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“Seriously, Lily,” I say, grabbing her hand. “Where did you get this?”
“I bought it,” she says, raising her chin stubbornly. “Mom said I could.”
I rub my temples, cursing Chase London. Of course Mom finds a way to screw up even when she’s trying to be nice, and Chase has to get his way even when I say no.
“Don’t you like it?” Lily looks so hurt that I pull her in and hug her with one arm.
“Of course. I love it. Can I ask how much you paid for it?”
“Three Band-Aids,” she says proudly. “That boy you pushed traded it to me. He said I got the princess discount.”
I force a smile for her, but I’m annoyed as hell with Chase. If I refuse the gift, it will hurt Lily’s feelings, and he probably knows I won’t do that, so I’ll have to keep it.
“You pushed a boy?” Meghan asks. “I’m impressed. Does he have a name? Or dexterous fingers, perhaps?”
She wiggles her fingers at me suggestively, and I give her a death glare.
She just laughs and heaves herself up from the bed. “Don’t worry, cuz. Lots of college guys come up here with their families at Christmas. We’ll find someone to make you forget all about Chase London and his magic fingers.”
“He has magic fingers?” Lily asks, bouncing with excitement.
“No,” I say firmly, wanting to strangle my cousin. If Lily ever repeats that to Chase, he’ll think I said that, and the level of humiliation will cause spontaneous combustion.
three
Now Playing:
“All I Want For Christmas Is You”—Mariah Carey
“One turkey, rested and ready for carving,” Uncle Carl announces, sweeping into the room with his apron still tied around him, beaming like he just solved all the world’s problems instead of cooking a giant bird. Uncle Frederick follows, his thick arms bulging under the weight of the platter.
“Your dad’s so scrawny he can’t carry a turkey,” I mutter to Meghan, kicking her foot under the table.
A second too late, I realize she can make a Your Dad joke back and ruin dinner the way I ruined breakfast, and my smile dies.
Before she can, Uncle Seamus clears his throat and scoots back. “It’s not carved yet?” he croaks. His dark complexion has gone a little green. I’ve never seen him out of a suit except on Christmas morning, when he participates in the family pajama portrait. The rest of the time, he looks like a distinguished gentleman who should be named Professor Cumberbatch or playing the role of the owner of a chicken franchise inBreaking Bad. The only thing that ruffles him is the sight of bones.
“If you want to wait in the kitchen, I’ll get you when we’re done carving,” Frederick says.
Seamus gives him a dark look. “You could have carved in the kitchen.”
“It’s all about the presentation,” Frederick says, giving him a pointed look, as if to remind him we’re in a room full of notjust his siblings and their families, but a few cousins and their families as well.
When he as he sets down the huge bird, roasted to golden perfection, Seamus visibly stiffens, then stands and stalks off to the other room. Because of his cartilogenophobia, Dad always carved the meat in the kitchen and brought in a platter with the meat already sliced. That’s just the way it’s always been done. Guess I’m not the only one upset about traditions being ruined by Dad’s absence.
The room is filled with the sound of the electric carving knife for a few minutes, which is a blessing, since everyone is too awkward to make conversation after witnessing the tension from the change in procedure. At last, Lily points to the platter, sitting up on her feet. “Can I have the drumstick?”
“No, sweetie,” Mom says. “It has a bone in it.”
“But I had one at Thanksgiving,” my sister points out, pouting at Mom.
“Uncle Seamus wasn’t at Thanksgiving,” Mom reminds her with a warning smile. “Now sit on your bottom, not your feet.”
“That’s not fair,” Lily cries, thudding her butt into the chair.
“I know it’s not, honey,” Uncle Frederick says. “How about we cut the meat off the drumstick for you? We’ll carve it right on your plate, so you know you got the whole thing.”
“It’s not the same,” Lily yells. “That’s not the drumstick!”
