Page 163 of End Game

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

Her attention shifts toward Cami, and there is a split second of hesitation before she moves.

It isn’t reluctance.

She’s waiting.

She’s giving Cami a choice.

She wants to hug Cami, but she’s making sure Cami wants to be hugged first.

That distinction matters enough that I feel some of the tension in my chest ease.

Cami closes the distance herself and wraps both arms around her.

“I’m so glad you’re here, sweetheart.”

“Thank you for having us.” Cami’s voice is quieter than normal.

My father appears behind her and shakes Micah’s hand before pulling me into a one-armed hug. Margot comes from the kitchen a few seconds later and, thankfully, makes considerably less ceremony out of greeting any of us.

She hugs Cami first. “Hi.” That’s all she says.

There is no meaningful expression, no apology, and no careful question about whether Cami is okay. Margot simply greets her the way she would have before any of this happened.

Cami visibly relaxes. “Hi.”

“I brought emotional support mimosas,” Margot finally says.

I look at her. “That implies brunch requires emotional support.”

She returns my stare without blinking. “Does it not?”

Fair.

We follow everyone farther into the house, and the first thing I notice is not who is here, but who isn’t.

There is no Mike. No kids. No Sarah or Theo. No Tori or her girls.

No Ben.

Just Mom, Dad, Margot, and the three of us.

I knew this wasn’t the full family Christmas gathering. My mother told me when she invited us that they were doing their usual dinner tonight, and I knew this brunch had been arranged because Cami and I would not attend anything where Ben was present.

Knowing that intellectually and walking into an edited version of my family are different experiences.

My mother has made too much food, because apparently even a fraction of the usual guest list requires enough breakfast to feed a minor military operation. There are cinnamon rolls, eggs, bacon, fruit, some kind of baked French toast, and enough coffee to medically concern Griffin if he were here.

Christmas music plays from speakers in the living room. The tree lights blink in an inconsistent pattern that I dislike almost immediately, and a cinnamon candle is burning even though there is already enough actual cinnamon in the room to make the artificial version unnecessary.

The smells of bacon, coffee, cinnamon, and something else Mom has baking in the oven overlap heavily.

None of those things are individually a problem.

Micah pulls a chair out for Cami at the table and takes the seat beside her without discussing it. I sit across from them, relieved that he understood exactly what I needed him to do.

If I spend the entire morning monitoring Cami, I will not be able to deal honestly with whatever comes up with my family. Micah knows that. More importantly, Cami knows it too.