Page 73 of Playing His Game

He and Dad started twining them around the tree, passing the coil back and forth.

“I hope we have enough lights for such a big tree,” Mom said absently as she watched them work.

“You don’t always get one that tries to touch the ceiling?” Mo sounded curious. Adam wondered if he’d ever been part of a tree decision before.

“No. Usually, Dunc picks out a six-footer. Or, well, he guides the children to it.” She shrugged.

Dad, because he was a chaos gremlin, opened his mouth. “That’s because trees are heavy and hard to manage. But I guess Adam here thought we could do better now that he’s all grown-up. He insisted on this one.”

Adam would not blush. Hewouldn’t.

“Bigger is better?” Mo asked innocuously. “Hmm, well, I know you’re not compensating, so you must be driven by other motives.” He actually fluttered his lashes.

Oh God. What had gotten into him? Usually, Mo was only this outrageous and bratty when he wanted to piss Adam off—or, more lately, to get Adam naked.

“I wonder what could have possibly motivated him to pick such a Hallmark perfect fir,” Mom asked like butter wouldn’t melt.

Adam was surrounded by horrible people.

“It was the nicest,” he grumbled.

Thankfully, now that the lights were almost strung, Mom opened the bin with the ornaments and began to unwrap them from their tissue paper.

“Oh, Adam’s Baby’s First Christmas.” She held the ornament for Mo to take. He accepted it slowly, held it carefully, an unreadable look on his face as he spun the bauble in his hands and took in the art—Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh. “I always tried to find something that suited my babies for their first one, but Adam was only a few months old. He loved his stuffed bear, though, so this one it was.”

Mo cleared his throat and handed the ornament back. Then he shot Adam a smirk. “Into a bear, huh? Guess some peopledochange.”

“I was a baby,” Adam said dryly. “I also liked mashed bananas.”

“You’re still fond of smoothies, though.”

Adam shook his head and plugged in the lights.

“Perfect!” Dad said.

Mom handed him something to hang and put her own up. Then she turned back to the box to unearth more.

The four of them worked their way through the box of memories. Mom kept up a running commentary of each ornament she handed to Mo.

“Oh, Adam made that back in first grade. They had the kids glue their school photos in. Questionable choice for this ginger in a red-and-green color scheme.” And, “Oh, the kids gave this to Duncan when he retired. There were tears.” And, “Oh, this one used to hang on my mother’s tree.”

Mo looked particularly spooked about that one. “You sure you trust me not to drop and break it?”

“Oh, I think so. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first one if you did. I started out with a couple dozen, but kids and cats, you know.” She shrugged. “But no point in leaving them in the box!”

When they had perhaps a quarter of the decorations left, Mom called a moratorium: “Chels and Simon and Chuckie have to help too.”

“Not Teddy?”

Adam exchanged glances with his parents. “Teddy has a very specific job.”

Mom held up the spiked star that would top the tree. “Teddy has many talents, but an artist’s eye isn’t one of them.”

Mo blinked. “He’s a bad Christmas-tree decorator?”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Mom patted the star. “But he does have very long arms. We compensate by giving him the most important job. If you think Adam’s tall?—”

Mo opened his mouth.