Tash
I'd decidedto visit Gerty and wrap presents while we waited for Beth to arrive. The girls came too, of course. And where Fifi went, so did Huey. All of us piled into the rental and moved to the kitchen to do the wrapping.
The dragon plush glared at me from the table like it knew it was about to be manhandled. I lined up the wrapping paper and scissors, determined to make Chance's Christmas present look halfway decent, but Huey had other plans. For the third time in twelve minutes, he circled my chair, sprang up, and tried to snatch the toy straight out of my lap.
"Absolutely not," I told him, tucking the dragon under my arm. Huey wiggled his hindquarters in determination. He was not here for my boundaries.
The heat vent kicked on and sent a swirl of warm air right into my face. I stifled a sneeze, blinking as Huey switched tactics. This time, he went for sheer cuteness. Paws on my knee, tongue dangling, full puppy dog eyes. The little dog had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
I wrapped the dragon quickly, tape ready, before the little monster could regroup, but the second I set the package on the table to cut a ribbon, Huey went into overdrive. He lunged, grabbed the plush by the tail, and God help me, started humping the thing through the paper.
The noise that came out of my mouth was not dignified. "Huey!" I shouted. "Leave it! That's not for you!"
He froze, then looked at me like I was the unreasonable one.
Dragging the present upward, I dangled it over my head. Huey jumped, tail wagging, still desperate for the world's weirdest date. If this was a metaphor for my love life, I absolutely refused to notice.
I peeled off the sheet of used wrapping paper, grabbed a box, and started over, this time anchoring the box between my feet as I taped like a madwoman. Huey zipped around the kitchen, snorting his outrage into every available corner.
Once the package was mostly secure, I double-checked the tape, wrote Chance's name in Sharpie, and scanned the kitchen for a safe zone. The top of the pantry seemed promising. I heaved the gift up there, Huey staring up as if he could reach it by sheer force of will.
"That's that," I said, planting my hands on my hips.
Huey whined, but I tossed him a bit of leftover toast crust for his troubles.
Surveying the battlefield, I realized something else. One of my rolls of wrapping paper was missing. Just gone, no note, no explanation.
Great. Sabotaged by the "Gift Fairies."
A quick check of the living room confirmed it. The twins' latest covert operation had moved into full swing. Mere's backpack was wedged under the side table, its zipper gaping just enough to reveal the corner of a shopping bag. They must've stolen the paper yesterday after Mere's top-secret solo trip to town. She'd come back looking smug, and had refused to spill what she'd been up to.
Fifi, naturally, played dumb. "No idea what you're talking about."
She sounded so innocent, I almost clapped.
Gerty sauntered into the kitchen. "You would not believe how many paint tubes I own. I think they self-replicate. Or maybe I black out and just order more when I'm sleep deprived."
She leaned against the fridge and sized up the room. The wrapped box in the pantry, the sulking dog, and the faint scent of hopeful excitement clinging to every surface.
"You're up early," she noted, one eyebrow arched. "Wrapping presents before noon? Is this the new Tash, or are you being blackmailed?"
"I'm on a mission," I told her. "I wanted to get it done before Beth arrived. Her kids' presents are done. You should see what Huey just tried to do to Chance's gift."
Gerty grinned, sharp and sly. "Please tell me he humped it."
I glared, but it was a fair guess. "Like a frat boy at a foam party."
"Nice. Nothing says, ‘family holiday' like a violated dragon plush."
Before either of us could unpack the image, the world outside went off like a starter pistol.
Car doors slammed. Once, twice, and then an extra pop for luck. Then came the familiar sound of Beth's voice, rolling up the walk, punctuated by the high-pitched chorus of small children.
Gerty laughed. "Showtime."
I barely made it to the front hall before Beth barreled through the door, hair askew and cheeks flushed. She was carrying three bags. One polka-dotted, one a tangled plastic grocery sack, and the third dangling precariously from her pinky finger. Her kids followed behind.
"Surprise!" Beth crowed, dropping the bags and pulling me into a hug.
