By the time I come back, Dom and Joe are laughing, reminiscing about the time they both wrapped themselves in bubble roll and jumped from their tree house, resulting in a broken arm for each of them. Their relationship is so bipolar. I’m picking up on intense protectiveness vibes, and a lot of love, but also an underlying competition and bitterness. This doesn’t look like something born out of a girl. I think it is deeper. Older than my relationship with both Graves brothers.

After dinner, we spill back to the living room. Gemma starts opening her presents, which is a whole ceremony. First, she opens mine. She seems to be genuinely delighted. “Everlynne, it’s fantastic. Thank you so much. I’ve been wanting new candles for a while now!”

Then it’s Joe’s turn. His gift is swimming in fancy tissue paper. I crane my neck to peer into the box and see what it is. When she picks it up, tears prickle her eyes.

“Oh, Seph, honey.” She grabs the item, clutching it to her chest. It’s a peach-colored dress, sixties style. Gemma looks up at Joe. “But . . . how?”

He is sprawled on a recliner, peeling the label off his beer bottle.

“I’d been thinking about it the entire year. Where it could’ve gone. Last month, I started making some calls. One of them was to the woman who bought our old house on Church Creek. I asked her if I could take a look in her attic. She said yes. I spent a good portion of my last weekend on the project. Now her attic is organized and clean, and you have your favorite dress.”

Dom leans toward me, squeezing my knee. “It’s the dress Mom wore for her first date with Dad. She thought she’d lost it forever.”

A knot forms in my throat. What a terrific gesture. Gemma almost falls over when she reaches to hug her younger son. Dom passes her a small green box. His smile is apologetic. “So, this is definitely not a punch-you-in-the-heart kind of gift . . .”

“Shush. Not everything is a competition,” she says.

The words slide smoothly out of her throat. Like she’s said them hundreds of times before. Called it. These two have a layered, complex relationship, and I’m best to stay out of it.

She unwraps the white satin bow, grinning at her elder son. Dom blushes, ducking his head down. Gemma pops the box open and picks up a pearl lock bracelet. It is gorgeous. Elegant and understated. But it doesn’t hit as close or as personal as the dress you wore the day you fell in love, and Dom knows it.

“Sorry it’s not more . . .” He scrubs his overnight stubble awkwardly.