Page 80 of The Design of Goodbye
I gasped. “Youhaven’t?”
“I haven’t,” said Liam, as he started pouring the oil.
My mouth fell open at his nonchalance and the audacity of it all—everyone should have the experience of picking out and decorating a real Christmas tree at least once. My dad gave me a look that said,See?We need to fix this.
“Let’s go get one,” suggested my dad.
“A Christmas tree?” I asked. “Today?”
“Why not?” he said. “It’ll be fun. We can even get those apple cider doughnuts you love.”
He couldn’t be serious. Christmas was five weeks away. “Isn’t it a little early for a tree?”
“Not if we take good care of it,” he said, excitement building. “Liam needs the experience.”
“What about tutoring?” I reminded him.
“Skip it!” A grin burst across my dad’s face.
I grinned back. I didn’t care that an unwelcome voice in my head told me he only wanted to hang out with me because of Liam. I was so excited we were going to do something together I didn’t care why.
“Can we get a tall one?” I asked hesitantly. My mom had never let us get a Christmas tree taller than five feet because, according to her, tall trees were “obnoxious and intimidating.”
“The tallest,” said my dad as Liam closed the hood of the car. “All done?”
“Yeah,” said Liam. “Should be good to go.”
My dad squeezed Liam’s shoulder affectionately. “Thanks for saving me from ruining my car, kid.”
“Do you want me to take your car off the jacks?” asked Liam.
“Please,” said my dad, handing Liam the car keys. “How about I heat up some Thanksgiving leftovers to eat before we go?”
“Don’t forget the pumpkin pie,” I said.
“There’s only one piece left.” He pointed at Liam. “Don’t expect any. Last night, she threatened to burn all my aprons if I ate it.”
“That’s because I was saving the last pieceforLiam.”
My dad tripped on a step, walking into our house. “Liam, what have you done to my daughter? Shenevershares leftover pumpkin pie.” Before he closed the door, he added, “She must really like you.”
Liam was smiling when I walked over to him. He looked better than last night. Less tired. Happier. A smudge of oil was on his cheek, and, somehow, it made him cuter.
“If I would’ve known my dad was putting you to work, I would’ve come out sooner,” I said.
“I didn’t mind.”
“So—” we both said at the same time.
“You go first,” he said.
“You want to come with us, right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “If you want me to.”
“I want.”
“Okay, cool.” He grinned. “So,” he started, taking his oily plastic gloves off, “is what your dad said true?”
