There’s a dark spot.”
“No there’s not,” William said, not bothering to look.
I crossed my arms. “Yes there is. In the middle—there, to the left.”
He turned, looked, and sighed. “I don’t see it. There is no dark spot.” He waved his hand in an odd, circular motion.
“What’s with the hand?”
“Star Wars. ‘These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.’ You know.”
“Haven’t seen Star Wars yet.”
“You really were sheltered.” He ran a hand through his shaggy locks. “Do you think the spot’s all that noticeable?”
“Moths will avoid it.”
“Can you just scrunch the lights around a bit?”
I turned and reached for the tiny, electric lights. “I thought this would be easier.”
“You and me both. I didn’t know I’d need an engineering degree to put up Christmas decorations.”
“Scrunching isn’t working. I’m taking them off.”
William sighed. I ignored him. “Go cut some snowflakes.”
“Snowflakes?”
“We were making snowflakes, right?”
“You are.”
I lowered the lights in my hands and looked at him incredulously. “You don’t know how to make snowflakes?”
“My mom always did the Christmas decorating. It was a thing for her. When we were kids, we’d wake up on December first to find the whole house decorated.”
“That must have been fun,” I said, imagining what it must have been like to wake up to twinkle lights.
“I guess.” William sounded less than excited.
“When I’m done with the lights, we’ll have to find some paper. I’ll show you how to make them.” I got down on my hands and knees and took the lights around the tree twice, following the shape of the fake branches. “Does that look even?”
“It’s fine.”
In the next few moments I rewrapped the lights around the tree, and with William’s assistance, placed every last ornament up.
“What’s this one?” I pointed at one as we stood back to take account of our work.
“A dreidel—a Jewish children’s toy. It’s Richard’s way of being multicultural.”
“Ah.” I clasped my hands together at my waist. “Do we have paper and scissors for snowflakes?”
“You still want to do those? It’s getting late.”
“At least a couple. I love snowflakes.”
William went to the back to find me paper and scissors. When he returned, I took the top sheet of paper and started folding. “I make either twelve-or sixteen-point snowflakes. The number you come up with depends on how you fold it.” I made the folds to produce a sixteen-point snowflake, making a square from the letter-sized paper and then folding it into increasingly smaller triangles.
“Whoa, slow down there,” William protested.
I waved him off. “Don’t worry, I’ll do another. Look how I’m paying attention to the corners as I fold. They’re nice and sharp.” I raised the scissors and began to make a cut. “Ugh.” I frowned, examining the scissor blades. “These are not.”
“You need better ones?”
I handed him the dull pair. “Yes, please.”
The second set was much better. I began cutting away various shapes along the folds. “Now,” I said, “after I cut the larger pieces, I cut away smaller shapes around the larger ones. See this?” I pointed to the largest fold.
“Yeah.”
“Never cut there. The whole thing will fall apart. Just cut away pieces.”
I cut as I spoke, relaxing with the familiar feel of sharp scissors in my hands.
“I don’t know about this…” William said, his voice filled with doubt.
“They’re easy,” I said with a shake of my head. “If I could teach Elizabeth to make them, you can learn too.”
“Who?”
I froze. Had I…I replayed the last few moments in my mind.
“Who’s Elizabeth?” William repeated.
I had. That’s what became of me letting my guard down. “My sister,” I said simply enough. “She’s young.”
“Oh.”
Nothing more was said on the subject. I watched my words for the rest of the night.
By the end of that evening, we’d decorated the tree, taped a few snowflakes in the corner of the display window, laid out fake snow that William called “angel hair” on top of white lights, and placed Christmas books on stands on the display ledge.
“There’s still work to be done,” William said, surveying the progress. “We still need to put lights around the window and put dust-collecting decorations on the register counter.”
“They’ll look pretty,” I said, covering a smile.
“They’ll collect dust,” he maintained.
“Your snowflakes look nice.”
“Yes they do,” he conceded. “I am a paper man though. Maybe tomorrow we’ll have to make some others with better paper.”
“Better?”
“I have some more finely milled paper that’s thinner. It should be easier to cut.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said, picking up some of the boxes and mess from dinner.
“Don’t worry about it,” William waved me toward the door. “It’s late, and you still need to show up tomorrow.”
“So do you.”
“I live upstairs.” He pointed upward. “My commute’s a bit shorter than yours.”
I tilted my head. “Upstairs?”
“There’s an apartment. Richard lets me rent it. The space is part of the bookstore’s property.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about having an apartment above a store, much less that someone would be living in it.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
He did. As I drove carefully away, I could still see his face in my rearview mirror, watching.
“So, how was decorating?” Jayne asked when I got home. She set her book aside. “And by ‘How was decorating,’ I mean, did Will behave himself?”
I laughed and almost regretted the way I must have described him earlier. “Decorating was fine. Will was fine. He’s not a bad person, just…abrupt, I think. But I taught him to make snowflakes, so I think he’ll grow up to be okay.”
“You had a good time, then?”
“I did. It made me wonder—have you thought of putting decorations up in here?”
Jayne lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve decorated for Christmas here. Ever.”
“Not ever?”
“Not ever. Never.”
“Oh.”
“You want to decorate in here? Since when are you into the holiday frivolity?”
“It looks pretty. Decorations are like clothes for your home.”
Jayne sighed. “You would think of it like that.”
