Page 58 of Rekindled Love

“Serena.”

“Traitor,” Kyleigh proclaimed.

The more we worked, the louder it got. The girls started singing off-key to whatever Christmas song came on the speaker. Kyleigh fussed about ornament distribution, then gave up halfway through with a resigned “Fine, cluster them. Apparently, chaos is our aesthetic.”

“You gon’ admit it’s pretty when we done,” I warned.

“We’ll see,” she said.

When we finally stepped back, the tree glowed. Glass, glitter, ornaments that should never be near each other in theory somehow worked in practice. Big green giant standing there like it had always belonged in that foyer.

Aziza went quiet. So did Zoriah. They just stared, faces lit up.

“It’s… ours,” Aziza said softly.

Something in my chest pulled tight. Kyleigh looked at her, eyes shining in a way I knew she’d deny later.

“Yeah, baby. It’s ours,” she said.

I cleared my throat. “One thing left,” I said. “The star.”

I handed it to Aziza. She cradled it like it was fragile. “I can’t reach.”

I crouched. “That’s why you got a daddy.”

Her eyes widened. She was still getting used to that. So was I.

“Okay,” she whispered.

I lifted her slowly, her weight solid and real in my hands as she giggled. She stretched, set the star straight, tongue poked out in concentration like Kyleigh’s used to do when she lined up her eyeliner.

“Got it!” she yelled.

The star lit. The girls shrieked. Zoriah did a little victory dance. Kyleigh clapped before she caught herself and tried to turn it into a hair adjustment.

“Kyleigh. Tell the truth. It’s beautiful,” I said, looking over Aziza’s head as I set her down.

She hesitated, then exhaled. “It is,” she said quietly.

I didn’t sayI told you so. I let the moment sit.

Mr. Benton cleared his throat. “Hot cocoa is ready in the kitchen, if anyone is interested,” he announced.

“Me!” both girls shouted.

They took off, Max included, claws clicking on marble. Kyleigh shook her head.

“Walk, please,” she yelled halfheartedly.

They ignored her.

“You want some?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Yeah. I guess decorating counts as labor.”

“You did good,” I said.

“I did not yell,” she agreed. “That’s growth.”