He admired the festive wrapping paper as he slid the fennel out and pointed it to me. “For soup I am planning to make you?” he asked. “Nice paper.” I could tell he was eager to see the contents.

“Presentation, Griffin,” I said. I watched him slide the painting from the wrapping. He didn’t say anything at first. Had I rendered him speechless?

“Portofino?” he asked. I nodded. In the time I had known him, he had always wanted to go to Italy. He walked over to me and whispered in my ear, “Thank you, Bae.” The landscape and blues of the Mediterranean waters beckoned. It made me happy. I would be the reason he never got to go.

After lunch, Henry begged off cleaning detail because he had “a date.” Daddy wanted to go to the cemetery to visit his wife. I don’t remember my mother. She died soon after I was born. I stayed behind and helped Griffin clean up.

He was drying the last dish and I was putting some leftovers in the refrigerator, and he came up behind me, embraced me, and kissed me.

“Still. No mistletoe,” I chastised him. He disappeared briefly and brought out a small ball tied with red ribbon. “Where did you get mistletoe?” I asked.

“I passed an all-night tree lot and I thought I might give them a little business,” Griffin laughed.

I rewarded him by smothering him in kisses, which became increasingly urgent, and we ended up unwrapping each other on Daddy’s banquette in the kitchen. As we were getting ourselves put back together, Griffin said, “You’re still my person, Bae.”

We were not new to these acrobatics. Griffin’s parents had died several years ago in a fire. They were both passed-out drunk. We had stayed behind when Daddy and Henry went to work. I grumbled at the time thinking, “Great, they’ve left me here to deal with Griffin’s grief because I am the only female.”

It had been in those quiet moments that Griffin had told me he had never had a Christmas tree. He never had a Christmas present until he came over to our house. I never even thought it strange that he spent so much time here. He just folded into our family as easily as Daddy folded a meringue onto his lemon pie. I had embraced and kissed him and then I had comforted him on the banquette.

He had moved a piece of hair from my eyes and said, “You’re my person, Bae. My family.” Then, like now, a proper response had gotten lodged in my throat.

I deflected at the time. “After what we just did, if you and I were family, we would have broken the law in at least forty-eight states.” He had laughed and rewarded me with one of his hot chocolates with Bing cherries and homemade whipped cream—topped with a fresh sprig of mint. Presentation.

My heart may have been ready to burst at the seams, but my head cautioned restraint. I had my piece of paper. I had my ambitions. I had my dreams.