I was a bit groggier than usual when I arrived for work on Friday morning. William didn’t comment, but he did hand me a cup of coffee when he saw me. “Late night last night. Picked one up for myself and thought you might like one. It’s Stumptown.”
I knew from Levi that Stumptown was some of the best coffee in Portland. I lifted the coffee to my lips. It was strong and black and warmed me from the inside. “Thanks,” I said.
“Are you able to finish things tonight?”
“I am.”
“You said your roommate has a thing.”
“She does, but she also said they’d wait for me.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“My roommate, her friends—I suppose they’re my friends too. And my brother. He’s engaged to my roommate.”
“Really?” William’s brows arched. “How’s that going?”
I gave a small smirk. “Harder for my brother than for Jayne.”
“Jayne’s your roommate?”
“Yes. He wants to set a date, she’s…”
“Not interested?”
“She’s interested. She’s just…” I thought about it for a moment. “Confused.”
William shook his head. “Women.”
“You have a problem with women?”
He seemed to realize he was talking to one. A young one, but female all the same. “They’re complicated. Sometimes too much so.”
“Men are complicated too, just in a different way.”
William shrugged. “I guess that’s true. Well, let’s get to work. Richard put a coupon in the Oregonian that starts today, so we’ll have an onslaught of bargain shoppers to deal with.”
I nodded and sipped my coffee, letting William’s gruffness roll off of me. I was starting to get the feeling that he only acted that way when he didn’t know what else to be.
“I think the window needs more twinkle lights,” I said that night after we’d finished grazing on the pizza William had delivered.
William looked up from where he was cutting snowflakes, the designs becoming more and more complicated. “Sure. Just as long as there’s still a clear view of the books inside.”
“There will be,” I assured him. I fastened the lights carefully down the windowpanes and checked my watch when I finished. “I should head out soon if that’s alright.” I paused for a moment and then blurted out what I’d planned to say. “You’re welcome to join me, you know. Gemma brings lots of food every week. Jayne’s picked out some Pixar shorts, Elf, and White Christmas, I think. She likes to hit a range of films, and with Christmas coming…”
“I hate Will Ferrell.”
“Oh.” I was lost, but that feeling certainly wasn’t new.
“You’re welcome,” I said, confused but not surprised.
To Jayne’s annoyance, I wouldn’t stop pestering her for our own Christmas tree. A real one, not plastic like the one at the shop.
Jayne called Levi, saying that if they were going to drive down to the Fred Meyer parking lot to pick out a living organism that had been severed from its root system in the earth, it may as well be transported in Levi’s pickup.
Levi had other ideas though. “If I had my pick, I’d buy a Forest Service pass and hike around Mount Hood,” he said when he arrived at the apartment Saturday morning.
Jayne’s face contorted into an expression of frozen horror.
“But with the weather the way it’s been, let’s go to a tree farm. We won’t need snowshoes that way.”
“Snowshoes?” Jayne repeated, frozen.
“A tree farm…that sounds fun,” I said. “I’ll get my coat and shoes.”
I turned and looked over my shoulder. Jayne remained rooted in place. I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the coat closet. “Come on. It’s just the outdoors. It won’t hurt you.”
“My feet are cold.”
“Walk faster.” Levi swung Jayne’s hand before tucking it in his pocket.
I smiled and looked away. “How big of a tree are we looking for?”
“Three feet,” Jayne said.
“Seven feet,” Levi said at the same time. “We’re looking for a Christmas tree, not a Christmas bush.”
“An Abies procera is an Abies procera regardless of the size.”
I frowned. “Abies procera?”
“Noble fir. Jayne’s getting in touch with the Latin within.” Levi said. “If a tree’s so small you could envision it on fire and talking to Moses, it’s a bush. We’re in the market for a tree.”
I turned to Jayne. “You speak Latin?”
“Article on organic Christmas tree farming,” she admitted.
“Which means she probably went to a Christmas tree farm and didn’t whine the whole time.” Levi nudged Jayne with his elbow.
She nudged back. “I interviewed the owner in his office, next to a blazing fire, thank you very much.”
I rolled my eyes and pointed ahead to distract my chilly, irritable roommate. “What about that one?” I said, not really looking as I pointed.
“Scraggly,” Jayne said. “Looks like the tree in A Charlie Brown Christmas.”
I followed my own finger. The plant I’d indicated was at death’s doorstep. “Oh. Maybe not that one then. Not that I know what the Charlie Brown tree looks like.”
“We’ll watch it next week,” Jayne promised.
“Either way,” Levi said, “that was a bush and not a tree.” He raised his head and studied the trees coming into view. “I see some possibilities up ahead.”
“How far ahead?” Jayne asked. “Just so I have a realistic view of my future.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you’re good and stop complaining, I’ll make sugar cookies with lemon zest when we get back.”
Jayne considered my offer, silently.
I sweetened the deal. “Peanut butter crinkles?”
“You’re on.” She gave a little skip. “I’ll be good.”
Levi shot me a conspiratorial look. “You know, I’m not sure there’s going to be any good ones nearby. Might need to keep going for another mile or two. That’s where they plant the better-looking trees.”
Jayne opened her mouth to protest, thought for a moment, and then folded her arms. “Peanut butter crinkles?”
“With Dove chocolate rather than Hershey kisses.”
She squared her shoulders. “See if you can keep up, Levi!”