142: Chapter 147 Christmas Every Year

New York. Manhattan.

New York on Christmas Eve was like a meticulously wrapped Swiss candy. Chen Mo's past impression of New York at this time remained stuck at "Home Alone."

The shop windows on Fifth Avenue were very bright, and Santas in red robes waved mechanically behind the glass.

Over at Rockefeller Center, the giant Christmas tree had been lit all day, and the skating rink was packed with couples wrapped in scarves, holding hands and skating in circles.

Chen Mo stepped out of the back seat of the taxi, and the cold wind blew in along the hem of his overcoat.

He was carrying a bottle of Bordeaux red wine in one hand, while the other was tucked into the pocket of his dark gray cashmere overcoat; the scarf was one Martha had knitted for him last year.

Chen Mo turned into a relatively quiet street on the Upper West Side.

Taylor's apartment was on the top floor.

As the elevator ascended, he could smell the scent wafting from the door gaps—the aroma of cinnamon and mulled wine mixed with juniper.

The door opened.

Taylor stood in the warm light of the entryway, wearing an oatmeal-colored sweater with a wide neckline, a few stray hairs hanging at her collarbone; she looked like she had just woken up.

Chen Mo looked her over; every strand of hair was obedient.

"You bring your own drinks when you come to my place?" She raised an eyebrow, her tone teasing.

"It's Christmas Eve today, we should have a drink." Chen Mo took the red wine out of the paper bag, placed it on the shoe cabinet, and bent down to untie his shoelaces. "You know, I don't usually drink."

His movements were a bit slow; he hadn't recovered from the cold outside yet.

"Fine, you drink, I'll watch." Taylor took his overcoat and stood on tiptoe to hang it on the coat rack.

The coat rack was very high, and as she reached up, the hem of her sweater rode up, revealing a sliver of her fair waistline.

In the living room, beside that Steinway grand piano, stood a Christmas tree that hadn't been fully decorated yet.

The air was filled with the sharp, fresh scent of fir needles; a real tree was just different from the fake ones he had seen before.

Only one thing was currently hanging on the tree—the golden star at the very top.

The rest of the colorful balls, pinecones, silver bells, and various small ornaments were all lying in a jumble in a wicker basket.

"Meredith thinks that red ball belongs to it."

Taylor pointed to the basket. A plump Scottish Fold cat was sleeping in the basket, its tail lazily draped over a red glass ornament.

"The other one, Olivia, pushed the silver bell under the sofa." She walked over, bent down, and peered under the sofa. "It's still there, intact."

Chen Mo's gaze moved away from the cats and landed on the bare tree.

"This tree grew a bit crooked," he said.

"Crooked looks good." Taylor straightened up, took the red ball that had been warmed by the cat from the basket, and shoved it into Chen Mo's hand without giving him a choice. "Here's a task for you: hang it up. It's very simple—hang the ball toward the end of the branch, stagger the colors, hang the pinecones higher, and put the silver bells somewhere the cats can't reach."

"Now you've already completed the first step: holding the ball."

Chen Mo looked down at the red ball in his hand.

His mother used to be an elementary school music teacher, and every December, the school would rehearse "Jingle Bells," but at home, they never celebrated Christmas, nor did they have a Christmas tree.

In Chen Mo's perception, December was just a time for reviewing for exams and had nothing to do with Christmas.

"I don't know how."

"Who is born knowing how to hang ornaments?" Taylor had already walked to the piano and casually pressed a chord; the piano sound echoed in the spacious living room. "I won't mind if you hang it crookedly."

Chen Mo pinched the ball, turned it in his hand, then walked to the tree. He hesitated for a moment, then hung the ball on the branch closest to the piano.

"Like this?"

The ball swayed gently on the branch.

Meredith rolled over in the basket, its tail tip flicking impatiently, seemingly dissatisfied that someone had touched its possession.

Taylor looked up at him, squinting and smiling, "You did very well."

Outside the window, on the Hudson River, a brightly lit sightseeing boat slowly sailed past. The people on board were partying, but the glass windows here were soundproof.

The speakers were playing a random Christmas playlist, and Taylor picked up the remote and turned the volume down.

The two of them began to decorate the tree together.

Chen Mo was responsible for taking the ornaments out of the basket one by one and handing them to Taylor.

Taylor was responsible for finding the right spot to hang them. Occasionally, Olivia would crawl out from under the sofa, trying to swat at the swaying silver bells, only to be gently blocked back by Taylor's toes.

"For the Grammy Awards medley, David said it was good to go." Chen Mo handed over a golden pinecone, and a bit of the artificial snow from the pinecone fell onto the back of his hand. "But I edited another version myself; inspiration always comes in the early hours of the morning."

"What did you change?" Taylor stood on tiptoe to hang the pinecone near the top of the tree.

