"Trees'll do that." The man handed him a candy cane from a jar, solemn as a sacrament. "Merry Christmas, kid."
Dez walked home through streets already half-quiet, the city holding its breath for tomorrow. He thought of Queens. He thought of a revolving stand and perfume counters and a little tabletop fir beside medicine bottles. He thought of Wren's head on his shoulder and Gus's laugh when the tree pinned them and the way a life can be too big for the room you give it until you trim the fear, not the joy.
When he got back, Wren was stringing the last of Maya's popcorn, cream cardigan over the burgundy dress again, glam makeup done even for an audience of two. Gus was attempting to roast chestnuts on the stove with a technique based entirely on novels. The purple walls held them like a promise that did not need a lease to be real.
"Where'd you go?" Wren asked.
"To thank a man for a tree."
She smiled. "Come here and help me before Gus sets the building on fire ahead of schedule."
"I have a system," Gus protested, as smoke detectors considered their options.
They opened a window. Snow came in like confetti. The chestnuts were declared a noble failure and replaced with store-bought ones from the corner bodega, which Paul happened to be exiting as they entered, and he nodded at them with the grave fellowship of people who survive winters together.