There are open boxes, half-strung garlands, and three rolls of wrapping paper leaning against the couch.
I toe off my boots and hang my coat. “So, how bad is it?”
Molly sinks onto the couch like someone pulled her batteries. “Define bad.”
I wince. “That good?”
She drags her hair into a messy knot and stares at the coffee table, which is currently hosting a planner, an empty mug, and a crumpled list that looks like it’s been written and rewritten half a dozen times.
“Okay,” she says eventually. “Logistics. Both sets of our parents get here tomorrow afternoon. Bradley’s grandma and some of her friends are driving up from the senior center the day after. Don’t even get me started on the cousin situation.”
I arch an eyebrow. “What’s the cousin situation?”
She grimaces. “I’m hoping it’ll work itself out.”
I pull a face. “And you promised Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas morning brunch.”
“I know. I’m an idiot.”
“Plus stockings, plus carols, plus the magical small-town holiday experience.” I look up from the list. “Forget being an idiot. You’re insane.”
“In my defense, I was feeling very optimistic when we agreed to this.” Her smile flutters, then falls. “I had more energy.”
There it is again. That careful phrase.
I sink onto the cushion beside her. “You still haven’t told them?”
“Not yet.” She presses her palms over her eyes. “It’s too early and I don’t want to jinx anything, and what if something goes wrong?” She releases a shuddering breath. “I can barely convince my own body to stay awake right now, let alone deal with everyone’s questions.”
My chest softens. “Then we get through it. We smile. We make sure you rest. And I run interference until you’re ready.”
Her hands drop and she gives me a watery grin. “You came home to run interference.”
“I came home because you’re my sister.” I bump my shoulder against hers. “The interfering is a bonus.”
She laughs quietly, then lets her head fall back against the couch. “I’m so tired. I get up, I give Pigeon her fluids, I answer a few emails, and then I need a nap. Bradley keeps telling me we can cancel Christmas, but Mom already bought matching sweaters. You know how she gets.”
I do. Our mother and her damn traditions. She wields them like a weapon.
“Then we adjust,” I say. “You don’t have to cancel Christmas. You just have to outsource it. Lucky for you, I happen to be very skilled at bossing people around.”
Molly turns her head and studies me for a long moment. “You’d really take over?”
“I’ll cook, decorate, coordinate, and run interference. You rest, smile, and eat whatever smells good. When you get tired,we blame jet lag. Or altitude. Or the fact that you spent the last year running your own business and planning a wedding.”
She blinks fast, eyes bright. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Please. I tell you where to hide your good chocolate when you visit me. We’re even.”
She snorts again and swipes under one eye. “Okay. Deal. I’ll let you run the show. Just, if Mom starts asking why I’m not pouring wine, step in before she remembers what happened the last time she suspected I was pregnant.”
“That was once,” I protest.
“She bought a onesie before I even took a test.”
“Fair.”
Her phone buzzes on the table. She glances at it and grimaces.
