Page 70 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

Each table setting has a small tube-shaped gift placed above the plate. They’re the length of a soda can, but a bit narrower, with ribbons cinched at each end to create frills of festive wrapping paper. Before reaching for the food, everyone picks up the little bundle in front of them, grinning and chattering. The excitement is palpable, but I have no idea why. Jake leans towards me and says, “Christmas crackers,” but it just makes me more confused.

I mirror what the others do, crossing my arms in front of me to make a human chain, each of us linked by our hands on opposite ends of a wrapped cracker. “Pull, on the count of three,” Jake tells me, as Helena counts down, “Three, two, one—”

I startle at the first pop, and it’s followed by lively little cracks around the table. Trinkets tumble out of the torn-open tubes. A miniature screwdriver in mine, a plastic jumping frog in Jake’s, bottle openers, whistles and keyrings in others. There are also tiny scrolls with truly awful jokes written on them (mine reads, “What do you call a flatulent Santa’s helper? A smelf”), and a colorful piece of folded paper I’m not sure what to do with. Jake is unfolding his, so I watch to catch on. It’s a paper crown. He sets it on his head and grins, nodding to mine in my hands. “Go on, then.” Around the table, everyone else is arranging their own on their heads.

Mine rains glitter as I open it. Once it’s fully unfurled, my breath catches. It’s a crown, too, but bigger than the others. The paper itself is covered in cartoon dinosaurs and balloons, with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” printed all over. Someone wrote “B-DAY GIRL” in glue and covered it in glitter. I glance up and around the table. All the other crowns are made from the same paper. And everyone is wearing one.

“Felix was our most recent birthday before yours, Evie,” Genny laughs. “We only had the dino wrapping paper.”

Just like that, I’ve been folded into this family’s traditions. This is so much more than a simple paper crown. I did nothing to earn this. I didn’t have to chase it or ask for it. I didn’t hope for it and have to brace for the inevitable disappointment. I’m being celebrated, fully seen by each person at this table, even though they barely know me beyond a bit of small talk and whatever Jake has told them.

Jake.

Tears well in my eyes. They’re seeing me through his lens, not the one I see myself through. What would it feel like to see myself as he does? God, the time I spend here is a cruel paradox. Every moment I’m with Jake, I fall deeper into the possibility of us. But every moment also brings me closer to the day I have to leave him.

I’ve got four more days to savor this while it lasts. To bank it deep in my bones so it stays with me forever, no matter what happens once our time runs out.

I finally lift my paper crown onto my head, and everyone cheers.

* * *

Along with the turkey, we have roasted carrots, parsnips, and Brussels sprouts with pancetta. Curls of steam rise from a dish of creamy bread sauce. The potatoes have craggy, beautifully crisp salt-dusted edges outside and lusciously fluffy insides. Roasties have ruined me for all other potatoes in perpetuity. Conversation flows freely. We wear the paper crowns and take turns reading the jokes from the Christmas crackers. Jake keeps his free hand on my thigh throughout the meal, and Nat King Cole, Andy Williams, and Ella Fitzgerald croon Christmas tunes from the record player in the hall.

Later, the Christmas pudding is doused in brandy and set alight, filling the air with boozy, smoky sweetness. At the same time, I’m presented with a vanilla cupcake with a single lit candle shaped like a triceratops. Miles jokes about keeping the fire and rescue service on retainer if we insist on setting anything else on fire. And there’s laughter. The plentiful kind, loud and loose.

I’m endlessly grateful when they don’t insist on singing the “Happy Birthday” song, but there are calls for me to make a wish before I blow out the dinosaur candle. I glance at Jake, and his eyes are luminous when he smiles over at me.

I haven’t had a lot of practice making birthday wishes, but I’m sure this will be the easiest one I’ll ever make.

* * *

After lunch, we open gifts in the living room. I’m in a cozy chair, and Jake is on the floor in front of me, leaning back with an arm crooked over my lap. Enoki is curled in the empty space between my thigh and the chair’s arm, while Elle is nestled above my head in the cushioned top of the chair. I have the urge to take a selfie to send to Maddie and ask her to show Claudia.

Helena casually asks if anyone has wished their father a happy Christmas, which earns groans from the siblings. I don’t miss how they all glance at Jake.

“I’m sure Jakey will handle that one for us,” Indi says. “Taking one for the team.”

Jake tenses. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t churn up even more questions about his father. It’s equally curious to me how quickly everyone moves on from it. Like they’re accustomed to putting him out of their minds with absolutely no hesitation. It’s not the same for Jake, though. I lay a hand on his shoulder, letting my fingertips coast along his neck above his sweater. As soon as I make contact, I feel his body relax against my legs.

The kids all score piles of gifts. I learn that the Tiffany bag I saw Jake holding at the airport the day we met contained gifts for the women in his life. For Genny, an emerald pendant on a short chain with a sturdy lobster clasp. Leather card wallets in cream and Tiffany blue for Cait and Maeve. Indi gets a bold chain bracelet that makes her squeal and hop out of her chair. Helena and Gladys each get floral silk scarves, which they immediately conspire to share.

Genny has knitted hats for everyone, but they’re all too small or way too big. The pink one she gifts to Indi unintentionally looks like the business end of a penis, and Indi says it’s her favorite gift this year.

And then, there’s me. Felix and Enzo each bring me a wrapped gift. All eyes are on me once again, but the attention makes me feel warm and held instead of scrutinized. The smaller box is wrapped in Christmas paper, and inside is a delicate necklace from the boutique in the village. There are two charms on it—a quill, and a linden leaf. Jake helps me fasten it around my neck, and it hangs beautifully next to the black cab charm he bought me on the Southbank.

The bigger box is wrapped in the dinosaur birthday paper. It’s a brand-new pair of my very own wellies. Knee-high and navy blue, with a vibrant print of wild flowers in pink, red, and cream. Everyone laughs when I nudge Jake out of the way to pull them on. “Thank you,” I say, glancing around the room. “Truly.”

* * *

After gifts, the kids go down for naps, and Ewan brings mince pies, warm from the oven, for us to snack on while we play games. They’re served with clotted cream, and I take a heaping dollop and eat it like custard. We play Who Am I?, a game where the name of a person or object is written on a sticky note, then stuck to our foreheads so everyone can see, but we can’t. Then we take turns asking yes or no questions until we figure out what—or who—we are.

Early rounds are easy, but it goes fully off the rails on Gladys’s turn.

“Am I famous?” says Gladys.

Helena makes a thoughtful face. “Rather infamous, I’d say.”

“Am I a person?” Gladys continues.