Part VI. Christmas Tree Farm
—
December 23, 2022
"Plan on waking up anytime soon?"
Annabeth peeks through one eye sleepily to find Percy standing above her, stifling a laugh. She groans and closes her eyes again, shoving her face back into the pillow and tightening the heavy comforter around her body.
"It's noon."
Annabeth hums, content. "Is it?"
"It is," he says. He grabs her foot beneath the comforter, shaking it until she opens her eyes. When she does so she can shoot him an annoyed look, he adds, "I would know. I've been up for hours."
"That's your own fault," she mumbles, snatching her foot from his grasp.
"You took my bed," he says. "Technically your fault."
Annabeth shrugs, stifling a smile into his pillow. "You offered."
He laughs. "Thought I'd get it back in less than sixteen hours."
"It was only twelve," she chides.
He doesn't respond to that, but she feels something thump onto her back. She tries to ignore it, but then it's moving around and curling up on top of her back, and she recognizes what it is.
She lifts her head questioningly to find herself locking onto familiar wide eyes.
"I went to grab the cat," he says, holding his forearm up to her sight. "Beared a nasty scratch for you."
She moves from beneath the comforter so she can turn onto her back and caress the cat. Percy sits on the bed, still turning his arm around to observe the scratch.
"She got her temper from you," Percy says dryly.
Annabeth coos at the cat. "You stole her from her home."
"To see you. Ungrateful cat."
Percy's quiet for a few minutes, watching her play with Maisie and really wake up. It takes a few minutes for her to remember why she's there in the first place. It doesn't hurt as much now that she's somewhere far away, somewhere the dull twinkling lights can't reach her. They hadn't done much after they got to his house. They sat in his bed, an ocean of space between them, and they'd talked. At some point, his mother wandered in, and that was the best reunion she's had. That night was the first time she felt like the barrier between them had been lifted. She'll have to go back, but not right now.
"You're still here," she says.
"I do live here."
"It's noon," she mocks. "You could've kicked me out at any point, you know."
"You already know why I haven't."
Right.
I am here because, believe it or not, people can still love you even when you hurt them.
Annabeth ignores it. She doesn't allow herself to ponder his words, but if she did, she would think that six years wasn't enough for her to leave his mind either. She would think that she should've never left, should've taken the road less traveled, should've done anything to bring him with her or find a way to stay. She would begin to remember just how much she really does love him and how she was an idiot to ever let it go, or how she's home now laying in the warmest bed she's ever known. How he's still standing there in front of her, both of them knowing that there's an invisible string between them but also knowing that things can't be the same as much as she wants them to be.
She doesn't think of any of it.
"I did think I should wake you up, though," he says. "Your dad asked if you were with me."
Annabeth groans. "What did you say?"
"I said you're in my bed. Let him draw his own conclusions."
"Oh my god."
He laughs and reaches onto his nightstand to toss her phone. "Relax. I didn't say anything. You should probably answer."
"He'll figure it out eventually." She lifts the cat now to bring her beneath the blanket. It's a lot like a stuffed animal in her arms. Percy's looking at her like she's crazy because he'd definitely be torn to shreds holding Maisie like that, but it's just the way Maisie has always been with Annabeth. "So are there any plans for today, or did you wake me up for your own amusement?"
"You know what I don't want to do? Decorate a Christmas tree. You know what my mom has been asking me to do for a month?"
Annabeth grins. "Maybe you should be a better son."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Can I pick the colors?"
His troublemaker smile is her answer.
It takes a while for her to get ready, mainly because she keeps playing with the cat. He must not bring her home often because Maisie wanders the halls in curiosity while Percy follows after begging the cat not to destroy the furniture. He tells her the last time Maisie left the bookstore was over a year before during a severe snowstorm that took the town out for days. She tries to convince him to bring the cat, even suggesting using a leash, and while she's not being serious, Percy seems to question her sanity. It's fun.
By the time they do make it out of the house and to the Christmas tree farm, it's nearly two hours later.
Annabeth is not impressed.
"You should've come earlier," she tells him, eyeing the trees dismissively. They're sad excuses for trees, the branches thin and sparse.
Percy says nothing. She turns to look at him.
"All the good ones are gone."
"No," he tries. "We can find a good one."
"There's…no hope. Like," she pinches her fingers, "not even a sliver of hope."
Percy sighs.
"Can we get a fake tree?"
"Fake trees are for fake people."
"My family uses a fake tree."
"Case in point."
Annabeth chokes.
"You were thinking it," he accuses, but he takes his hands out of his coat to gently push between her shoulder blades to get her to move. They continue down the empty trail (since most people have enough sense to buy the tree more than a few days before Christmas) only to find more lousy trees. They're almost cute, though, perfectly imperfect. They don't really have any other choice, and she figures she can fill the gaps with an absurd amount of lights. They'll need to stop at Target again to grab some more, but she's sure it won't be too much of a problem.
