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Now I’m pissed again. I stomp into the
bathroom, clear a spot on the steamed-
up mirror, stare at the girl staring back
at me, eyes harboring confusion.
Trey throws back the shower curtain.
Are you getting in here or what?
He moves to the back, helps me climb
in past his soapy body. Hot, soothing
water falls all around me, and the herbal
scent of shampoo fills my nostrils. Trey
snakes my body with slick, lathered arms.
Merry Christmas, Kristina. I love you, too.
By the Time
We reach the living room, ribbons and wrapping
paper l
itter every square inch of floor, red and green
and gold. Lookie, Trey, shouts Devon. Look at the million
presents Santa Claus brung. There’s even some for you.
Trey grins, reaches down and scoops her up.
Santa brought a present for me? Where? Show me!
We spend the next hour opening packages and watching
the girls play with their “million” new toys. My own
contributions to the pile are a Barbie for Devon and
a unicorn for LaTreya, who insists dolls are dumb.
For Brad, I made a pretty card. Inside is a “gift
certificate” worth One Family Portrait by Kristina.
He smiles and offers a thank-you kiss, and it’s more
than just a friendly kiss. Trey can’t help but notice.
Hang on there, cuz. Don’t be kissing my girl like that.
Despite all the kissing Trey and I did last night,
