Page 85 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

“Oh yeah?”

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DAKOTA

“Merry Christmas!”

“This is not what I meant by extortion.”

“You look so cute, Dakota,” my mom cooed as I scuttled down the stairs. “Matching pajamas. Wonderful idea, Ryder. Let me take a photo. Scoot in! Dakota, smile. Oh, wait…”

“You have to press the white button and release it, Mom,” my sister complained. “Don’t hold it. That switches to video.”

“They make these phones so complicated” my mom complained, peering over her glasses as I stood in front of the Christmas tree with my siblings, cousins, and boyfriend, all wearing matching one-piece pajama sets that somehow made me look five months pregnant, flat chested, and like my ass had gotten up and walked away.

“We look like the elves from Santa’s workshop that fried their brains from overwork and eggnog.” I huffed.

“Ryder and I picked these out,” my mom scolded. “Dakota, did you not hear me say smile? This is going on next year’s Christmas card.”

“At least you got your tooth fixed.” My sister had accessorized her one-piece, and she actually looked decent.

“I thought her tooth was cute.” Ryder leaned in to kiss me.

“Ryder, you’re not even wearing the onesie.” I jabbed his rock-hard abs. The sleeves of the one-piece were tied around his waist.

“I actually couldn’t fit in the arms,” he said.

“I’m surprised he could fit in the pants.” Violet made a purring noise and pretended to paw at him.

I slapped her down then yelled at my brother, who was drawing a penis on my cast.

“I want this to be a nice fucking picture for once, goddamn it. Dakota, smile!” My mom swore, taking a photo with her finger over the lens.

“Jesus Christ in heaven, Babs,” Granny Murray declared, “This is as painful as watching amateur porn in the old folks home.” She snatched the phone from my mom and snapped several pictures.

“Let me see! Oh, you look bad, Dakota.” My sister shook her head.

“She looks like she always does.” Nico smirked.

“Shut up!” I yelled at my brother.

“Can we open presents?” Timmy whined.

“This is supposed to be a nice Christmas for Ryder.” Dad swatted Timmy. “Mind your manners.”

“My little Ryder,” my mom cooed and gave him a hug. “Stockings are first.”

“Wait, I need to take another photo,” I said, panicking. “I look terrible in that.”

“Posted already!” Violet said, handing Ryder his phone back.

“What? No! You need to fire her as your publicist,” I warned him.

“But she’s family,” he said mildly.

“Yeah,” Aunt Stacy echoed, “she’s family.”

“I’ve gotten you, like, a hundred thousand new followers,” Violet bragged as my mom passed out our stockings.

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