"This one is cute," she points out, moving to stand next to it. "It's so short."
"Short," he repeats in disbelief. "Because that's the perfect tree."
"There are, like, five trees here."
"Let's go somewhere else," he says. "We can steal a tree from someone's yard."
"I like this one," she says. "It reminds me of Trash from Toy Story."
"That's…an oddly accurate representation."
Annabeth preens.
The tree does look like Trash. Its leaves are sparse, just as all the others, but the trunk is also crooked like a spine with scoliosis. She could spruce it up with lights, though it's doubtful the branches could withstand the weight of as many ornaments it would need to look somewhat decent.
"It's perfect," she breathes, smiling in awe at her vision.
"One snowball could take that thing down."
"What?" She's distracted, chewing slowly on her lip attempting to envision other ways to make the tree look better. She doesn't hear the grunt Percy gives as he bends down, or the loud packing of snow between his fists.
Really, she should've seen it coming.
A snowball hits her square in the back of her head, the force pushing her forward a few inches.
Annabeth turns her head, a murderous glint in her eye.
Percy looks just as shocked as her. She could've been fooled if his black gloves weren't coated in the remnants of snow from the attack.
He turns around to face an empty path. "Who did that?"
"I wonder."
"Wasn't me," he says, looking back at her, shit-eating smile plastered to his lips.
"Of course not. It was definitely the cashier who happens to be the only other person here." Annabeth rubs the back of her head. "If you wanted a different tree, you could've just said so instead of trying to knock me into a coma."
"To be fair, I was aiming for the tree."
"I was aiming for the tree," she mocks.
Percy really does try not to laugh, but he fails miserably. She stands idle, hands at her side and neck cold from the snow that falls into the crack at the back of her coat, watching him snicker at her. It's adorable, the way he tries to cover his mouth out of kindness, the way his eyes crinkle and torso shakes. She doesn't have it in her to be mad.
"Are you done yet?"
"Not a chance," he says, smiling wide. "I'm sorry, though. I really was aiming for the tree."
"You have terrible aim."
Percy's lips press together to stifle another bout of laughter, and she knows what causes it this time. She groans in remembrance of the inside joke, shooting him a dirty look while he stands innocently and shrugs.
"You said it," he says.
"Get your mind out of the gutter," she chastises. She goes to stand directly in front of him, and she's reminded of how he towers over her. "Now you have to get the tree."
"I'm not wasting money on a sickly tree. It's probably diseased."
"You attempted homicide via snowball. You owe the poor tree."
He grins adoringly, and a tingle spreads from the back of her neck. She likes to think that there are multiple universes, and in one of them, she chose to stay. In that universe, they'd still be here amidst flying snowballs arguing over trees to decorate the apartment they own. In that universe, it wouldn't really matter which tree they end up with so long as it was for the two of them. She doesn't think there would be any kids by that point, but it's possible. The thought still warms her from the snow, imagining being at a Christmas tree farm with a toddler or two just like they always spoke about before they broke up.
"Do you really want the tree?" he asks.
"I've grown attached to it," she says, eyeing the pine needles.
"You've been here for two minutes."
He means at the Christmas tree farm, but she hasn't been home all that long either. It feels impossible that she's back here imagining children, imagining if she never left, imagining his arms around her, herself waking up in his bed, falling asleep next to him. She imagines it all, and she's been here two minutes.
She tilts her head, pleading, and it's then that she knows they're getting the tree.
He whines about it, but she reminds him that she's confident she can make it look decent. It really shouldn't be too hard. They need plenty of ornaments to fill the gaps, and Christmas lights to make it worth it, and probably a few fake presents to place under the tree.
"Anything else?" he asks sarcastically.
"Garland would be cute," she says.
"And who's paying for those five boxes of ornaments you plan on getting?" He watches carefully as the cashier helps them grab the tree. The checkout table is a bit of a walk away, so they follow after the guy.
"I was hoping you," she says, "since you invited me."
"Invitation was extended before I realized you were gonna run me dry." The cashier mumbles a price, which Percy grimaces at but supplies his card for anyway. "Ninety dollars for a tree that can barely stand, Annabeth."
"But it's cute."
"I feel like we must have different definitions of cute," he says, smiling. "It's up to you to make it look like a normal tree."
"Normal is doubtful, but it'll look decent enough," she says.
Percy rolls his eyes and grabs his card back.
The journey to the car is certainly fun. He struggles to carry the tree by himself, adding to the scratches on his arms from the cat earlier. Annabeth follows closely behind him, shouting words of encouragement, but she also teases him for being incapable of carrying a tree, to which he turns around to glare at her, nearly taking her head off with the trunk of the tree in the process.
