They were not relatively normal.
"It's a chicken!" Jake yelled.
"That's not a chicken, that's clearly a... a... something else," Riley argued, squinting at Grant's drawing.
"It's a rooster," Grant said.
"How is that different from a chicken?"
"One crows, one doesn't."
"They're the same bird!"
"Technically—" Sophie started.
"ROOSTER!" Jake shouted, and Thomas hit the bell.
"Point to our team," Thomas said, looking far too pleased with himself.
"This game is rigged," Jason called from the other team.
"You're just mad because you can't draw," his wife shot back.
"I can draw perfectly well."
"You drew a tree that looked like a deformed umbrella."
"It had dimension!"
Grant caught Riley's eye, and they both dissolved into laughter.
The games continued—Pictionarygave way to charades, which devolved into an argument about whether interpretive dance was allowed. Grant found himself acting outThe Polar Expresswhile Jake shouted increasingly elaborate guesses.
"It's a movie!" Jake hissed. "Three words! Why aren't you getting this?"
"Because your uncle's acting needs work," Riley whispered back, trying not to laugh.
"It'sThe Polar Express!" Grant guessed, and Jake threw his hands up in victory.
"Finally! Uncle Grant gets it!"
Uncle Grant.
The casual title softened Grant's chest. He glanced at Riley, who was watching him with warmth and knowing in her expression.
Later, Carol insisted on carols, pulling out a stack of song sheets that had definitely seen better days. They gathered around the piano—Riley's dad playing while her mother conducted like they were performing at Carnegie Hall instead of in a suburban living room.
Grant found himself standing next to Riley, their shoulders touching, her voice soft and slightly off-key in his ear. He didn't know most of the harmonies, but he hummed along anyway, and when Riley caught him watching her instead of singing, she just smiled and kept going.
This was what he wanted. Every Christmas. Every holiday. Every ordinary Tuesday night.
All of it. With her.
By the time people started gathering their things to leave, Grant's face hurt from smiling and his chest felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the fireplace or the spiked cider.
Riley's aunt was wrangling her kids into coats while they protested loudly about leaving. Tyler and Sophie haddisappeared onto the porch, probably enjoying a moment of quiet after the chaos.
Riley walked Grant and Thomas to the door while her family said their goodbyes in the background. The night air that leaked in was sharp and cold, carrying the scent of snow.
