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“When you were a kid?”

The unintentional dig gets me giggling under my breath.

“When Gami and Gramps were kids.”

“Ohhhhhhhh,” she drags out during her being lifted into his arms. “So alonnnggg longggg longggg longggggggtime ago.”

“She could justaskfor coal in her stocking,” I mutter to Mom enroute to the other pillar.

“Seriously,” she whispers back in amusement.

“You want this on the very top?” Wes politely inquires in tandem with inching into a better position for her to reach the area. “Isn’t that where Wy’s gonna put one of his Batman tree toppers?”

“No,” instantaneously leaves our only son.

Our eyes all cut to him, yet it’s his dad that speaks, “Do you plan to put one somewhere else?”

“No.”

“Do you plan to helpat all?”

“No.”

“Wyland.”

“I’m sorry.” He shoves his hands into hisStar Trekhoodie pocket and snidely corrects, “I meant,no thank you.”

“That’s not what I have an issue with.” Wes adjusts his hold on Blake to allow her to reach the top of the object. “You need to participate in the activities.”

“No.”

Irritation has me preparing to intervene when my mom gives a subtle headshaking gesture.

Damnit.

I knowtheyneed to fight it out.

Figureit out.

But I hate that they selfishly keep ruining feel-good family moments!

ForFederationsake,read the room!

Let us enjoy this shit!

“You need to be involved.”

“No.”

“You need to behave like you’re actually part of this family.”

“Weston,” swiftly hisses Clark in disapproval.

“What?” My other half snips in return while his daughter wiggles around in his grasp. “He. Does.”

“You mean behave likeyouwant me to behave,” snaps our teenager, lean frame sitting up completely straight.

“Yes.”

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