem to know that too, so we all just toss in some subtle hints.
“The best thing about romantic relationships is how they inevitably end,” Hal says happily.
“And how the Redstockings’ bond never will,” Tara pipes in. “It’s the one thing in life we can really count on.”
Jenni nods along but doesn’t add much, which raises some alarm bells. I’ve got this irrational fear that Peter’s planning
a holiday proposal. It’s actually not that irrational at all; I’ve seen these engagement ring ads pop up on Jenni’s computer
as we’re streaming true crime shows on her laptop, and she says she doesn’t know how they got there, the algorithms are highly
dysfunctional.
I mention it to Hal and Tara the next day, but they wave off my concerns.
“Don’t overblow it, EJ,” Hal says, patting my shoulder. “Jenni might like having a boyfriend, but she’d never think about
getting married right now. She’s committed to liberation, she really is.”