He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and then focuses his attention back on the lush grove of trees we’re riding by. He always looks so serious. Even with a pink nose and rosy cheeks. It’s like he’s trying so hard not to enjoy himself. Like showing one ounce of joy would be the be-all end-all. Life’s too short to pretend to hate everything.

“I was ten,” he tells me. “Morgan was about fifteen, I think. And we went to our grandparents’ house in Connecticut. It was the first Christmas that ever felt normal. We didn’t have this stuffy black tie dinner. It wasn’t catered. There weren’t servers. It was my mom in the kitchen making French toast. And she looked happy and relaxed and it was real. We felt like any other family. We watched movies and ate cookies and opened presents. And no one told me to smile or straighten my tie. I got to be a kid on Christmas morning. My dad didn’t even call. I think that was the best part.”

“Have you two ever had a relationship?”

“I mean, I have a trust fund and a job, so I’d say our relationship is strictly monetary.”

“Does it make you sad?”

“Not really.” He shrugs and his knee brushes against mine. “I have my mom and Morgan and Chloe.”

“But it’s okay to want a relationship with your dad.”

“I’m the product of an affair, so it’s hard to want a relationship with a man who didn’t want me in the first place.”

When he looks at me, I see the pain in his eyes that he tries so hard to conceal.

“Ash—”

“This is all very merry,” he laughs. “Tell me about your favorite Christmas. I’m sure it involved gingerbread houses and dramatic retellings of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.”

I pull the blanket higher and let out a quiet shiver.

“My mom was a nurse, so she worked every year,” I say. “I spent most Christmases alone.”

He looks puzzled. How could I—a living, breathing Christmas card—have a long history of sad holiday memories?

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I say. “But when she did get off shift, the only places that were open were a Thai restaurant and a Dunkin Donuts, so we would sit on the couch with Tom Yum soup and green curry and then gorge ourselves with donuts. Glazed and strawberry frosted because those were my favorite. And we’d watch those old claymation movies until we fell asleep on the couch.”

“You do that every year?”

“Yeah, I did.” I nod. “There was one year that she didn’t work, but… it was usually just Thai food and donuts.”