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She calls to James, “You need help, Jacob?”

James, meanwhile, is straddling the stairs splits style while trying to haul the first of the suitcases. It’s not going well.

“That’d be great,” he says, ignoring her name lapse. “If you could just pass . . . this up . . .”

“Sure.” She smiles like she’s super-duper right on it but doesn’t budge.

“Are you sure there’s something wrong with these steps?” James says, reaching down to touch one.

“They were just finished,” Genie snaps. “Stained this morning. Don’t touch.”

“But you just said—”

“They were fixed. It’s a holiday miracle.”

“Genie . . .” I say in a warning tone. “Let’s just leave this alone.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be able to do that. And neither should you. You’ve got a psychopath in your house.”

“It’s not my house. And I didn’t invite him.”

“Fine. You let a psychopath into Nana’s house. Much. Better.”

“This is redeemable. There are bright sides here.”

“Oh yeah? How? What?”

“It doesn’t smell like work’s been done,” James calls out, sniffing close to the base steps. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, James,” she says irritably, as though he’s the annoying fly distracting her from important conversations. Her arms are crossed as she looks back at me, waving for me to carry on.

I shrug and shake my head. “Well, for starters, I look like I’m dating again. No more weird advances from Joe.”

Second-cousin Joe isn’t someone I want to be trapped with in a discussion of “So just how legally can we date?” again.

“Small pittance.”

“And this is the season of forgiveness. It’s a good opportunity to practice that.”

She scowls. “He’s actively doing the wrong here. He’s actively willing to pretend to be an interested party romantically. Don’t put the cart before the horse. Or better yet, let me put this horse in his place—”

“But mostly, Genie . . .” I sigh. Stuff my hands in my coat pockets as I stare at my best and oldest friend earnestly. “I’m just down for the count right now. I need a break from all this soul-searching. I need a break. I don’t want conflict. I loathe conflict. And I’m tired, Genie. Not just from the last week but from everything that’s happened in the past month in Seattle too. I don’t want problems. I’m tired of problems. I’m tired of everything right now.”

Genie’s face shifts subtly, her expression softening. “Well . . . okay . . . but—”

“James is going to stay here for the next forty-eight hours and do whatever he wants to do to fulfill his little quest, and I’m just going to take the peaceful route and head home at the end of this. We’ll part ways and I’ll never see him again.”

Genie looks at me dubiously. “You know what, Chlo? Just let me do this. I’m going to tell him to leave.”

“I don’t want drama.”

“What drama? I won’t say it with drama,” she exclaims dramatically.

I shake my head. “I don’t want looks. I don’t want pity conversations. I don’t want people thinking I’m a walking mess after leaving Seattle and that now some guy has left me in the middle of Christmas without so much as a word. I just want peace. And the most peaceful way I can think of getting through this—and I’ve thought through it—is to do nothing at all.”

Genie’s nose scrunches up. She hates everything about this plan, and everything about this plan is contrary to her entire personality.

“Look,” I continue, “I know you wouldn’t do it this way, but please let me do this mine. I’m disoriented from the pure chaos of my life and doing my own exhausting personal project, and now all I want is to eat some cookies, bake some pies, hang out with some people I haven’t seen in a long time, and make it to Christmas unscathed.”