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It’s clear what she wants.

Obvious that she’s contemplating whether or not to approach.

How to speak to him.

Canshe speak to him?

Her adorable, nervous behavior prompts me to casually ask, “Hey, Wy?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know that girl?” I kick my chin in the direction I want his attention to go the instant he lifts his head. “She keeps looking over here.”

This glance leads to him seeing her see him, something that immediately has her blushing and snapping her face away.

When our stares meet again, he simply shrugs. “Nope.”

“You think maybe you go to school together?”

“Maybe.”

“You think maybe she follows you on social media?”

The disinterest remains. “Maybe.”

“You think…maybe…you should go talk to her?” Keeping an even tone is difficult but not impossible. “Maybe see if she likes to surf?” There’s no initial response in either direction pushing me to continue. “Maybe see what she’s hoping to get this Christmas?”

Still nothing.

“Maybe see if she could be anew friend?” I quirk an eyebrow. “One that’s…closer to home?”

Wy’s eyes swiftly narrow into paper thin slits, wordlessly informing me that I made a mistake.

A grave mistake.

“I don’t need a newfriend,Dad.” He carelessly tosses the glue gun onto the table. “I already have the rightfriend.” His eyebrows pull tightly together. “The perfect friend.” Wy shakes his head in additional irritation. “The perfectfor me friendthat doesn’t need to be replaced.” Irateness reaches the rest of his expression. “She just needs to see me more than once a year.”

My mouth twitches in preparation of apologizing, “Wy-”

“I don’t feel like making ornaments anymore.” Pausing for me to speak doesn’t occur. “Mom, is it cool if I go get some HC?”

“Is that a drug!?” thoughtlessly leaves me in a low grumble. “Since when do you let our son do drugs?!”

“Fucking really, Wes,” Bryn huffs louder than I’m sure our publicists would approve. “You think I’d just let our son leave in the middle of afamily friendly Christmas charity eventto go do a bump of Santa’s pocket snow in the nearest bathroom?”

“What the hell is Santa’s pocket snow?!”

“Cocaine,” answers our son without missing a beat. “Mom, can I go or what?”

“Of course.”

“Can we go too?!” Blakely quickly questions. “I’mdyyyyinngggggggof thirst.”

Not smirking at her theatrics is a feat in itself for Bryn. “Do you mind taking them with you, Fins?”

“I don’t mind doing something for the people I love.” He twitches me a hateful glare. “Unlike some dudes.” Rather than wait for me to defend myself, he uses his two-pointed index fingers to gesture the direction they need to move like he’s a lifeguard on duty. “Swim out.”

Brae skirts around her brother to link arms with her sister. “You want my mellows?”

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