Savannah blinked at the Tupperware. “You… made one for me?”
“Of course. First-timers get leftovers. And you’re welcome back anytime.”
Savannah opened her mouth, closed it, then managed, “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
Mom smiled knowingly. “You were good for the room.”
Tilly felt that one all the way through.
Eventually, coats reappeared. People dispersed. The dog sighed dramatically like he’d personally hosted the event.
Savannah hovered near the entryway, holding her gloves like she wasn’t sure where to put them.
“Ready?” Tilly asked.
“Yes. Probably before someone tries to feed me again.”
“They absolutely would.”
Outside, the air was sharp and brittle. Their breaths drifted white in the porch light. Savannah walked to the car beside Tilly without speaking, but the silence was gentler now. Not avoidance. More like she was absorbing something she didn’t know how to put down.
Inside the car, the heater clicked on. Savannah buckled her seatbelt and held her hands in her lap, fingers laced tightly.
Tilly pulled away from the curb.
For two blocks, neither spoke. Holiday lights flickered across the windshield. The radio murmured.
Savannah finally exhaled. “Your family is lively.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“They were very kind,” she said softly. “Overwhelming. But kind.”
“Yeah. They take getting used to.”
She watched houses drift past. “They like you a lot.”
Tilly snorted. “They like talkingatme a lot. That’s different.”
“I could hear the difference,” she said. Then, after a moment, “Your mom thinks highly of you.”
Tilly shifted their grip on the wheel. “She thinks loudly of everyone.”
“That too.”
The quiet softened.
Savannah turned toward the window. “I haven’t had a Christmas like that in a long time.”
“Like the chaos?”
“Like the warmth. People just… caring. Without asking for anything.”
Tilly swallowed. “You deserved that.”
Savannah didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was thin. “I don’t know if I did.”
That landed harder than anything else she’d said all night.
