Bash squeezes my arm and whispers into my hair, “Did he make me sign a contract? I think I signed something.”
“You did,” I say. “He had you press your thumb into Cheeto dust. It’s legally binding.”
We’ve only been here a few days, and they’ve already fallen into a little groove—football in the backyard until Hux’s nose turns pink from the cold, Mario Kart tournaments that get way too intense, 2K trash talk I don’t understand, board games with Sarah’s hot chocolate steaming on the coffee table, and the two of them binge-watching The Last Airbender on the couch, whisper-laughing at jokes and arguing about whether Zuko is actually a villain or not.
Watching Bash like this, throwing himself right into a family I’m still learning how to belong to, stirs something behind my ribs—a good ache.
“Okay, okay, last one,” Sarah says, appearing with a small box in her hands, cheeks flushed, happy. “This is for you, honey.”
“You didn’t have to,” I start, even as my fingers are already reaching.
The paper is that thick, crunchy kind that makes a satisfying sound when you rip it. Inside is a white jewelry box. I open the lid, and a tiny gold locket necklace sits in the middle. My hands are stupid with nerves as I flip it open. On one side is a photo of me and Camilla, heads tilted together, the sun in our eyes, and her arm looped around my shoulder. On the other is a family photo from Thanksgiving, Huxley making a silly face, Mark’s hand on Sarah’s back, and me not realizing my smile looked genuine.
“I—how—” My voice cracks and embarrasses me, and I cry anyway. “Where did you—get this picture of Camilla…I thought I lost it.”
Sarah’s eyes go shiny as she smiles down at me. “We found a box in the garage with some of your old things, tucked in a backpack. We made a copy so the original stays safe.”
I can’t help it; I stand up and fold into her. She smells like vanilla and jasmine. “Thank you,” I whisper into her shoulder. “It…it means a lot, really.”
When I sit down, Bash’s arm finds me again like a magnet. He kisses the side of my head once, quietly, and I feel something steady in the middle of all the emotion.
The doorbell rings, and I jump back up, knowing exactly who it is. When I open the door, Simone is there in a ridiculous pink glittery beanie, hugging me with one arm and holding out a pie with the other. “Peace be upon this house,” she declares. “And also pie.”
I squeal because I know exactly which pie tin that is. “Your mom’s sweet potato?” I reach for it like it’s an infant and carry it with the utmost dignity into the living room.
“I would like to remind the court that you still owe me a slice since you didnotbring me any back from Thanksgiving,” Bash calls out, grinning.
I cradle the tin as if it can hear him. “Some things are sacred and should be treated with respect, Sebastian.”
He puts his hands up, laughing. “Oh, the government name, huh? I apologize, your majesty; I only beg for a crumb.”
I pretend to think about it. “You can have…a bite. Maybe two, depending on how generous I’m feeling.”
We all fall into this lazy Christmas morning ease, just enjoying each other’s company. As I watch the time slowly tick by, I know we have to get moving soon.
“We should head to the airport,” I say, even though every part of me is truly comfortable here for the first time. “I checked—our flight’s on time.”
Sarah makes a sad face. “I still think y’all are crazy for flying on Christmas. It’s going to be hectic at the airport.”
“I told her we could just stay,” Bash says, kissing the top of my head, which is becoming a habit I want to tattoo onto my skin.
“AndItoldhim, there’s no way I’m letting his parents’ first impression of me be me keeping their son from them on Christmas Day. I want them to like me.”
“They already do,” he says, amused. “As many times as they make me put you on the phone when they call. They’re already obsessed with you, I promise. You’re fine.”
“That doesn’t count,” I argue, pulling on my boots. “Phone Lydia is the peak performance version. Real Lydia says weird things and hoards pie.”
“That’s my favorite version,” he murmurs and steals a quick kiss that makes Simone fake gag and then wink at me.
Goodbyes swarm by the doorway. Mark hugs me like he doesn’t want to let go. “Love you kiddo, call when you land,” he says before letting go.
Sarah squeezes me and whispers, “I’m so proud of you, Lydia. We love you. Have a safe trip.” I tuck that love into the locket-space and promise myself I won’t lose it.
Bash carries every piece of luggage to the car, refusing to let me touch anything. At the airport, we end up in those terrible black seats at our gate that make you wonder if they considered the existence of spines when they designed them. Lani FaceTimes the second we sit.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, LOSERS,” she yells. Sandro leans in over her shoulder and says, “Merry Christmas” at a regular volume because he knows how to be slightly more normal than his sister.
“Merry Christmas!” I say, and tilt the phone so they can see Bash. “Say hi.”
