Page 67

“Looking at your baby pictures,” August says. “Courtesy of Mom facilitating a canon event.”

“Ah.”

August billows the fabric.

December’s entire being swells as she turns a page in the album on her lap. Enthusiastic, she points and looks toward her mother, who nods, smile remaining stiff.

I can’t stand that.

Where did December even get her brilliance? She’s such a light. Meanwhile, her mother keenly reminds me of graph paper.

I sigh.

“What’s that about?” August asks.

“I wish her mother would match her energy sometimes. I know the fact she’s here means a lot, but I hate the way subpar enthusiasm meets December’s excitement. If it were just nerves about me and this situation, fine, but…” I lower my attention. “…that’s the way it always is, isn’t it? December’s joy hitting a brick wall.”

August folds the cloth in half. “Yep, pretty much. But not everyone shows the same level of emotion. Mrs. Rosier is here. This situation is nuts, but I’m convinced it’ll work out. They’re gonna reach a point where they understand each other. And, anyway, it’s been a good day.”

I make a low, thoughtful sound. “I’m glad you’re her friend.”

August shudders. “Ew. What compelled you to compliment me all of a sudden?”

“I’m grateful you possess the ability to respond to Dece’s joy in a way that compiles, rather than subdues or mutes, it.”

My little sister hums. “Well. If we’re getting sappy, I’m glad my best friend fell in love with someone I know will treat her right.”

I mutter, “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“That is the nicest thing I will ever say to you, so soak it up.”

Ignoring my sister as she walks away to fold up the purple sheet of fabric, I turn back to my poor ruined gingerbread man’s outfit. Lifting my attention, I take in the table before me and learn that…I really am the only one here. I totally zoned out of it all, didn’t I?

Before me on a large platter, a slew of decorated cookies rest, depicting various levels of effort and talent. Among them, I easily find August’s culinary masterpiece snuggled in right next to December’s. Both of them possess a uniquely frightening amount of artistic skill, but I can’t help being partial to my Dece’s.

She etched snowflake designs all over her gingerbread man, which is…

Cute.

So cute.

I’d risk vomiting up four million pounds of cake to nibble that.

“Wynn?” December’s voice pierces the swell of Christmas music, interrupting my delirium, and I rise, summoned.

Crossing the house, I meet her where she stands at the front door. “You called, baby?”

Her smile warms, brightening all her features. “Mom’s leaving.”

Ah.

Dragging my attention up to Mrs. Rosier, I nod. “Thank you for coming. I know it means a lot to De…vina.”

Her mother offers me a plastic smile. “Yes. Right. Today was…comforting.”

I offer her my hand. “I’m glad to hear it.”

The woman hums, glancing toward her daughter. Moments pass, silence broken by “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer” filling the space between them.