They went to the museum to see the Christmas tree. They themselves never had a Christmas tree, although every year at this time their mother did string tiny colored lights on the potted grapefruit. When they had been little, she used to serve them breakfast by candlelight from the winter solstice until daylight saving time resumed.
“Why don’t we do that anymore?” griped Annamae.
“I guess the novelty wore off.”
“Maybe for you.”
It was the first week in January, the last week the tree would be on display. It had snowed a lot, then turned unseasonably warm. Everywhere lay puddles or mounds of gray slush. The museum was packed. “To the gills,” declared Nana, who was with them. The trip was in a way for Nana, who had taken their mother to see the tree every year when she had been a kid.
“Apparently, that novelty didn’t wear off,” mumbled Annamae.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Even though Nana was supposedly all better, it had still taken her a long time to go up all the salt-strewn granite steps to the entrance, holding on to the railing with one hand and on to Danny’s friend Dante’s elbow with the other. Dante had come with them, too. They were quite a crowd (their mother had declared as much—“We’re quite a crowd!”—once they were finally inside and waiting in line to buy tickets with a thousand other people, all of them sweating in their winter coats): Nana, their mother, Danny, Dante, Annamae, and Felice. Felice was there as Annamae’s friend.
“You can each invite a friend,” their mother had told them the day before. It was clearly meant to preempt their saying, Do we have to go?
“I don’t have a friend.”
“Why don’t you ask one of the kids from your birthday party?”
Felice had been available. She’d gotten dropped off at their apartment the next morning wearing a museumy outfit that included a purse worn diagonally across her coat and new fur-lined boots.
“Your feet are going to be hot,” said Annamae.
“No they won’t,” said Felice. “It’s faux.”
Instead of the subway they’d taken an Uber, because of Nana, all of them squished into an SUV that had deposited them right in front of the museum. Now in line inside, they were barely less squished. “Think how much worse it would’ve been if we’d come during school vacation,” said their mother.
Think how much better it would’ve been if you didn’t make us come at all popped into Annamae’s head, although she didn’t say it. Possibly she didn’t even mean it.
At last they reached the room with the great blue spruce. Around the base was a diorama populated with fantastically molded people and animals all come to see the newborn baby and his parents. Above them, the branches held dozens of angels and what looked like electric birthday candles. On every side you could hear sighs of How beautiful! and people pointing out exquisite details to one another. “There’s a fisherman with a fish.” “See the tiny dagger tucked in that one’s belt?” “Look, this guy has bagpipes.”
“Oh my God, the cherubs!” said Felice. She put her mouth close to Annamae’s ear. “You can see their exact penises.”
A woman behind them with a voice like a duchess remarked to her companion, “Isn’t it remarkable the way each one is unique?”
The angels wore colored silks that had been stiffened with wire to make it appear they were billowing on the nonexistent breeze. Their wings were as expressive and distinct as their faces. The longer she looked, the more she noticed. One she could practically hear gasping. One looked a bit smug, like a game-show host saying, “Ta da!” One looked mid-swoon. One was so tender-eyed, so brimming with calm, knowing adoration, it made Annamae wish she were the baby Jesus.
“Which is your favorite?” asked Felice. “Mine’s that one in the pink. With the silver thingy in her hand.”
“I don’t really care for angels,” said Annamae.
“Annamae! Oh my God, Annamae—why not?”
Because, thought Annamae, like the snake, they have no lack. Aloud she said, “Because they look down on us.”
Felice gave her a little whack on the arm with her purse. “You. Are. So. Extra!” She dissolved into peals of laughter. She had a laugh that made people look over and smile.
Annamae felt something like laughter bubble up inside her, too. She forced herself to concentrate on the blue spruce, the ancient angels, their bare feet, their expressive toes. “I like their toes,” she allowed.
Felice bent double at that.