“I live here now.”
“I know.”
“Sometimes it doesn't feel like it.”
I did not know what to say.
Because for the first time, I understood.
Not agreed.
Understood.
Renee felt like a guest.
Mom existed everywhere despite being dead.
Photos.
Stories.
Ornaments.
Grandma.
Me.
Maybe even Dad.
Renee had entered a family already shaped around someone absent.
That had to be hard.
So I said:
“I’m sorry.”
Her expression softened.
I continued:
“But I don't want Mom gone.”
“I’m not asking that.”
“It feels like it.”
Silence.
Then she said:
“Put the heart up.”
I did.
For a moment, I thought we had survived something important.
Then Friday happened.
Dad left before sunrise.
A job site inspection.
He expected to return by three.
Grandma Pearl arrived around eleven carrying sweet potato pie and a bag of gifts.
Renee seemed surprised.
“I thought you were coming tomorrow.”
“I changed my mind.”
Grandma kissed my forehead.
Then glanced toward both trees.
Her eyes lingered on Mom’s.
“Looks right.”
I smiled.
Renee carried the pie to kitchen.
Grandma noticed the gingerbread house.
“Well.”
she said.
“That is something.”
Renee smiled proudly.
“Church competition.”
“When?”
“Christmas Eve.”
“You built all that?”
“Yes.”
Grandma leaned close.
“Impressive.”
It was.
Grandma gave praise honestly.
That mattered later.
Lunch was slightly uncomfortable but civil.
Malik and Zoe watched a movie.
Grandma sat near fireplace knitting.
I worked on the old tree.
One ornament hook needed replacing.
Renee moved through room adjusting decorations.
Then she stopped.
She was staring at the two trees.
Her tree.
Perfect.
Mine.
Messy.
Full.
She looked at me.
“Amara.”
I knew tone.
“Yes?”
“I need you to take that one down.”
Grandma Pearl looked up from knitting.