Note: I made a list of prompts, and wrote a bite-sized story for each one. They don’t live in the same universe, but they’re all a little off-kilter from what you might expect from holiday fare. And if you pay attention, you’ll notice that the last line of each story becomes the first line of the next. Also? You can listen to these stories at my podcast website: BathtubMermaid.com.
“Magic made by them,” Jordan thought as she stood in front of the bicycle—wobbly, glittering, slightly lopsided, and absolutely the most beautiful thing she had seen all week.
She didn’t move for a moment, just took it in, the tree lights catching on chrome and ribbon in little glimmers. It was finished. Actually finished. She and Trisha had built it with their own four hands, two questionable YouTube tutorials, and one bottle of wine.
Trisha stepped beside her, cheeks flushed, hair escaping its clip. “We did it,” she whispered, as if the bike might collapse if she spoke too loudly.
Jordan nodded slowly. She kept staring at the handlebars, the shiny bell, the pink basket threaded with ribbon Trisha had woven through the slats. This mess of metal and determination had come together. Somehow.
* * *
Two hours earlier, the living room had looked like a crime scene involving chrome and poor decisions.
Jordan had unfolded the instruction booklet and immediately regretted everything. “Are these diagrams interpretive?” she asked, rotating the page as if that might help.
Trisha leaned over her shoulder, squinting. “This one looks like a wheel.”
“That’s the warning label.”
“It is a very wheel-shaped warning label.”
Jordan laughed so hard she almost lost the screws she was holding. That probably should have been the moment they stopped for the night, but stopping wasn’t in the plan and definitely wasn’t in their parenting philosophy. Their daughter would wake up expecting magic, and they were determined to deliver it despite the technical difficulties.
They pressed on, holding bolts in place with dramatic optimism while washers vanished into the carpet and the Allen wrench made repeated unauthorized trips under the couch. At one point Jordan was fairly certain she had attached a piece upside down, but Trisha was laughing too hard for her to admit it.
“Midnight Mass for the mechanically inept,” Jordan declared, raising her wineglass.
“Amen,” Trisha said, with solemnity only the tipsy could manage.
Piece by piece, through cooperation, stubbornness, and a shared sense of humor, the bicycle took shape. A wheel found its footing. Handlebars connected with a reluctant click. The basket went on after a brief negotiation with several uncooperative screws.
* * *
Now, in the quiet glow of the living room, Jordan finally exhaled. Trisha slipped an arm around her waist, warm and steady.
“She’s going to lose her mind,” Jordan murmured.
“In the best possible way,” Trisha replied.
The lights of the tree blinked, gentle and soft, casting the room in a warm pulse of color.
Jordan reached out and tapped the front tire lightly, testing the balance one more time.
The bike wobbled slightly, settling into its new center of gravity.