This again. I allow myself a smirk. Every year it’s the same routine. Turtledove asks for the biggest tree on the lot, while my dad steers him to the second-biggest tree, thereby saving the biggest for our family.
It’s one of the major benefits of running a Christmas tree lot.
I head for the office, figuring I’ll do my dad a solid and get his dinner nuked so it’ll be ready when he’s finished dealing with Turtledove. I pull the microwave meal from the cooler pack and notice that my mom included Plum’s gift when I wasn’t looking, which must mean it’s edible, not that I check.
Once the meal is in motion, the carousel circling slowly, I pass by the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of my dad duping Turtledove yet again, when Turtledove says, “And this year, I don’t want your second-biggest tree. I want your absolute biggest tree.” He smiles in a way that only his lips are participating. “Jig’s up, Dashaway. I know you’ve been saving the best for yourself, but this year I’m paying top dollar. With the way things are going, now that The Depot’s moved in, you might want to reconsider this little game of yours.”
I smash my cheek against the cold glass, watching as my dad—without the slightest hesitation, without even putting up a fight—leads him straight to the tree we tagged as ours.
And it’s only a few moments later when he’s standing in the doorway, saying, “Come on, now’s your big chance. I need some help loading up a tree, and it turns out you’re just the man for the job.” He tries to make it sound like a reason to celebrate, but one look at his face and it’s easy to see just how much this is costing him.
“What about Steve, or Rick?” I say, refusing to budge from my place. “Or whatever high school kid you hired this year?”
My dad squints in a way that makes his hazel eyes—eyes that look just like mine—sort of recede. “Didn’t hire anyone.” He wipes a hand across his brow. “Figured you were the only man I needed.” When that still doesn’t convince me, he says, “Nick, what gives?” His voice betrays his irritation. “You’ve been begging for this job since you were five. Your wish came true. Now let’s go—Turtledove’s waiting!”
My wish came true.
Wrong wish, but hey, what’s the difference?
I really want to stand my ground. Say no way José and point out the all-too-obvious fact that between my dad, King Turtledove, Prince Turtledove, and yeah, even Queen Turtledove, they should be able to handle it themselves. I mean, if they’re so intent on stealing our tree (never mind that he’s paying top dollar for it), then surely they can manage to heave it into His Majesty’s customized truck.
But when the lines on my dad’s forehead sink even deeper, there’s really no choice but surrender.
I mean, what’s one more humiliation in an otherwise completely humiliating day?
It’s not until I’m already outside and see Mac leaning against his mom’s Mercedes in that annoying movie-star way, phone still glued to his ear, that I remember I’m still wearing the extremely unfortunate homemade Christmas sweater.
The one featuring a giant reindeer with a bright red nose made of an actual pom-pom.
The second he sees it, Mac starts howling. Hand-clutching-belly, doubled-over howling. Stopping long enough to snap a cell-phone pic, probably so he can text it to all his cool-table friends, before he starts howling again.*
I duck my head and push past him. I mean, he’s already seen it, so there’s no use hiding. I follow my dad deep into the lot, and we practically kill ourselves hauling the monster tree into the bed of Turtledove’s truck while His Highness stands on the sidelines, giving us repeated warnings to be mindful of his customized paint job.
When it’s finally over, Mac is still going on about my sweater as he decides to ride home with his dad. Mrs. Turtledove, having eyeballed the horizontal tree from the comfort of her Mercedes, squints her approval and leaves. My dad and I are now stiff with sap, itching from pine needles, and staring into the Turtledoves’ dust as the family caravans off the lot.
“So, what’d you think?” my dad says. “Was it everything you dreamed it would be? Biggest one on the lot. It can only get easier from here!” He grins and slaps a friendly hand on my back, going to great lengths to make the situation seem so much better than it is. But it’s clear he’s feeling as defeated as I do.
My first impulse is to say something crummy, but I don’t have the heart. I’m tired of the Turtledoves. Tired of today. Tired of seeing my dad look so tired.
I smile weakly and follow him back inside the shop. His cell phone starts chiming, and my mom’s voice blares through the speaker, asking how soon she can expect the tree to be delivered.
“Why don’t you go hang out in the office?” My dad presses a hand over the speaker. “Clean yourself up. Take a load off.”
“But what about your dinner?” I say, wanting to stick around, see how he’ll break the news to my mom. “I put it in the microwave. It should be ready by now.”