Page 24 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

I set my suitcase down, and I swear I hear it whimper.

They’re wearing shoes. Inside. On the carpet—it’s permanently painted in footprints.

My inner neat freak screams.

Darla starts excitedly talking to Ethan and me, but mostly Ethan, “You look so good, honey! And bringing home yourgirlfriend, we’re thrilled to bits. Nolan is down at the shop, but he’ll be back for dinner. He can’t wait to meet Chase!”

“Yes, Chase is also excited to meet my twin brother Nolan,” Ethan says matter-of-factly.

Twin brother? Shit. How did I not know about this?“Yes, of course,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “Those two goofballs and their twin misadventures.”

First thing tomorrow—Google “Ethan Barrett twin.”

Darla is full-on chattering about family members I’ve never heard of when she leads us into the living room. I hesitate at the threshold.

My first instinct is to wince. The room is a riot of color and kitsch. There’s so much holiday and tropical-themed decor, it’s like someone walked into a Margaritaville restaurant and weaponized Christmas cheer.

Plastic flamingos peer from every corner.

Over-the-top floral patterns clash against equally chaotic floral wallpaper.

Hawaii called, and they don’t want their patterns back.

Above the countless alligator knick-knacks stands their ruler; a six-foot inflatable alligator wearing a Santa hat and dominating a corner of the room. Its toothy grin is somehow both ridiculous and heartwarming.

The lawn was just the appetizer for this feast of tackiness. But just when I think I’m ready for anything this house can throw at me, my gaze travels deeper into the room—and something shifts. Something I did not expect.

There, beneath the layer of “holiday cheer gone wild,” lies the true heart of the home. Scuff marks on hardwood floors tell stories of Barrett boy shenanigans—teaching the twins to wrestle, impromptu Nerf gun battles, and victory dances. The old sofa and its well-worn cushions bear the imprint of years of family togetherness.

My eyes catch on a wall near the kitchen, where pencil marks climb like a wonky ladder. Each line is carefully labeled with a name and date—a display of growing children and passing years.

A lump forms in my throat. This house has been lived in… loved in… invested in. A lifetime of family memories has made this place what it is. No set designer could replicate the intangible warmth that permeates every inch of the space. This is not just a house… It’s a home.

The realization hits me like a sledgehammer to the heart. Ethan had something I didn’t have growing up: a loving family. No wonder he’s so damn happy all the time, prancing around like he’s got sunshine shooting out of his ass.

For a moment, I imagine growing up in a home like this... I see myself as a little girl, having family dinners and playing in the backyard, curious and carefree. My eyes start glistening.Oh hell no.I need to get off this emotional roller coaster before it gains any more speed.

Quick, find a distraction. Any distraction.

Is that… their tree?

It’s a plastic palm tree playing dress-up as a Christmas tree. A tropical imposter. The ornaments are a gaudy mix of seashells, mini surfboards, and tiny plastic crabs wearing Santa hats. The star on top? A light-up margarita glass.

This is the tree version of a shameless dad wearing socks with sandals.

I can already picture the network execs having synchronized aneurysms at the thought of something so nontraditional in one of our movies. The Cherish Channel has a very specific idea of what Christmas should look like, and(spoiler alert)it doesn’t involve palm trees or alligators in Santa hats.

My eyes land on a wall covered in framed photos. At first glance, I think,Oh, cute, they’re really into Halloween.Seriously, why else would an entire family be dressed as pirates,wizards, or in cheerleader uniforms? But then I take a closer look, and with a growing sense ofWTF, I see that every pic features them on a beach next to a Christmas tree. Then it clicks…

“Are these Christmas cards?”

“Why yes, sweetie, they sure are. It’s a family tradition. We choose a theme each year and all dress up. Isn’t that fun?”

I smile through my bewilderment. “Oh, absolutely. Very… creative.”

Darla, pleased by my response, continues, “So, Chase, we wanna be hospitable. You got any special family traditions you’d like us to include this year?”

Oh joy, my favorite game:Dodging Personal Questions About My Less-Than-Perfect Childhood. I’d rather walk barefoot over Legos than discuss my family’s nonexistent holidays.

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