Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
A minute later, a lanky teen wearing a sour expression drags himself down the stairs. When his eyes find me they flare. “Holy shit.” He looks to a younger, equally lanky kid. “I thought you were lying.”
He shrugs. “Sometimes I tell the truth.”
The lanky kid stands off to the side, eyes darting to me.
Mildred hugs my arm. “Connor brought some special gifts for all of you.”
I’m suddenly surrounded by chatty, eager teens. I pass out hats and shirts and jerseys. Some of them hug me, others ask me to sign their swag. It’s humbling and gratifying, especially with the way it lights up Mildred’s face.
After we finish handing out loot, we’re invited to stay for coffee and afternoon snacks. The coffee is godawful, but the cookies are good. Mildred talks to Cordelia, the house guardian, about her funding proposal in hopes to create additional opportunities for kids to earn their community service hours at the library since it’s been so successful for Everly.
Unfortunately, we’re expected at my parents’ so we are forced to excuse ourselves. I’d rather stay with the kids and drink shitty coffee and eat cookies, but I can’t disappoint my sisters, who are excited to see Mildred.
The twins stand at the window waving, Everly hugging her brother’s arm, both of them looking sad and happy at the same time as I help Mildred into the passenger seat of my car.
“What’s Christmas like at the group home?” I ask.
“They have a Secret Santa gift exchange,” she replies. “Some of the kids might have supervised visits with family members, and the kids who can’t have a family visit or don’t have family make dinner together.”
“Do Victor and Everly see their parents?”
Mildred shakes her head. “No, their parents aren’t allowed visits.”
“Why not?”
“Mom is a sex worker with addiction issues, and Dad is incarcerated.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is, so the group home is better.” She shifts, angling her body toward me. “What is Christmas like with your family?”
I shrug. “Usually my parents take my sisters and Meems somewhere warm.”
“Can Meems travel this year?”
“No, but the rest of my family is flying out after dinner tonight.”
“Have you ever gone?”
“When I was younger. My schedule doesn’t allow it now.” And they stopped asking years ago.
“Of course not.” Her voice softens with sadness. “But we’ll have just as much fun together this year as we did last year.”
“It’ll be even better,” I agree.
Once we arrive home, we change into formal dinner attire, as is the dress code for the evening. Then Mildred comes down the stairs carrying a huge box that’s decorated like a wrapped present.
“What is that?”
She tips it forward, showing me the contents. “Gifts.”
“For who?”
“Your family.” She says this like it’s the most logical thing in the universe, like my parents aren’t stuck-up assholes every time we see them.
“But I already took care of the gifts.” I get my family the same thing every year: spa gift certificates for my mom and sisters, and bottles of expensive imported booze for my father and brothers-in-law. Meems—I go all out for, though. Every year I get her something different. Last year I picked out a new winter coat with a matching hat and gloves for her ladies’ nights. This year I bought her a special reading chair for the guesthouse because she falls asleep in it so often.
“You took care of the gifts from you. These are from me.” She kisses my cheek and passes me the box as Meems appears.
Mildred’s gaze slides to me, brow quirked. “Matchy-matchy, aren’t we?”
Mildred is wearing a black-and-wine plaid dress, and Meems is in green and black. Both have gold accents. My jacket is the same wine color as Mildred’s dress, and my tie picks up Meems’s green.
Meems’s smile is wry. “Connor has always had a thing about color coordination.”
I shrug. “We’re a team.”
“We absolutely are.” Mildred smiles warmly as she holds out her arms, linking the three of us. I walk my girls out to the car, help them in, and make the short drive to my parents’ house. Just a few hours and then my unpleasant family obligations are fulfilled for the holidays.
When we arrive, my sisters greet us with hugs and enthusiasm instead of air kisses, and we’re ushered into the living room.
“Wow.” Mildred smiles wryly. “That’s quite the tree.”
I hum my agreement. It fits my parents’ white-on-white décor.
Mother comes over to give us air kisses, eyeing my suit with disapproval.
“What’s all this?” She peers at the loudly wrapped box full of smaller, less-loudly wrapped gifts, like whatever is inside might jump out and bite her.
“Presents,” Mildred says brightly.
“Did you wrap them yourself?” Mom asks.
“That’s my favorite part of the season.” Mildred carries the box, which she refused to relinquish to me for reasons I don’t understand, into the living room and sets it next to the monochromatic, professionally wrapped gifts already under the tree.