December 1, 1988 – 13 months old
As a young adult, when Laura had, quite secretly, dreamt of her future family, inevitably those musings had revolved around her most favorite of holidays: Christmas. Specific details of her home, husband, even child, were hazy, but there one vision was always crystal clear: A decorated hearth, a fire burning, and a stunning tree, its lights twinkling, adjacent to but at an angle from the fireplace.
The first year in their new home, those dreams had never even niggled at her memory. The towering tree in their foyer, which stood nearly as tall as their soaring ceilings, had been… perfect. But this year those dreams had resurfaced with more regularity than they'd ever come before.
It was only in wishing to recreate the dream that Laura had happened upon the one and only flaw she'd ever found in their perfect home: there was no way to bring that vision to life. The fireplace in the living room was flanked on either side by custom, built in bookcases, tucked back into what she'd once considered cozy little nooks, while her piano sat at an angle to the left of the fireplace. And at an angle to the right? The doorway between the living room and entry way. Even worse? The arch of their cathedral theory met in the center of the room, meaning the ceiling was at its lowest point on either side of the fireplace.
She watched, forlorn, as her dream fell to ashes and had no choice but to settle for less.
The armchair and small table tucked into the nook on the right of the fireplace, were removed and a tree, much shorter and slimmer than the one in her dreams, was installed in their stead. Perfection it was not, but at least they'd be able to enjoy a cozy fire and the festive tree at the same time, as in her dream.
Compromise complete, the halls had been decked, the tree trimmed, and that evening, after the sun had eased beneath the horizon, she and Remington had stretched out on the floor watching as Olivia, dressed in a pair of footie pajamas, toddled around the tree, transfixed by those twinkling lights and glimmering orbs. Tipsily, she ran from tree to stand before her father.
"Da!" Eyes wide, she patted his cheeks with her tiny hands, then returned to the tree to touch a golden ball, her mouth forming an expressive 'o.' He chuckled low in his throat, his eyes leaving his daughter, to rest on Laura's face.
"I believe she may have inherited your yuletide cheer, love," he observed. She reached out and brushed that stubborn lock of hair back from his forehead.
"I'd like to think so." She gave him a wry look. "Although I suspect it's more your love for shiny objects," she laughed, nodding towards the baby who'd managed to relieve the tree of a gold ball and was clasping it in her hands. His laughter joined her own. "Livvie, may Mommy have that please?" she requested, sitting up and holding out a hand.
Olivia looked from her mother, to the object in her hand, then back at her mother, before heading the opposite direction, unwilling to give up her precious bauble. Remington easily rolled to his other side then to a seated position, a long arm shooting out to snag his daughter around the waist and reel her in as she squealed. Rolling again, he settled her on her feet between he and Laura. Taking the ornament from the baby, Laura held it up by its string, light making the glitter sparkle as it spun, then settled.
"It is pretty, isn't it?" she asked the baby. "Ball. Can you say ball?"
"Ba!" Olivia chortled, her eyes on the prize her Mommy held.
"Very good, Livvie!" Laura praised, then stood and took the baby's hand, returning to the tree. "The ball belongs on the tree," she explained, then stooped down to hang the ball back on a lower branch. "And you," she laughed as Livvie reached again for the decoration, "Belong in bed," she announced as she picked the baby up and tapped her with a fingertip on the nose.
Olivia wiggled and squirmed, keeping her eyes on the pretty prize until they were halfway up the stairs and the tree could no longer be seen.
"No, no, Olivia," Laura told the baby. Livvie turned to look at her mother, wide eyed. No was certainly a word the little one understood, and one she rarely appreciated hearing. Lip jutting out, she nevertheless withdrew the hand which had been reaching for an ornament. "That's a good girl, baby," Laura praised. Olivia grinned and toddled over to her where her mother sat on the couch, a file on her lap. Setting aside the file when Olivia raised her arms, Laura lifted her into her lap and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Together they looked at the tree.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Laura murmured.
"Breathtaking," Remington agreed, from the other end of the couch, his compliment have nothing, whatsoever, to do with the tree, and having everything to do with woman and child.
