With flushed cheeks and bright eyes, Abby glows with happiness.
I have a feeling I must look the same. “Yeah, we have.”
As the family disperses, talking about dinner preparations and afternoon naps, Abby tugs on my hand. “Thank you for bringing me here today. For sharing your family with me. It means more than I can say.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Abby
When the time for the gift exchange arrives, my stomach is in knots—double knots if I’m being honest with myself. Everyone crowds into the living room, and John makes space for me to sit next to him. His family is so welcoming I shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable not having anything to give.
The room screams holiday cheer, from the wood crackling in the stone fireplace to the white lights twinkling on the Christmas tree, but now that the presents are the focus, it seems to be even louder. Whatever is baking for dessert only adds to the festive air. I wish every Christmas could be like this, because no holiday will ever live up to today.
Then again, I also know how John must’ve felt this morning during my family’s gift exchange—empty-handed and awkward. I told him not to worry about it, and I need to take my own advice. There’s no need to feel like a Christmas party crasher vying for the “most likely to freeload” award, right?
I glance at the beautifully wrapped gifts. I’m surprised there aren’t more, given how big and wealthy John’s family appears to be. At least there won’t be one for me, so I won’t feel quite so bad, showing up empty handed.
John wraps his arm around me. “Now you know how I felt this morning when your family opened gifts.”
“Yes. I wish I had something to give your family.”
“Nonsense, dear.” Maggie leans toward me with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “You’re family now. Besides, Johnny never brings anyone home. You being here is the best present we could ask for.”
Warmth flows through my chest.Family. It’s such a simple word, but my eyes sting with unexpected emotion. I glance atJohn, who is speaking with his grandfather. As if sensing my gaze, he looks up, catching my eye. His lips curve into a soft smile, and my heart does an acrobatics routine.
I look away, my cheeks burning as hot as the flames in the fireplace. I focus on the tree, but my curiosity wins out. I sneak a peek at John, who raises an eyebrow and then winks. He’s trying to make me laugh, so I press my lips together to keep a straight face, but a smile appears anyway.
The gift exchange is like everything John’s family does—wonderfully chaotic. Wrapping paper flies, bows and ribbons go on tops of heads, and exclamations of delight echo off the walls. The volume keeps rising, laughter overtaking the chatter.
Lizzy squeals with delight over a set of oil paints. She holds them up for all to see. “Oh my, this is perfect. Thank you so much, Uncle Ross.”
Uncle Ross beams, appearing pleased with his choice. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see what you create with them.” His voice is full of pride, and he makes me think of my grandfather, who, like Ross, cared enough to know what made me happy.
John’s grandfather unwraps a colorful, hand-knitted scarf from his great-granddaughter. His eyes mist as he wraps it around his neck. “It’s beautiful, Emily. Did you make this yourself?”
Emily nods shyly.
Her great-grandfather hugs her. “I’ll treasure it always.”
The appreciation nearly overwhelms me. I’m witnessing something so pure I feel like an outsider. But it’s wonderful—seeing gifts that aren’t about price tags, but about love and thoughtfulness.
Even the smallest gifts are met with excitement. John’s younger cousin Trey whoops with happiness over a pack ofcolorful socks, each adorned with a different superhero. “These are so cool. Thanks, Aunt Theo.”
His family is so different from mine. Our gift exchanges are always about what’s most expensive or trendy. Not here, and I love it. John has been blessed with a special family, and I must admit I wish they were my family, too.
Maggie hands me a small, beautifully wrapped package.
A pang of guilt rises up. “But I didn’t bring anyone a gift—”
She pats my hand. “As I said before, you are family now.”
Family.
The word lingers in the air as if something tangible I can touch. I untie the ribbon, rip the wrapping paper off, and hold a small white box. I lift the lid to reveal a delicate silver locket. Vintage—most likely an antique, polished smooth by years of care. Carefully, I open it, and inside I find a tiny four-leaf clover, perfectly pressed and preserved.
“It’s been in the family for generations,” Maggie says, her voice as gentle as her eyes. “We pass it down to bring luck and love to the next generation.”
A lump forms in my throat, and it burns. Not that I could speak right now, even if I wanted to. This gift isn’t just a locket—it feels like an invitation, a way of saying I belong. “I… Thank you.”