They do make it to his car, and the next struggle is him trying to attach it to the roof. He fails miserably at his first attempt, which Annabeth snorts at.
"You could help, you know," he says, eyeing her position leaning on the railing near the car. "Instead of standing there like a princess."
"I could, but it's more fun watching you suffer."
He turns around to try again, and she enjoys the way his broad back works to maneuver the tree. She would help him, but she knows there's nothing she could do to make the process any easier. It would also be a shame to move from her position and lose sight of him hard at work. It would be harder to observe him when she's in front of him because he'd notice instantaneously when her eyes begin to linger on his defined jaw and arms.
She's still cold from the melting snow in the back of her coat. He fits in the snowy environment, gorgeous and bright. He's working so hard that she's sure he's hot. The least she can do is help cool him off.
By the time he turns around minutes later, tree secure in place, she's waiting for him with a snowball packed between her gloved palms.
"Annabeth," he tries, hands extended with a smile plastered to his face. "Let's think about this."
"I've thought about it plenty," she shrugs. "You look good in the snow."
"Mine was an accident."
"I'll aim for the car and accidentally get your face."
He opens his mouth to retort something, but he never gets a chance to finish before the snowball interrupts him. It makes contact with his face exactly as intended, and it's kind of funny the way he wipes it from his eyes and then his face, looking at her like a kicked puppy.
"That almost gave me a bloody nose! That was hard."
"I'm sorry," she says, laughing deviously and grabbing another wad of snow off the ground. "I'll try to be more gentle next time."
"Wait—"
He has more of a heads up the second time, so he scoots to the side as the snowball impacts the glass window directly where his head has previously been.
"Annabeth!"
"You moved!"
"Are you trying to kill me?!"
She winks and bends down for a third time. He has enough sense to run.
There's not really anywhere for him to run besides the opposite side of the car, so that's exactly what he does. Annabeth, never one to lose, is not going to miss again, so she chases him around the car.
She narrowly misses a snowball flying at her face when she turns the corner, and so her eyes lock on him.
"I'll go easy on you if you don't move," she says, rolling the ball of snow between her palms. His back is to the driver's door, and he's laughing so hard she's unsure if it's the cold flushing his cheeks.
"You already got me," he reasons. "Drop the snowball."
"I'm cold, and it's your fault," she says, pulling her hand back to get ready to throw the snowball. He flinches, and she knows that he's going to move the second it leaves her hands.
There's really only one way to make sure she nails him in the face again, and unfortunately it means being within a distance where he could get her too. Still, his hands are empty and she has a mission.
She's giggling as she rushes forwards, and he extends his arms to stop her, but she persists anyway, shoving her hand into his face. When he lifts his face, he's still laughing so hard he can hardly breathe. It's a laugh she loves, that warms her from the inside out. She decides to help him by wiping his face free of snow, and all he can do is tilt his head with an enamored smile.
"Are you happy?" he asks. "Now I'm colder than you."
"That's not possible," she says, ignoring the way his fingers find her waist, how they tuck under her coat and the edge of her sweater, freezing but pulling her closer in anyway. "I'm freezing."
"Maybe I should take care of that," he says, and she steps closer. Why is she stepping closer? "Wouldn't want you to get sick."
"Of course not."
She tries not to.
Annabeth reminds herself she's here for two weeks. She reminds herself that she's not staying, and he's not leaving, that they've already made those decisions years ago. She reminds herself that this isn't real, that things will never be the same.
None of it matters when he pulls her in for a kiss.
He feels exactly as she remembers, warm and sweet and reminiscent of home. He feels like when she's on a plane on a stormy day but can only see the clear skies that hover over the clouds. He feels like the warmth of when she sits on the floor to bask in the sliver of sunlight peeking through the window, or like the colorful rays of light the sun catchers cast against a clear wall. He feels like home, and she knows this isn't forever.
When his fingers brush against her cheek and he praises her lips like she'd never left, she thinks it doesn't have to be forever.
Some things can last for a little bit of time. The best things in life never do last forever, and so she allows herself this moment. She lets herself lean against the car, pulling him in closer, for just this weekend. For one weekend, he can call her babe, driving her around like they used to do. The road not taken looks real good now, and so she's going to take it. It can't hurt. Not if she keeps it in this moment. Just for now.
He pulls away and there's something in his eyes that tells her how this is really going to end. She ignores it because however it ends, it won't be during this weekend.
"I don't want to go back yet," she breathes. She wants to teeter on this cliff, playing with the thin string that ties them together.
And because he understands too, for this weekend, he says, "We can just ride around."