Page 30 of The Sleight Before Christmas

Serena frowns. “You know we drove.”

“Ah, so you finally gave the broom a much-needed break. Probably lost some frequent flyer points, but you must have, what, at least twomillionmiles on it by now?”

“Walked right into that one,” Whitney chuckles as Serena, who’s already in motion, flips the top of the ketchup bottle in her hands before unloading it on Brenden’s freshly plated eggs. No visible trace of yellow left by the time she tables it.

Brenden immediately shovels a forkful into his mouth, speaking around it. “Doc says I need to eat more vegetables.” He shoots Serena a wink. “Thanks for looking out, big sis.”

“Eat poo and keel over, brother,” Serena delivers sweetly before pulling Erin into a hug. “I love you.Only you.”

“Not me too?” Conner asks, Brenden’s oldest. Though our niece is mostly as soft-spoken as her mother, she’s become more participatory in sarcastic ping-ponging the last year or two, which is the Collins’ official love language.

Serena snatches Conner into a hug next. “Definitely you too, and you,” she says, embracing Wyatt, Brenden’s middle child. Wyatt, who speaks as often as Brenden and Erin’s youngest son, Jameson, who’shalfhis age and still in diapers. Not only is Wyatt politely mute, but he’s forever dressed like he stepped out of a baby GQ closet and seems to prefer it. I see it the second Serena joins me in juxtaposing our kids—who are closest in age—just as Peyton voices his distaste for his mother’s generous affection.

“The hell? Mommy, you didn’t hugmegood morning!”

Erin’s jaw drops as Peyton spills some ketchup-covered eggs on his ‘Stealing Hearts, Blasting Farts’ tee before rubbing the stain in further with his smothered fingers.

“Because you bit me,” Serena states.

“That was a long time ago!” Peyton defends.

“Peyton,” Whitney admonishes. “YoubitMommy?”

“Yes,” he states without an ounce of remorse. “It was a long time ago, Auntie Whit.” I can practically see the batting of lashes in his tone.

“Days,” Serena says. “Days ago.”

Peyton’s eyes bug as he scolds her. “No one likes a tattle, Mo-may!”

“The ... fuck?” Eli utters softly, confusion riddling his expression as he looks to me for an explanation, and I whisper my update.

“Yes, your favorite nephew is now displaying sociopathic tendencies. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Buckle up, brother,” I utter in warning.

“Really?” Eli asks, watching closely as Peyton shovels more eggs into his mouth. The year Eli appeared, the family fell for him as fast as Whitney did, but my son was the first on the bandwagon. Peyton and Eli have bonded closely and heavilysince. So much so that I can feel genuine paternal concern now as Eli observes him.

After the last of the greetings are exchanged, I flit my focus to Whitney who is all smiles this morning. Still newlyweds, both Eli and Whitney are a mere step into their forties and have no kids of their own. The circumstances behind it are part life’s shitty hand, and I suspect now purposeful in not exploring other options as they both live for family gatherings, Whitney especially. It’s obvious as she beams at the overly full table and catches my eye.

“What in the hell is up,stranger?” She confronts me instantly. Over the years—and from the start—Whitney and I bonded quickly, having become best friends over time. To the point we sometimes hang out, and often Christmas shop together. Those get-togethers have been scarce in the last year. Though I assumed her new husband would take some of the heat off the fact I’ve been more absent, I can see the hurt in her eyes now.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” I can feel Serena tuning in next to me. “We’ve been swamped.”

“No ...” Whitney ping pongs her focus between Serena and I, “something’s definitely up, but I’m guessing we’ll find out at the meeting?”

I nod, already dreading the conversation as Ruby rounds the table with Frosty’s hat.

“Grammy, IsaidI wanted to pick first!” Peyton booms over the noise of the entire table before all goes quiet, and Serena and I are accosted by the first lingering look of judgment.

“Well, since you’re being naughty about it,” Ruby steps in, saving us, “you get to picklast.”

“Grammy! That’s not nice!” Peyton screeches as I wince. “Why is everyone not being nice to me?”

“Because you’re misbehaving, Peyton, and you know it,” Ruby relays evenly. A heartbeat later, my son is slamming his fist on the table, his fork in hand to amplify the noise. The instant Wyatt starts to join in, a mere word and stern look from Brenden stops it. Serena and I watch as Wyatt obediently forks a bit of his eggs, chewing like an adult before dabbing his mouth with his napkin. His sweater and starched undershirt sparkling as he politely asks his mother for more juice. Envy takes a stronghold as Serena and I hold our gaze, and I mouth my Christmas wish, “I want that.”

Nodding, she blows out a loaded breath as all adult eyes start to curiously trail back to us. The mystery of the conversation we’ve asked for already unraveled as our son continually shows his ass.

Not twenty minutes later, every one of those adults’ jaw is hanging slack as we list our grievances and why we’re taking the steps we are.

“So, as of now, you two are Bebe’s kid-sing it?” Whitney states without hesitation. Her use of movie terms as verbs never ceasing to amaze me.

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