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“What?”
It was as if she’d caught him doing something wrong. He looked uneasy, but he answered with the truth. “I was surprised by how carefully these strands were put away. Christmas lights are usually this big, tangled mess. But this—this—is the tidiest thing in your entire apartment.”
“When we put those away two years ago,” Marigold said, “our lives were a lot different.”
North removed a string of pale blue lights and began to unwind them. “You can tell a lot about a person by looking at the state of their surroundings.”
“If that’s true,” she mused, “then my life is looking significantly better.”
“But does it feel any better?”
Marigold met his gaze. She smiled. “Without a doubt.”
* * *
They strung the tree with lights. Tons of lights. Marigold wanted to use all the lights, and when they were done, it shone like a beacon—marvelous and sparkling and bright.
North opened the second box and removed a pinecone on a white ribbon. He raised an eyebrow.
“You won’t find any Santas or angels in there,” Marigold said. “This is a scientific household, remember?”
He laughed.
Each ornament was bundled in tissue paper. They gently unwrapped them one by one—red cardinals and spotted deer and black bears. Suns and moons and stars. Apples and pears and roses. And snowflakes. Lots and lots of silver snowflakes.
“Did you know,” North said, as he hung a feathery blue jay, “that real trees are better for the environment than fake ones? A lot of people think the fake ones are better, because you have to throw out the real ones every year, but real trees produce oxygen and provide wildlife habitats while they grow, and then, when they’re done, they can be ground into mulch to fertilize the earth. While the plastic ones just … rot in landfills. They can take hundreds of years to decompose.”
Marigold waited until he was done with his rant. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”
“Oh.” North stilled. A tiny skunk swayed on his index finger.
But she understood why he’d felt the need to tell her. She nudged his arm. “I’m glad you work for the good guys, North.”
“I am the good guys,” he said, trying to regain some swagger.
As the final ornaments bedecked the tree, Marigold glanced out the sliding-glass door. Tiny snowflakes were swirling and pirouetting down from the sky.
Marigold paled. “Did you know it was snowing?”
“It must have just started.”
“You have to go. My mom will be shutting down the restaurant now. She’ll be home soon.”
She scrambled, shoving the tissue paper back into the boxes. She felt him staring at her, wanting to know something—something she wanted to know, too—but they were out of time. He tucked away the boxes as she rushed into the kitchen. She pulled out a foil-covered serving dish from on top of the refrigerator and ran back to the tree. She shoved the dish at North’s chest. “Take these home, please. As a thank-you.”
His face was illuminated in blue and white light. “What are they?”
“Cookies. Vegan gingerbread ladies. It’s all we have, but they’re really good, I promise. You’d never know they didn’t have butter in them.”
“Gingerbread ladies?”
Marigold shrugged. “My mom isn’t really into men right now.”
“That’s understandable,” North said. “The last one was pretty bad.”
“The worst.”
“And … how do you feel about them?” he asked carefully. “Are you okay?”
She was surprised at how much the truth—the simple, obvious truth—hurt to speak out loud. “I’ve been better,” she finally said.
North stared at her. The lights of the tree glimmered in his warm brown eyes. “I’m so sorry, Marigold.”
Her heart thumped harder.
North took the serving dish. “Would it … would it be okay if I called you sometime? I mean, if you’re still interested in the voice work, I’d be happy to help. I could stop by after a shift. I’ll need to bring this back, anyway.” He lifted the dish in an uncharacteristically awkward gesture.
North could have kissed her. He could have done it, he could have swooped in, but he was being respectful. It made her want to devour him whole. Or be devoured whole. She grabbed the serving dish, shoved it aside, and placed one hand on each side of his face. She pulled him down into her.
She kissed him.
He kissed her back.
Their mouths opened, and he tasted clean and healthy and new. He pulled her closer. Her fingers slid down the nape of his neck. Down to his chest. He lifted her up, and her legs locked around his waist, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. As if they had rediscovered something essential that they didn’t realize they’d lost. They kissed deeper. They kissed like this, her body wrapped around his, for minutes.
When she finally slid back down to the ground, both of their knees were shaking.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” North said.
His voice, so close to her ears, resonated inside of her. It filled her. “I’ve been wanting to do that all month.”
“I want to do that for the rest of the month.” North kissed above her lips, below her lips. “And after.”
“And after,” she agreed, as their mouths slipped over each other again.
“Okay, okay.” She laughed, a minute later. “You have to go. Now.”
They kissed some more.
“Ahhhhhhh,” he shouted as he pulled away. “Okay! Now!”
North’s hair was scruffled and wild. Marigold’s braid was halfway unpi
He threw it on over his T-shirt. “So what do you think your mom will say when she comes home and sees all of this?”
“Honestly?” Marigold shook her head as she repi
“I hope so.”
“Here, give me your phone.” Marigold tugged hers out of a pocket and tossed it to him. He did the same. They added each other’s numbers. “Text me when you get home, okay? Let me know you got home safely.”
North smiled. “I will.”
They kissed again beside the front door.
“I’m working tomorrow night,” he said, between kisses.
“Thank God.”
“I know. I’ve never been so happy to work for my parents.”
They laughed.
“Until tomorrow, Marigold Moon.” And he kissed her one last time.
Marigold peeked through the sugary frost that was growing, shimmering, on her balcony door. She watched North cross into the lot next door. His entire figure looked perfect from here, like something she ached to scoop up and cradle in her hands. As he climbed into the seat of his truck, he glanced up at her window.
He smiled when he saw her figure. He waved.
Her heart leapt as she waved back. She watched his truck until it disappeared. The tree lot’s lights were off and its fires were out. Through the dull glow of the grocery store, she could see that the evergreens were coated in a fine white dusting. Everything outside was cold and empty and dark.
There was a rattling of keys at her door.
Marigold turned around. Everything inside was warm and cozy and bright. She had needed North’s help to create her mother’s present, but this was the gift—a beautiful apartment. And a beautiful tree.
The doorknob turned.
“Mom,” Marigold said. “Welcome home.”
It’s hard not to feel just a little bit fat when your boyfriend asks you to be Santa Claus.
“But I’m Jewish,” I protest. “It would be one thing if you were asking me to be Jesus—he, at least, was a member of my tribe, and looks good in a Speedo. Plus, Santa requires you to be jolly, whereas Jesus only requires you to be born.”