“Thank you, though,” I stammer, feeling a little like I might have insulted him.
He wrings the back of his neck with his hand and gives me a low chuckle. “Okay. So when you come to the front claiming that this tree attacked you and that your arms are butchered, don’t say I didn’t offer to help. Dad will get upset if he thinks we’re not doing our jobs.”
I look down at my bare arms and then to his fully covered ones and realize just how stupid I must appear. Christmas trees aren’t necessarily the friendliest of plants out there. Why on earth didn’t it occur to me the amount of gashes I’d sustain by trying to wrangle it sleeveless?
“I see your point.” I push down my shirtsleeves but haven’t given up on my quest. Widening my stance around the tree, I bend my knees slightly and wrap it in a bear hug, lifting it about six inches off the gravel until my muscles tremble and I have no other option but to set it down gently before it crashes loudly to the ground. “Should I pay for this first?” I ask, creating an excuse and a reason for my forfeit.
“Yeah,” the worker says, smiling an I-told-you-so grin. “Tell Dad it’s a six footer.”
“Got it.” I slip my wallet out and turn toward the entrance. Cora and the other twin are pressed closer to one another than they need to be, and I can hear him trying to upsell her on some flocking service they offer here at the lot.
“Which vehicle is yours?” The boy who’s been helping me calls out from behind.
Without turning around, I sag my shoulders and answer, “The blue Ford Ranger,” and make my walk of shame toward the cashier. I still don’t understand it—I’m not sure I ever will—but at some point, I need to learn to accept the help offered from others. I just wish life hadn’t made that so hard for me to do.
Both my tree and Cora’s outrageous, fake snow-covered one are strapped into the truck bed. I’ve been waiting patiently for her and striped-scarf boy to finish up their flirt-fest, but it’s getting dark and I really would like to head back home before the moon makes its nightly debut. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I’m even home in time for Christmas.
The two are leaning up against the passenger side of the truck, still talking about trees if that is at all humanly possible, when I push my hand forcefully into the center of the steering wheel. Cora lifts about ten feet in the air, and when she grounds herself, punches an angry fist into the truck’s metal frame.
“Are you serious, Maggie?” she seethes. Tree Guy is doubled over in laughter and I can see the venom in her eyes when she takes notice of his obvious entertainment in her overly dramatic reaction.
“Here.” He hands her a paper that I assume has his number scribbled on, and actually bends over to brush a kiss on her cheek. Any annoyance Cora had slips from her as she presses on toe and plants one full on his mouth. I just about gag on my own bile, but force my gaze forward, so as not to intrude in their impromptu make-out session. This is all so very Cora.
Despite my frustration and eagerness to get home, I let about three more minutes go by before I hover my hand over the horn a second time. Luckily, they’ve wrapped up their parking lot kiss and she’s climbing back into the cab before I have to sound the horn again.
“Wow!” she exclaims, sliding low into her seat like she’s Jell-O. “That was hot!”
“That was not hot,” I disagree. “You don’t even know the guy, Cora.”
Her eyes bug out. “Uh, right. That’s what makes it so hot. Don’t be jealous because you’ve known Ran what—like two months—and he still hasn’t kissed you.”
“Well, you’ve only known that guy like two minutes,” I defend, pulling the truck out of the lot and onto the country road toward campus. “And I haven’t really known Ran that long. I mean, yeah, the accident happened back then, but it’s not even like we’re dating.”
“And you think that guy and I are?” She crumples up the paper he’d given her between her perfectly manicured fingers and chucks it to the floorboards. “He’s not really my type. I think talking about trees turned him on more than