His mouth curved. “Best gift I ever got.”
I grinned, despite everything. “We’re going to hell.”
“We’ve been in hell,” he murmured, cupping my jaw. “This is heaven.”
We made it downstairs as if nothing had happened.
Well, almost nothing.
Tru’s cheeks were flushed pink from the cold shower, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead. My jeans were buttoned wrong. My coffee mug shook in my hand, so I sat on the floor beside the tree and tried to will my heartbeat to chill the hell out.
Charlotte had cinnamon rolls on a plate, one hand around her cup, the other flipping through the playlist on her phone. My dad was there too—present, calm—and for the first time, I didn’t feel bitter about his attention coming too late. I just… accepted it.
I glanced sideways at Tru.
He sat beside me on the rug with a mug ofcocoa, looking lighter than I’d ever seen him, like he’d finally set something heavy down. I wanted to kiss the corner of his mouth. Instead, I took another sip of coffee and watched as he reached under the tree.
“There’s one fromus,” he said, emphasizing it like a habit. He handed over a flat package wrapped in brown paper. “To you guys.”
Mom opened it. It was a black-and-white sketch of the four of us—happy, together, afamily. He’d framed it beautifully in polished silver.
“I signed it from both of us,” Tru said quietly, glancing my way.
I blinked. I hadn’t known he’d done that. I hadn’t gotten them anything—not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t have a job or time or the faintest clue how to act like a normal step-son when everything about us was still pretending.
But Tru... I shot him a look. Just a flick of the eyes and a small, grateful smile. He saw it and smiled back, shy but proud.
Charlotte dabbed at her eyes. Dad cleared his throat. “Well, now you’ve made your mother cry,” he teased.
“There’s more,” I said suddenly, surprising even myself.
Everyone turned to me. I set my mug down and took a breath. “My present… couldn’t be wrapped.”
Mom and Dad looked expectant, sweet, as if I was about to announce an academic triumph.
“I’m quitting pre-law,” I said.
Charlotte went still. Dad blinked. “You’re what?”
“I’m quitting,” I repeated, slower this time. “I’m not continuing next semester.”
“You mean you’re transferring?” Dad asked. “Changing majors? Taking a break?”
“I mean, I don’t know what I want yet,” I said. “But I’m going to figure it out.”
Charlotte stayed silent. Dad sat back, processing.
“I’m still learning how to listen to myself,” I added, my eyes flicking to Tru for strength. “But I promise, I’ll let you know what I hear.”
The room went quiet except for Harry Connick Jr. singing about Rudolph. Then Charlotte set her coffee down, got to her knees, and pulled me into a hug hard enough to squeeze the air from my lungs.
“Sweetheart,” she whispered. “That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
I swallowed, nodded, and hugged her back.
Dad looked like he was still buffering, but he gave me a slow nod. “Okay,” he said finally. “We’re here for you. Whatever it ends up being.”
But I wasn’t done. My throat tightened around the lump rising there. “Also,” I said quietly as she still held me, “I want to start calling you Mom. Because that’s what you are. It’s what you’ve always been.”
