the color yellow // l.s.

30.

— Twelve days until Christmas —

Part II:

"Oh, we've picked a wonderful tree! Good eye, Gemma!" Anne happily claps once the Christmas tree had been set up.

It was a bit of a struggle this time around. Their Dad actually handled this bit of Christmas, with strapping a tree onto the roof of the car and tying it up. It was a learning curve for everyone. But it was fun, cold, and a lovely day to pick out a tree. It's finally dropped, he thinks, after leaving it up for a few hours. Harry's too excited, anyway, so he wants to start decorating immediately.

"You've got some Christmas cheer, Harry!" His Mum says with sweet smile. "What's different?"

Harry nearly panics. His mind says: I'm dating a boy! But his mouth says: "Dad's not here to yell at me."

She instantly nods. "You're right. So much better without that." She then turns her head around the room frantically. "Harry, dear, we need music!"

And it's like he's been waiting his entire life for her to say that.

In an instant he drops the roll of lights he was in the middle of untangling to rush up into his room and pull out festive Christmas albums. Elvis Presley was an obvious choice—and his Mum has a soft spot for the King. He's back downstairs in no time to get the record player dusted off and ready for the album about to be played, and as soon as he lifts the needle over the record, gently places it on the first line, and hears the smooth crackle of the music, he feels rather content with life.

Usually the tree is put up with his father yelling at him for doing the lights wrong, or for messing anything up that got in his way, but he actually finds it fun without him. It's fun to string up lights and dance to Elvis with his Mum and sister (as lame as that sounds!), and decorate the tree with the baubles collected and made over time. Harry found ones he made as a child for Anne, along with Gemma, and together they laughed at how horrible it was. Both of them tired themselves out with dancing and drinking too much wine, so they left Harry to toss on the tinsel. Which is annoying timing, considering how messy tinsel is.

He half-heartedly does this part, tossing it whichever way, and hoping it lands on the tree.

"Harry, that's terrible!" His Mum snorts out. "You're getting it all over the floor!"

He turns at once, his box of tinsel in hand, and doesn't think twice before tossing strands of tinsel at his mother. "I don't see you trying to help me!"

She laughs loudly and nearly spills wine on the couch, and even Gemma starts to give into her giggles. Harry turns to Gemma and starts tossing some in her direction as well.

"Hey! What's that about!"

Harry shrugs. "Not helping!"

"Don't be a Scrooge, darling!" Anne says, her cheeks red. She's basically drunk at this point.

"I'm not!" Harry defends. He huffs and slowly turns around to finish the job he's given up on, the soft voice of Elvis continuing in the background to fill the quiet. "I'm done."

"You missed a spot," Gemma says.

Harry places his hands on his hips and takes a step back, eyes raking up and down the tree slowly. "I did not."