Page 124 of Elf-ish

“Yes, we can open presents now,” Julia confirms as Chopper enters the living room with their oldest boy, Charlie, beside him, and their second son, Ransom, in his arms, who looks like he’d rather continue sleeping as his head lies on his father’s shoulder.

“Santa came to Uncle Jude’s,” Lolly confirms for everyone.

Suddenly, I realize I don’t have a single present for any of them.

I sent gifts to Julia, Chopper, and the kids, but I don’t even know what was sent. I had my assistant pick out items, sparing no expense. As for Tucker and Mae, I hadn’t sent a gift to them. Ever.

My head hangs in shame. “I don’t have anything for everyone.”

Mae steps closer to me. “That doesn’t matter. Christmas isn’t about gifts. It’s about gathering together.” She offers me a soft, warm smile.

I miss my mother, but she was always cold, always standoffish. As that’s all I’d known, that’s how I thought it should be. My mother’s image in front of others was more important than compassion in her home. She’d been everything I’d turned into and no one I wanted to be anymore.

The tenderness in Mae’s eyes reminds me of Angelica, but I ignore the pinch behind my rib cage.

The next hours pass in a whirlwind of unwrapping presents. Brightly colored paper is made into balls and tossed across the room. Gadgets and gizmos, with instructions and batteries required, fill my living room floor. The kids squealed with excitement, and the adults ooh-ed and aah-ed.

And it all felt so foreign.

This was nothing like the stilted holiday I’d had as a kid. The formal attire and photo opportunities. The neat piles of used paper and the tight smiles over gifts ‘donated’ by sponsors to meet Mother’s influencer image. The awkward silences between the gift exchange and the family dinner.

This was different.

I stare at my sister, animated and bright, adoring her children as they marvel at what they believe Santa brought them. I glance at Tucker, smiling just as wide, his arm casually around Mae, who leans forward, equally excited by every gift her grandchildren open.

How did they do it? How did they let the past go?

Suddenly, I’m too warm and I stand, stalking toward the kitchen, needing at least the island between me and them. Hell, I’ve needed most of the country to separate us, like them in California and me, here, alone.

My stomach turns again. Because I didn’t want to be alone.

“You okay?” Tucker says behind me, and I busy my hands, pouring coffee from the machine my sister must have set last night.

“Yeah,” I mutter toward the coffee pot. “It’s just a lot.” I hate admitting weakness, but I find I’m too weak to resist.

Tucker is suddenly beside me, hip leaning against the countertop. I slowly glance up at him. His hair is fully gray now. The lines near his eyes tell a story. The concern in them puzzles me.

One day, I’ll look like him, but not really.

“You feeling okay?” His voice is hesitant, like he knows any minute, I’ll snap. I’ll bark a sharp retort or a lashing comment.

I hate you. How many times did I say that to him when I was younger?

“I just feel . . .” I sigh, risking a glance at him again before looking back at the hot liquid in my coffee mug. “A little untethered.”

Tucker remains quiet.

“Displaced, actually.”

“Displaced?” he questions, and I look firmly at him.

“Yeah. Actually, my entire life I’ve felt displaced.” Not so much as a stranger or an outsider, just somewhere, or rather, someone, no one wanted. Learning I wasn’t Tucker’s son and that we shared a father. Learning how my mother had been a young girl taken advantage of. The reality made me sick.

“A product of . . .” I couldn’t say the word, and I swallow thickly. What is wrong with me? Blinking at the burn in my eyes for the second time today, I recognize that earlier the wetness was tears, but I don’t want to admit that I’d been crying. I’d been overcome with something I couldn’t define.

And I don’t know why I’m taking this sharp turn down memory lane.

Quickly, Tucker cups my neck, and I pull back instinctually, but he doesn’t let go. He squeezes gently, holding me still.