Christmas Traditions I'll Never Do Again

two: chainsaws are a bad idea

It doesn't take long for Aimee to give me my first assignment. I haven't even been in Colorado for a full day and I'm already tasked with taking the girls to pick out another Christmas tree for the front door.

Maybe I just didn't grow up name-brand-soda-rich, but I don't think anyone has both a living room and a front door tree.

But I suspect there's another motivation behind this errand.

Aimee's calling it "Operation Christmas Tree" but in my opinion, however, it should be called "Get These Girls Out of My House for a Few Hours or So Help Me I Will Burn This Place to the Ground".

Aimee is getting everything ready for the Brewards, which is apparently one of those family-friends that achieve the titles of honorary aunt and uncle. At least they're not surprise long-lost relatives as I'd suspected.

Even though I'd never tell her this, Aimee reminds me so much of Mom in the way she stresses out about company coming over. As if the Brewards will just walk in and head straight for the corners of the walk-in pantry and move the flour container so they can judge her for the speck of dust behind it.

Mom used to do the same thing--she'd be cleaning for a week before anyone came over. Heaven forbid anyone saw that we lived like actual people.

Aimee's been a machine over the past few hours even though we still have two days before they come.

"I'm so behind, I'm sorry!" she keeps apologizing because she hasn't even sat down to make painful small talk with me yet. Little does she know that she's sparing me the suffering.

Currently, my freezing hands are trying to buckle Dusty's seatbelt.

"I don't need a car seat anymore," she boasts.

"Because you're a big girl," I reply.

She rolls her eyes. "No. Because I'm invincible."

I squint at her. "Not when you fly through a windshield going at seventy miles an hour."

She sticks her tongue out at me.

I climb into the passenger seat of Aimee's minivan. I haven't driven a car that wasn't my own since I was nineteen. And at the time, I had a backseat full of empty oxygen tanks I'd stolen from the hospital, which obviously didn't talk as much or have as breakable bodies as the girls in my backseat now. But that's another story.

After adjusting my seat seven times to get the right angle, we're on the road.

I take a deep breath. It's just like old times.

"Aunt Beverly?" Dusty says. "Why can't I see my eyes?"

Yep, just like old times.

"Why don't you take them out and get a good look at them?" I suggest.

Half a second later, I hear Eloise and Jemma shout, "No, Dusty!" as they dive to yank her arms away from her face.

"Aunt Bev," Eloise reprimands.

I grin. "Sorry." I turn down a narrow road that has jagged rock formations jutting up from either side, with pine trees lining the asphalt and sticking up from the mountains high above.

"So do you guys usually go get another Christmas tree two days before Christmas?" I ask.

"No," Eloise says. "I think Mom just wanted us out of the house for a while."

Or wants me out of the house, I correct inwardly. I wonder if Aimee thinks it was a mistake inviting me over. It wouldn't be the first time.

Ten minutes later, the minivan drives beneath a plywood arbor with Jimminy Christmas Tree Farm painted in red at the top.

Unsurprisingly, we're the only ones there because everyone in their right mind already has their one singular tree that goes in their living room.

The young woman at the outside counter looks excited to see us. When I walk up to the window, I can feel the heat coming from inside and it's all I can do to keep from climbing in there and never coming out.

Virginia is cold, but never like this.

The air has a bite to it, like a Taco Bell Pepsi. If you drink one of those, your eyes start to water, and it's unlike any other carbonated drink you've ever had. I bundle my coat tighter.

"Hi!" the girl says. "Welcome to Jimminy Christmas Tree Farm!"

"We'll take the whole farm!" Dusty says, slapping a wad of Monopoly money on the counter. Had she been practicing for that?

"We'll actually probably only take 0.003 of the farm," I correct. "Just one tree, please."

Through Dusty's loud interjections, I use Aimee's card to pay and receive a ticket to cash in when I leave, then I get handed a small, but very dangerous looking chainsaw.

"What's this?" I ask, holding it up.

"A chainsaw," the girl says. "To, um, cut down your tree?"

"I have to cut it myself?" I ask, shocked. "Then what did I just pay for?"

"It's just for fun," she says.

I squint. "Me paying to do manual labor myself is supposed to be fun?"

"C'mon, Aunt Bev," Eloise says quietly. "This is how you're supposed to do it."

I blink, still processing everything. But then I remember that Christmas is filled with strange novelty traditions that aren't convenient or practical--like stuffing gifts inside a sock you can't even wear. Or putting lights on top of a roof that you can neither see from inside or use whatsoever.

"Okay," I reply reluctantly. "Let's go gather around a spinning blade and kill a tree that was born to die. Merry Christmas."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I have some good news...I am officially on Christmas break, which means I have time to fulfill all my writing to-dos! So look for another chapter this week <.<

~How will this chainsaw ordeal go?

~Will Bev ever *not* be a scrooge? =P

~General thoughts?