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โYou guys, over here.โ Angela, the fastest-walking sister and family ringmaster, breaks into a jog. Late morning on the first day of Winter Break, the snow at Tukโs is already packed from the early birds. Angela closes her eyes and offers a silentย thank you.ย Her pant legs will be dry at the seasonal sister summit. Damp legs would undermine her fragile composure.
Unlike its spruce and fir neighbors, the apple tree is full and green on top, slender on bottom. Angela reaches a mittened hand for the single fruit dangling from the lowest branch.
Jeanne arrives behind her, catching her breath. โWeird. White apple.โ Jeanne reaches for the apple. โLet me see that.โ
โNot so fast.โ Angela raises an arm. โLet Daphne catch up.โ
โKeep dreaming, little sisters.โ Daphne never lets a slight pass. Her silver spiked hair glistens in the strong sun. Jacket tied around her waist, sheโs stripped down to a tank top, tanning her bronze decolletage. โRight here the whole time.โ She pounds her hot pink cane twice, her gavel since the Harley skidded off the highway three years ago. Some retirement celebration. โOut of season.โ Daphne frowns, suspicious.
โJust this one, huh?โ Angela snaps the stem, polishing the apple with her mitten.
โPick a white apple?โ Daphne tugs heavily on Angelaโs sleeve. โThatโs four years fruit rot.โ Daphne releases Angelaโs jacket and cranes her head, beady eyes surveilling Tukโs tree farm. Ruddy-cheeked teenagers in festive knit hats trail handsome men in thick sweaters. Toddlers sit atop the shoulders of the handsome men, who find faults with each tree. Smooth-haired women in abundant scarves lead the way, documenting the others. โAnyone see you?โ
โNot a fruit orchard, Daphne.โ Angela shakes her head. โBut a good scolding gets me in the holiday spirit.โ She sweeps hair out of her face. She had her roots touched up last week. She wants to look fresh, but not trying-too-hard, for the seasonal sister summit. Her sisters donโt care if they get together or not. For Angela, itโs never mattered more.
Jeanne grabs the apple. Her bite reveals pink flesh under the white skin. โDonโt give us that old hippie nonsense. Weโโ she gestures between herself and Angelaโโlive in the conventional world of squares.โ
Angela raises an eyebrow. โI concede the โsquaresโ part. Conventional?โ Jeanne, like always, is dressed like a beekeeperโcovered head to toe in UV-protected clothing. Angela hasnโt seen her sisterโs legs in 20 years.ย
โWe donโt believe inโโ Jeanne continues โโHuh?โ She lists forward, her eyes trained on a spruce trunk. โWhatโs that?โ She points, drops into a squat and braces herself against the ground, peering closer. โSomething ran under there. On two legs.โ She sits back on her haunches, rests her chin on her closed fist. โElf?โ
โNo elves here,โ Angela says. โElves arenโt real.โ
โWhat aboutย Elf on the Shelf? Thatโs real.โ Jeanne pushes herself up from the ground. She takes a second bite and draws the apple into focus. With a twinkle, its pink flesh becomes yellow. โSomething strange here.โ She extends the fruit toward her sisters. โYou two see?โ
โEnough.โ Angela claps her hands. โWeโll miss our lunch reservation.โ She gently lowers Jeanneโs arm. โElf on the Shelfย is a behavior modification strategy.โ She turns, marching away. โCreepy, too. Letโs keep moving.โ
Daphne shrugs. โIโm open to elves.โ She taps the pink cane to the ground before setting off after Angela.
Angela stops at a Fraser Fir. โLadies? Do weโโ Before she can finish, the tree begins vibrating.
โTreeโs buzzing.โ Daphne says.
โBees?โ Jeanne says.
Angelaโs hands rise to her hips. Her breath quickens, she fights the tell-tale wobble. For nearly sixty years, โthe wobbleโ has bubbled up when her sisters conspire against her. โWhatever you two are doing, whoever youโre in cahoots withโโ She takes in the live action snow globe surrounding them. Well-dressed, fully moisturized people cavort among the trees. Which teenagers did her sisters bribe? Daphneโs idea, surely. โGive me a break, will you?โ Her voice cracks. They think sheโs ridiculous. The seasonal sister summit means so much. Especially this year. Itโs everything. All three sisters together. And not at a bedside, a graveside, or a lawyerโs office. She crosses her arms, tucking her hands under her jacket. Silly, mustering holiday cheer. She knew better.
Jeanne lifts two fingers, โScouts honor, sis. Weโre not doing anyโโ The vibrating gains intensity. The sisters exchange glances. Parents chase children. Teenagers follow parents.
โWe the only ones who see this?โ Daphne asks.
Before her sisters answer, red baubles spring from the branches, dancing back and forth. A tiny wooden staircase winds upward from the earth. The sisters stand motionless, mouths agape. Each wonders if this is how it started when their father had his stroke. None can believe itโs been less than a year. Last Christmas, they delivered the tree to their childhood home. Fifty-five years their parents lived in that house. This year, someoneโs turned the old house into a โbreathing studio.โ Theyโll take the tree to Angelaโs condo. Fully ascended, the stairway stills. A parade of tiny, four-limbed creaturesโย elves, youโd really have to sayโascend the staircase. A dozen, give or take. Pointy ears, striped pants โย the whole shebang. The elves hum a tune, their pitch so high the sisters canโt make out the words. The elves join hands and circle the tree, now buzzing, jiggling and vibrating in time. The boldness of a surreal scene that cannot be, after a year of anguish that should not have been:ย poor prognoses,ย treatment-resistance,ย long-shotsย not realized. Transported from their grief, their numbness, collective and individual, the sisters are mesmerized. Christmas-tree shoppers mull around them, united in holiday generosity of ignoring three middle-aged women staring at the snow, tears streaming down their faces.
A few songs inโthree?, five? no sister could sayโan elf breaks from the group, approaching Jeanne. The elf stands on the tips of royal blue felt shoes to pluck the white apple from her hand. โNot a curse,โ it says, holding the now vibrating apple in two hands. The skin from the bite Jeanne took wrinkles itself back together, a wave receding into the ocean. โQuite the opposite. Unlocks our magic. You wouldnโt believe how uncomfortable some people are about a little magic.โ
The elf resumes its place among the others. The tiny, other worldly carollers descend the wooden staircase, as it disappears into the earth. No jiggling, no buzzing.
Snatches of Christmas tree scrutiny bring Angela back to the world she knows: gratitude for dry legs and sisters who indulge her. She wipes the tears away with both hands. โWell,โ she says to her sisters, her eyes wet. โSpruce?โ
Kelly is an emerging writer whose work has appeared in The Dillydoun Review. I work as a scientific funding consultant for a public health institute in Zurich, Switzerland. I live in Houston, Texas with my partner and two kids. To view more of Kellyโs work please visit https://www.kellyturner.ch/