I yawned. “At the end of the parade, Olivia. You know that. It’s the same every year.”

She walked her Barbie doll over to where I sprawled across the floor. “I wanna see Santa now!”

“So do I.” I picked the doll up and inched it back toward her.

“Have you written a list for Santa yet?” Gabe asked, surprising the hell out of me. “You know, telling him what you want?”

Olivia whirled on Gabe, launching into a rather detailed description of the toys she wanted while I closed my eyes and replayed last night over and over again. Nothing could take the smile off my face or stop the somersaults that kept occurring below my navel.

Last night had been wonderful. Perfect.

And apparently, the happy feeling clouded any sense of judgment I had, because when Liz asked me to help her with the stuffing, I agreed.

We stood side by side at the kitchen island. I wished I’d had the forethought of tucking my hair back before sinking my bare hands into the mix of bread, egg, butter, and milk.

“Did you used to do this with your mother?” Liz asked after a couple of minutes.

I squashed my hands around, feeling egg ooze through my fingers. “Yeah, but we… we used to do it the night before.”

“And stuff the turkey then, too?”

I nodded. “I used to eat the stuffing when Mom wasn’t looking, but the last timewhen I was fourteenshe saw me eating it. Said I’d get salmonella or something.”

She laughed softly. “Do you think it needs more onions? Bread?”

“Sure.” Not that I had a clue, really, but I think she asked to make me feel like I’d contributed.

Liz reached into the bowlcarefully avoiding my handsand plucked out a small ball of mixed stuffing. She raised her brows at me.

“Want some?”

I stared at her a moment, then decided what the hell. I opened my mouth and she tossed the little ball. I missed the first one, second, and third. By the fourth try, when the ball actually went into my mouth, we both were laughing and stuffing slime covered my chin.

“You know,” Liz said, crumbling up chunks of bread and adding them in. “I think your mother hears you when you talk to her.”

I looked up from the bowl. “How do you know I talk to her?”

She smiled, fine lines spreading out from the corners of her sloe-colored eyes. “I’ve heard you a few times. I think it’s good you do that. She’s still in there.”

“Do you really think so?”

Liz nodded solemnly. “Yes, I do.”

“Think what?” Hayden asked, sauntering into the kitchen.

I froze beside Liz; all rational thought flew right out my head. I didn’t even need to look in a mirror to know my cheeks were turning a bright red.