"I removed the string backing in the transition section." Chen Mo watched her back. "I left two bars of silence."

Taylor finished hanging the pinecone, turned around, crossed her arms, and leaned against the piano to ask, "What's in the silence?"

"I don't know." Chen Mo looked down at his fingers. "Maybe it's breathing, or maybe it's a heartbeat. That part is a piano solo; I didn't add lyrics. I named it 'Meditation Moment'."

"You left yourself a gap to breathe." Taylor's eyes looked very bright in the warm light. "And you also gave those thousands of people in the audience a chance, at that moment, not to look at you, but to look at themselves."

Chen Mo was stunned for a moment, then nodded and said, "You're right."

By the late hours of the night, the firewood in the fireplace was crackling.

Taylor brought over two cups of hot cocoa, without cream, just sprinkled with a little cinnamon powder. She handed one cup to Chen Mo, the steam hitting the tip of his nose, bringing a sweet, cloying warmth.

Chen Mo took the cup and took a sip.

It was sickeningly sweet, but he didn't say anything, just placed the cup on the coffee table.

"On the day of the Grammy Awards, will you be nervous?" Taylor suddenly asked.

"No." Chen Mo was very direct. "Going on stage is like going to the supermarket to buy things; just going through the motions."

"Liar." Taylor laughed, curled up in the corner of the sofa, holding the cocoa cup with both hands, her knees tucked up and covered by the hem of her sweater. "The first time I went to the Grammy Awards to receive an award, my legs were shaking with nervousness."

Chen Mo didn't speak, just leaned on the sofa armrest, looked at her, and said, "I'm nervous, so I keep changing it."

There was a palm's distance between the two of them, and neither moved closer. After an unknown amount of time, Taylor put down the empty cup, got up, and walked to the piano.

She sat down, and the piano bench made a slight creaking sound.

Her fingers fell onto the keys; she didn't play those cheerful Christmas songs, but instead started playing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

When she sang the line "Through the years, we all will be together, if the fates allow," she looked up at Chen Mo.

Chen Mo didn't look away, saying half-jokingly, "You can always sing it in Taylor style."

He leaned back in the sofa, the red wine in his hand had only the last sip left, the dark red liquid clinging to the side of the glass.

"Then do you think I should change it?" Taylor asked.

Chen Mo had a tipsy smile on his face and said, "It's quite good, no need to change."

In the room, only the slight crackling sound of burning wood remained.

"What are you thinking about?" Taylor's hands were still resting on the keys, casually playing a few notes.

"Thinking about this time next year." Chen Mo's voice was a bit hoarse. "Where will we be? You'll be on tour in Tokyo, I'll be in Los Angeles editing songs, or you'll be in Copenhagen recording a new album, and I'll be transferring flights in Beijing, and we'll miss each other at the airport Starbucks."

"No matter where," Taylor interrupted him, her tone firm, "we will meet on Christmas."

"Not necessarily." Chen Mo looked at the remaining wine at the bottom of the glass. "Flights will be delayed, and the snow in Greenwich will freeze all the runways on the East Coast."

"I'm sure." Taylor turned around, facing him directly, the corner of her mouth slightly crooked to the left, her expression very serious. "Starting from this year, every Christmas, you won't be able to get away."

She paused and added, "You can fall asleep on the road, you can bring only a bottle of wine like tonight, you can bring no gifts at all, you can even not remember the date, but as long as this day comes, we will be together."

The firelight from the fireplace cast the shadow of her eyelashes onto her cheekbones, the tiny shadows swaying with the flames, impossibly gentle.

In the late hours of the night, the heating was on too high, and combined with the effect of that glass of red wine, sleepiness washed over him like a tide.

Chen Mo fell asleep on the sofa.

He dreamed that he had turned into an ornament, hanging at the top of the crooked tree, watching the people below skating, singing, and hugging.

In a half-awake, half-asleep state, he felt someone cover him with a blanket.

A gray-blue cashmere blanket that had been resting on the back of the armchair, baked warm by the fireplace.

The blanket was light, but when it pressed down, it shut out the cold and unease; his ankles were carefully covered, and his shoulders were tucked in well.

He didn't open his eyes, but he knew it was Taylor.

He heard her put the cocoa cup into the kitchen sink, heard the sound of her lightly walking back to the bedroom, and then, the sound of the door lock gently clicking shut.

The living room was completely quiet.

Only the fire in the fireplace remained, still burning tirelessly, making the ornaments on the tree shine brilliantly.

This kind of life is also not bad.

— — Kids, I edited the text before, and I noticed comments about the timeline being confusing. That must be because I didn't change it. I apologize for the inconvenience caused to your reading.

If you still find problems with the timeline being jumbled, please do comment. My eyes, well, they often see things blurry, I am very grateful.