Page 11 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“Nope,” I cross my arms on the other side. “She’s not going to help you.”

“Mom,” Gracie joins in outside the door. “Where is breakfast? You didn’t wake me up, and I have five minutes! And why did you take the tree—”

“Gracie, we’re talking to Peyton. Quiet,” I snap.

“Gah, I just said that I don’t have time!”

“And now, you’ve lost item fourteen.”

“Dad, that’s almost all of it!” She shouts.

“Did you just yell?” I counter as the bathroom sink runs behind me and turn to see Serena smiling around her electronic toothbrush. She’s so digging this, and sadly, so am I. Turning back toward the door, I bark out my command. “Wait your turn, Gracie.”

“Hurry up, Peyton,” she snaps.

Knock. Knock.

“Daddy,” Peyton whispers. “Someone stolded our Christmas tree, and all the decord is gone.” A small thud sounds, and I bite my laugh away because I know he’s now got his face plastered to the wood. “Please, Daddy, I need you to come see.”

Opening the door, I stare down at my frazzled children, and a sick satisfaction thrums through me. Maybe I am going to hell.

“Better, Peyton. It’s a shame it’s gone. I guess Rudolph knows you get sad faces from Mrs. May every single day.

Peyton’s eyes widen. “He knows?”

“Oh, my God,” Gracie says, poking her head into my bedroom.

“No one gave you permission to enter, Gracie,” I say, tugging her arm and ushering her into the living room, where not a trace of Christmas décor remains. A pang of guilt hits before I catch my twelve-year-old’s vicious side-eye. Jesus.

“I wonder if he took the tree in Triple Falls, too,” I respond to her cutting glare.

“Oh my dawd!” Peyton exclaims. “We have to call Grammy right now. Daddy, call her!”

“Nope, she’s sleeping,” I say as both follow me into the kitchen.

“Mom,” Gracie starts the minute Serena clears our bedroom threshold. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I’m late.”

“You have an alarm,” Serena replies instantly. “That’s what it’s for.”

“But you always wake me up.”

“Not anymore,” Serena says, flashing me a heated look, which temporarily stuns me before I shoot her one right back. Is this turning us both on? Are we evil? Are our apples not falling far from the tree?

“Mommy, look, the tree and your dectorations is all gone!” Peyton exclaims as Serena lines up next to me, a fellow soldier armed up.

“Huh, wonder where they went?” Serena asks, feigning ignorance about the situation.

“Did you know that I knew I was going to fall in love with your mother the minute I saw her?” I tell both kids, giving Serena more honesty. “I knew I had to make her mine.”

“Gross,” Gracie spouts, “I don’t want to hearthat. Dad, Gemma is going to be here any minute, and I’m not ready. I need twenty bucks to buy a Friendsmas basket. No, I really need forty bucks. I think we’re doing more this year.”

“Sorry,” I shrug. “Fresh out of cash, and you don’t deserve it.”

“It’s okay,” she ignores me entirely. “Mom can give it to me.”

“You didn’t take out the trash,” Serena says. “So, no allowance this week.”

“No, no,” Gracie counters quickly, manipulation in full effect with her next practiced technique. “This isn’t for me, this is Friendsmas, remember? Allowance isn’t included.”

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