"This is going to be epic," Emma beamed, stretching the last few feet of Christmas lights toward the outlet. She had spent a good three hours hammering nails and draping multicolored lights from the roof and porch, her head filled with the picturesque image of twinkling lights amidst the falling snow, outlining the house with Christmas cheer.
"Okay, you ready?" she yelled over her shoulder.
"Yeah, I've been ready!" Neal called back from his position at the end of the driveway. "Come on, Em, it's freezing out here! Hurry up!"
"Drumroll, please!"
"Plug in the goddamn lights."
Emma rolled her eyes. Scrooge. She pulled the end of the wire toward the outlet, tightening the slack through her fingers, and…
No.
It was too short. By one fucking inch, it was too short.
"No, no, no, no, no," she muttered, fumbling with the cord. Surely she could squeeze one measly inch out of this! It wasn't too short, it couldn't be too short! She'd spent three hours on this, and it was going to be beautiful, goddamn it! It couldn't be too short! It was going to be the best-looking house in the neighborhood, a million times better than any of their stupid, soccer-mom neighbors.
"Come on!" she begged, squeezing her eyes shut as she pulled. "Come on, please?" This wasn't happening—this wasn't happening!
"Emma?" She heard Neal's boots crunch the snow as he trudged up the driveway. "Em, what's wrong?"
"I can't—!" Emma gritted her teeth, pulling the lights tighter. "It's too short—NO!"
The lights had snapped, and she fell back, holding a frayed little piece; she stared in horror at the little bits of copper and wire hanging out of the rubber.
"Emma," Neal said gently, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Hey…"
"No…" She held the little piece of wire numbly in her hand, her head tingling with heartbreak and horror.
"It's okay," Neal reassured her, guiding her to a stand. "It's going to be fine."
"I broke it."
"I know."
"I spent three hours on it."
"I know."
Emma slowly turned, looking up at him with big, tear-filled eyes. "It was going to look so goddamn good, you don't even know," she whispered. "It was going to be epic."
"It is epic," Neal said firmly, turning her around to prod her into the house.
"An epic failure," she said miserably.
"A valiant effort," he declared. "Santa will be pleased with you."
"But—" Emma turned back around, looking helplessly at the dangling, dead lights. "But…lights."
Neal looked at her for a long time; then closed his eyes, sighing reluctantly. "All right," he said, taking her hand and leading her down the porch steps. "Let's go to the store…we'll get some more lights."
"And—and you'll help me hang them up tonight?" she asked hopefully. "I want us to be the first ones on the street with our lights out, so everyone else feels like a cynical bastard compared to us."
"That's my girl," Neal said wearily. "Look at that Christmas spirit."