The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

It took every single ounce of emotional maturity I had in me not to… well, I wasn’t sure how I could have reacted. But I did realize, the more I suppressed the hurt, that I couldn’t—shouldn’t—hold him being honest against him. It wasn’t news. He hadn’t cared about me, and he’d taken me for granted. At least he realized it now, right?

Yeah, telling myself that wasn’t helping much. My eyes really wanted to get teary, and I wasn’t going to let them. It wasn’t his fault.

I made sure to meet his eyes. “It’s all right. You did something now.” I took a step back. “Enjoy your food. I started putting up the tree this morning, but I stopped to return some e-mails. I’m going to go ahead and finish it.”

Those chocolate-colored eyes roamed my face for a second and I knew, though he didn’t say anything, that I’d been caught.

Whether he didn’t want to deal with me being a softie or if he understood my need to lick my wounds in private, he kept his words to himself and let me walk out of the kitchen with my heart a little burned around the edges.

I’d left a huge mess in the living room that morning. A bomb seemed to have gone off in a pile of tissues, and boxes were strewn everywhere. I’d gone shopping the day before to buy Christmas ornaments and decorations, and spent so much money, but I hadn’t minded because this was the first year I’d really have a tree of my own. I hadn’t bothered putting one up at my apartment because I was gone so much and there really hadn’t been room. Instead, I’d put up a three-foot pre-lit tree with glued on ornaments. This year though, the little tree was now in my bedroom.

Here, at Aiden and Zac’s, I scored a seven-foot Douglas pine that Zac had helped me carry and set up the night before. In a house full of tall men, there wasn’t a single step ladder in the vicinity, so I’d resorted to dragging a stool into the living room to help me reach the places I couldn’t on my own. The lights had gone on this morning, and I’d squeezed in some ornaments too.

I usually loved putting up a Christmas tree. We’d had one at my mom’s house a few times, but it wasn’t until I was with my foster parents that putting up a tree and decorating became a big deal. It had started to mean something to me. Climbing onto the stool, I couldn’t ignore the thought circling back around in my head.

He hadn’t given a shit about me.

Or at least, he hadn’t appreciated me.

That second idea was just as bitter as the first one.

I worked in silence for a little while, wrapping a beautiful red ribbon around the branches then stepping back to adjust it. I had just started opening up more boxes of ornaments when I sensed the other presence in the room.

Aiden was standing between the hallway and the living room, and his gaze was sweeping through the room, taking in the rest of the decorations I’d put up. The reindeer candles, a sparkly red Christmas tree made of wires, the wreath on the mantel, and finally, the three hanging stockings.

The three hanging stockings that I’d stitched sequins onto the night before, spelling out the first letters of each of our names. Black for Aiden, green for Zac, and gold for me.

Eventually, he tore his gaze away from the stockings and asked, “Need help?”

I’m not going to take this personally, I told myself. “Sure.” I held out the box I’d just opened in his direction.

Aiden took it, glancing from the decorations to the tree and back at me. “Where do you want them to go?”

“Wherever.”

Taking a step closer to the object of our decorative talents, he shot me a look. “Where do you want them to go, Van? I’m sure you had it planned out.”

I did, but I wasn’t going to give my help any shit. “Anywhere as long as they aren’t too close together…. Really. I just don’t want them close together…. And maybe keep them toward the top since those are small. Big ornaments go closer to the bottom.”

The sides of his mouth twitched, but he nodded seriously and went to work.

We stood there in front of the tree for the next hour, side by side. His arm brushed mine, my hip brushed his, and more than a couple of times, he caught me trying to climb up on the stool before he plucked whatever ornament I had in my hand and put it up himself. Neither one of us said much.

But once we were done, we took a couple steps back and took the seven feet of gloriousness all in.

I had to say, it was beautiful even if it looked a lot smaller with Aiden next to it. Red and gold with hints of green here and there, glass ornaments hanging from long branches, ribbon circling it—it was the kind of tree I’d dreamed about as a kid. I glanced at Aiden. His face was clean and thoughtful, and I wondered what he was thinking about. Instead though, I went with a safer question. “What do you think?”

His nostrils flared just a little and a soft, soft, soft smile perked up the corners of his mouth. “It looks like something from a department store.”

I rubbed at my arm and smiled. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

The firm man nodded. “It’s nice.”

It’s nice? From Aiden? I’d take it as ‘it’s amazing’ from just about anyone else. The more I looked at it, the more I liked it, the happier it made me, and the more grateful I was for all I had to be thankful for.

Thanks to Aiden, I was living in a wonderful house. Thanks to Aiden, I had money to buy the decorations, ornaments, and the tree. And thanks to Aiden, I had managed to save up enough money to pursue my dreams.