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Mackenzie pulls my face to his chest, his own back shaking with laughter just as his dad appears in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Wha’d I miss?” he asks.
As Nancy walks past me, she pats me softly on the back. “Oh, nothing. We were just chitchatting about how last evening was a not-so-silent night.”
Mike shrugs as if he finds this all perfectly logical.
“Well, that sounds nice. Who’s up for pancakes?”
If I wasn’t convinced the Smith family were the living embodiment of a fictional Christmas movie, their breakfast table confirms it. In addition to the two large stacks of perfectly round pancakes, there are platters of bacon and eggs, cinnamon buns, and freshly squeezed orange juice in an actual juice pitcher. I am so stuffed by the end of the meal that I can barely move.
After breakfast, we go to the living room. Although Mackenzie claimed it would be low-key, there is a stocking with my name on it, filled with good coffee, a new toothbrush, the latest issue of Scientific American, and a Ghirardelli chocolate bar.
“These are from Harmony.” Mackenzie hands me a tin of cookies. “Peppermint patties, and I pretested them for you: ten out of ten.”
I set them aside. “I don’t think I can look at another morsel of food for at least six more hours, but we can save them for the ride home.”
I reach under the tree for the small box I put there yesterday. In our joint effort to avoid all meaningful conversations about where our relationship is headed these last few weeks, we also neglected to set any sort of guidelines regarding Christmas presents, but I saw something in a window of a small stationery shop and knew I wanted him to have it.
“It’s a music journal,” I explain when he unwraps the leather-bound book and cradles it in his hands instead of opening it. “One side is for writing music and the other for lyrics.”
His hand finds mine.
“I love it,” he says. “And I got you something, too.”
He hands me a box wrapped in shiny gold paper. I remove it and lift the lid to find a black jacket inside. I almost think it’s Larry’s, but when I lift it from the box, I realize the collar is different, and it’s a lot smaller.
“You look good in mine,” Mackenzie says as he watches me study it. “I thought about giving it to you, but Koko found me one in your size.”
I slide my arms into the sleeves and try it on. It fits perfectly.
Mackenzie leans in and kisses me on the cheek, lingering just long enough to whisper, “Looks great on you.”
I lean my head into his. “This is perfect. I love it. Thank you.”
After a pause to refill the coffee mugs, we move on to what I learn has become a cornerstone of the Smith Family Christmas experience: the white elephant game. I’ve played a version of it before at the CAMH staff party. Everyone draws a number. The first person opens a present. The second person can steal an opened gift or pick from the unopened ones and take their chances.
I draw the number seven.
The game begins, and Aaron goes first, picking a small box that looks like a candy cane. It contains a winter-scented candle and a king-size Kit Kat, neither of which he seems particularly excited about.
Nancy is next. She picks a gift bag with an oversize coffee mug that says, I like big books, and a gift certificate to the movies.
Mike goes after Nancy and steals her mug, although I suspect it’s less because he’s a mug guy and more because he knows Nancy loves to unwrap.
On her second round, she gets an animatronic bass that sings “Fishing in the Dark.” She tries to hide it behind her housecoat. Clive immediately steals it. Nancy goes back for the mug. Mike steals the fish, then Clive cries, “Collusion, you two are working together.” Mike and Nancy deny it.
Aaron tries to get Clive to steal his candle and collude with him. Clive says, “Fuck no,” and opens a shiny red box. It has a very cool vintage Tragically Hip T-shirt that I swear came from Koko’s store.
Mackenzie is next. He steals the shirt.
Clive opens yet another one, a Neil Young T-shirt that I know for a fact came from Koko’s store. Clive whips off his Midnight Station hoodie and puts the Neil Young one on. I suspect no one will be stealing it from him now, especially since the only person left to pick a present is me.
My eyes do a quick sweep of all the opened gifts. Everyone seems happy with what they have, except maybe for Aaron, who has taken the lid off the candle and is trying to waft the scent in my direction. I like the smell but worry that stealing it will start a whole chain of chaos.
“If you pick that last gift, the game is over,” Aaron taunts.
This has been the best morning. I don’t want any of it to end, but something about the last present—the plainly wrapped brown paper box—is calling to me.
