Anael

I did kind of miss ornaments.

Shiny bulbs and sparkly icicles. A fuzzy snowman with a little toothpick pipe dangled by his hat. Santa and his reindeer suspended near the top of the tree, "Like they're flying!" according to my darling Ronitah.

I was doing this for her. If it were up to me, I would continue to never celebrate Christmas. Dylan only convinced me to celebrate because Ronitah was getting older, and this was the age where these traditions were what she needed. She would wake up from her nap and squeal with delight at the tree.

Decorating was what kept me busy--distracted.

I smiled as I opened the ornament box that Dylan had bought for her. Chistmasy Winnie the Pooh characters: Pigglet holding a gift, Roo in a blue scarf, Winnie the Pooh dressed like Santa. I knew she would love them, and I made sure to place them lower on the tree for her.

"Hey, babe?" called Dylan, from the garage. He was getting the rest of the Christmas stuff down from the attic.

"By the tree," I yelled back, admiring Owl wrapped in tinsel. After a few moments, I heard his soft footsteps on the carpet. I twisted around, and my mouth fell open at what he held.

Anael.

"I was just looking around and I saw it," he said.

Anael the Angel. My old tree topper.

"I, uh, wasn't sure if you wanted it."

Her blue dress was dusty, and her wings looked twisted. Her spring was bouncing in his hand.

"Are you okay? Baby, you're pale."

I felt sick, sweaty. Suddenly I was seven years old again, and I heard the bang of the fallen ladder and saw Grami on the ground next to me.

"Desi? Baby?" Grami's twisted body was replaced by Dyl's concerned face, his beautiful blue eyes, his brown hair. The angel was out of sight, and he was cupping my head, touching me gently. Dylan knew what I was feeling. "Shh, Desiree, baby, it's okay. I'm sorry." He moved to sit next to me, avoiding the ornament boxes, and my head fell into his chest.

Anael, the Angel of Winter.

My hands shook at the images flooding my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on Dylan's thumb rubbing my hand. "It's okay baby," he whispered into my hair. He squeezed my hand, and I opened my eyes. "Oreo's," he said, pointing with his other hand at our interlocked fingers.

A hoarse laugh fell out of me. I still wondered if that was racist, but I didn't mind when I was seventeen with him and I didn't mind today. Felling a little better, I kissed his shoulder as thanks and said, "Where's the angel?"

Dylan reached behind us and, like a sinister magic trick, she appeared in his hands. Seeing her made me see so many other things, but I was an adult now. I had to be mature.

Looking at her doll face, trying to think of something mature, I said, "I don't know what to do."

Dyl smiled understandingly, and then looked at the tree topper. He moved her between his hands, and I watched the movement. I considered chucking the thing out the window, but then I thought of Mom.

"I mean," he said in thought. "I could just throw this away if you want. Right now, go put it in the bin. I know-- Well, I don't know how you feel towards this, exactly, but if you want it gone..."

He left the offer hanging, and I shook my head. It felt wrong for some reason.

He nodded. I twisted a coil of my hair. I was reminded that Ronitah wouldn't have a Grami of her own.