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Blaire looks at me.

I look at the present. It looks like it survived an explosion.

“Looks good, buddy.”

Theo beams.

Blaire rolls her eyes, but she's smiling when she reaches over to tuck a loose curl behind his ear.

“This one's for Leo,” Theo pats the lumpy package proudly. “I picked it myself. He’s going to love it!”

Blaire shakes her head and goes back to the gift she's wrapping.

There are probably too many presents under the tree already, only a small amount of them are for our extended families. Most are for Theo.

That is entirely my fault.

Every time Blaire sends me to the store for something, I somehow come back with another toy, and I can’t be on my phone for more than thirty seconds without ordering something I want Blaire to have.

“Who do we still have?” I ask, already reaching for the pile of unwrapped gifts.

Blaire looks toward the little notebook beside her knee.

“Mom and Dad are done. Brittney and Anthony are done. Carter and Alex are done. Chance is done. Still need to find a gift for Mason. He’ll actually be home this year.” Blaire adds. “Everybody will be there Christmas Eve.”

Theo looks up immediately. “Everybody?”

“Everybody.”

“And we sleep at Papa’s?”

“Yep.”

His whole face lights up.

Blaire leans back against the couch. “It'll be nice. We haven't had everybody under one roof for Christmas morning in years.”

“Sounds perfect, sweet girl,” I say.

I mean that truthfully. Everybody piled into rooms that aren't big enough for all of us. Someone sleeping on the couch. The kids waking everyone up at some ungodly hour because Santa came. Blaire bitching because somebody drank all the coffee before she got any. The kind of thing I craved as a child and then found in the Thomas’ when I met Blaire. Exactly the kind of thing I wanted for Theo.

“Done!” Theo screams, holding the gift straight up above his head.

A corner of the box is completely exposed.

“Almost.” I lean forward to smooth the paper down and reach for the tape.

“No, Daddy. I can do it.” He snatches the tape from me.

Blaire sighs. “He’s going to want to wrap all the presents now.”

“It builds character.” I joke, relaxing back into the couch.

“It builds ugly presents.” She scoffs, drinking her eggnog.

And for about thirty seconds, everything is fucking perfect.

Then my phone starts ringing from the bedroom.