"No, no, Olivia," Laura reprimanded softly, as she removed the ornament from her daughter's hand. "The ball—"
"Ba!"
"Yes, the ball. You're such a smart girl, baby," Laura praised, then resumed her short lecture, "But the ball…" she held it up "Stays on the tree," she reminded, underscoring her point by rehanging the ornament as she spoke.
From where she stood in the kitchen pouring herself a second cup of coffee, Laura started and her nose crinkled as the unmistakable sound of a fragile glass ornament shattering against the floor reached her ears. Carelessly setting her mug on the counter, the contents sloshing over the side, she hurried into the living room, plucking Olivia off the floor and away from the shards of glass
Her infant daughter reared back and tried to wriggle out of her arms, as Laura carried her towards the dining room where a playpen full of toys awaited. Grasping the rail of the playpen, Olivia let out an ear splitting screech letting her unhappiness be known.
"It's never too early to learn, Livvie," Laura called to her as she retrieved broom and dustpan from the utility closet in the kitchen. "You do the crime, you pay the time."
Laura sorted lights and darks, as the washing machine filled, listening all the while to the pitter-patter of Olivia's small feet on the wood floors of the living room as she ran around, her giggles trickling through the air. She smiled to herself as she added an assortment of Olivia's clothes along with a few select pieces of her and Remington's washables to the tub full of water, when she heard the front door close, heralding Remington's return from his morning polo match. He and Livvie would soon depart for their Saturday morning routine of a trip to the market and dry cleaners, while she quickly dusted the house then soaked in a hot, sudsy tub.
"Da! Da da!" she could hear their daughter call to him happily from the other room.
"You've had a busy morning, I see, a stór," he replied to their daughter, the laughter, even unseen, clear in his voice. Brows furrowing, Laura joined the twosome in the living room to see what had amused her husband so.
"Livvie…" she bemoaned on an exhale.
On the baby's blanket, spread out on the floor in front of the couch, amongst her shape sorters, teddy bear and blocks, sat an assortment of treasures: nine sparkling glass orbs from the Christmas tree. Seeing the look of despair on Laura's face, Remington couldn't help but laugh again.
"She's your daughter, Mr. Steele," Laura groused at him, half in jest. "Maybe you can make her understand the ornaments belong on the tree."
On a lazy Saturday afternoon, some two weeks after the tree went up, Remington was in the kitchen preparing a small snack for the family, when he grimaced at the sound of yet another glass ball shattering in the room beyond.
"Oh, Livvie…" he overheard Laura groan.
Wiping off his hands, he retrieved broom and dustpan without being asked. As he turned the corner from kitchen to dining and living room, he watched as Laura delivered an angry Olivia to her playpen before she turned on her heels and marched from the room. Stooping down to clean up the pieces of glass, his brows raised in surprise when he heard the clang of metal against metal as Laura grabbed the keys to her Jeep from the bowl on the entry way credenza.
"Where are you going, love?" he inquired, when she picked up her purse.
"I'll be back in a little while," she answered, vaguely, then seconds later disappeared through the front door.
An hour and a half later, he and Olivia watched from where they were playing on the living room floor, as Laura carefully packed away the remaining glass balls on the bottom third of the tree, replacing each with a glitter covered plastic ball.
"I must say, Laura, I can't remember a time when I've ever seen you surrender to the will of another," Remington mused. Standing, she sat the box of glass ornaments on the mantle to be put away, then joined her husband and child at Olivia's blanket.
"There's a difference between acceptance and surrender," she pointed out, her hand reaching out to stroke Olivia's hair. "If after six years I still haven't managed to fully stop your pursuit of shiny objects, how can I expect to convince your daughter in only six weeks?"
His eyes lit with laughter and a wide smile graced his face.
From that day forward, it became commonplace to listen to the sound of balls bouncing against the hardwood floor, when Olivia's joyous laughter wasn't filling the air as she raced across the room with a shiny ornament, fully believing she'd managed to put one past her parents.