“Go sit by your cousin Tyler, kids,” Helen said, pointing a manicured finger toward the corner where Brent’s twelve-year-old son was playing a game on his phone. “But don’t touch his tablet. That was a very expensive early gift from his father.”
Emma twisted the hem of her cardigan, her small body shrinking back against my coat.
“They can sit with me on the sofa,” I said.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Julia,” Helen said, her voice rising as she straightened a gold bow on one of the larger gift bags. “Shouldn’t children learn to socialize without clinging to their mothers’ skirts?”
I reached down and adjusted my wristwatch again, pulling the leather strap tight against my wrist until the metal buckle pinched.
Dinner was eaten in silence, save for the sound of Arthur’s fork scraping against his plate and the hum of the television commercials. The silver gravy boat sat unused at the end of the table, a polished relic that nobody wanted to pass.
By eight o’clock, Helen had gathered everyone around the tree for the presentation of the gifts. The grandfather clock chimed the hour, its heavy brass weights swinging behind the glass door.
“Now, let’s see who has been especially helpful this year,” Helen said, her voice carrying a bright, theatrical lilt.
She reached under the green boughs and pulled out a large, glittering blue bag with silver tissue paper poking out of the top.
“This one is for Tyler,” Helen said, handing the bag to Brent’s son. “For being such a wonderful athlete and making the traveling team.”
Tyler tore into the paper, pulling out a signed baseball jersey. “Awesome,” he muttered, not looking up from his lap.
“And this is for Brent,” Helen continued, lifting a heavy rectangular box wrapped in gold foil. “To help with those new tools he needed for the shop.”
Brent let out that brief, mocking chuckle and set the box on his knee. “Thanks, Mom. Some people actually understand what it takes to run a business these days.” He looked over at me, his fingers tapping the cardboard.
“And of course, something beautiful for Arthur,” Helen said, passing a small, velvet-lined box to my father, who grunted and set it on the side table without opening it.
