“Let’s just have a nice Christmas,” Cherry said. “We both deserve a nice Christmas.”
Tom looked in her eyes. His brow was furrowed. He nodded.
When they walked in, everyone shouted, “Cherry!” And then, louder, “Tom!” The younger kids called out, “Uncle Tom!” and ran to grab on to his legs. (A childless uncle was a precious commodity; was anyone ever more fun?)
“Hey, hey,” Tom said, patting their heads and hugging them.
Cherry took the squash casserole from him, feeling suddenly uncertain. Did Tom actually want one more day with these people? Knowing it would be his last?
“Who’s going to help carry in the cookies?” Tom was saying. He drafted a few of the older kids and told them to put on their coats.
Honny and Joy were standing outside the kitchen, mutely watching.
Cherry walked past them, holding the squash casserole in both hands.
“You look cute, Cherry,” Joy said, following her.
“Yeah, you look reallycute, Cherry,” Honny said, like it was an accusation. As soon as they rounded the corner into the kitchen and out of sight, she said, “What intarnation?”
“We arenotdoing this,” Cherry hissed under her breath. “We’re being normal.”
“Wearebeing normal,” Joy said. “You’re the one who brought your ex-husband to Christmas!”
“They’re still married,” Honny said. “The weird part for me is that she brought adifferentguy to Thanksgiving.”
Faith came into the kitchen, still wearing her coat, and rushed over to Cherry, slapping her arm. “Oh mygod,” Faith whispered. “Are you and Tom back together?”
“No,” Cherry said. “We’re just... getting along. He’s moving to California next month, and he was going to be alone on Christmas, so I invited him.”
“You look really cute,” Faith said, like she was just noticing.
Honny’s arms were folded. “Doesn’tshe.”
“This casserole should stay warm in the carrier,” Cherry said. “It’s insulated.”
“Oooh, did you make squash casserole?” Joy asked.
“Yeah,” Cherry said. “Sorry, it has Ritz crackers.”
“Pfft”—Joy waved a hand—“I’m taking the day off from worrying about gluten.”
“You’rewhat?” Honny said.
“Are you serious, Joy?” Faith said. “I made gluten-free potica.”
“I made gluten-free pastieri,” Cherry said.
“I made gluten-free chocolate cake,” Honny said.
Cherry frowned at Honny. “Did it turn out?”
“No!”
“Well...” Joy was pouting. “You all told me I was being stupid.”
“Youwerebeing stupid,” Honny said.
A line of kids was coming into the kitchen, carrying Cherry’s dishes.
