Surely she isn’t going to walk, I thought, already reaching for my door handle.

But she raced straight for an idling car parked right in front of mine, in no need of saving.

My plan to spend Christmas chained to my desk is interrupted by a phone call and an invitation from Alexander.

“Maman is coming to town for the holidays.”

“You’re kidding. When’s the last time you saw her?”

He mulls it over. “San Tropez, three years ago. Or was that four? She was dating that singer with the long hair.”

“That’s right. Ignacio. He was what, twenty?”

“If that. He also barely spoke English, but she didn’t seem to care.”

“Do you think they’re still together?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

The arrangements have already been made, and apparently my father is on board too. Oh joy. The last time we were all together was for Alexander’s college graduation. I have no doubt it will be a spectacle, but it’s Christmas Eve, and I’d rather spend the night with my dysfunctional family than with no one at all.

I have an armful of gifts my assistant helped me source: a rare Birkin for my mother, a snowboard made in collaboration with Jean-Michel Basquiat for Alexander, and a perfectly impractical La Dona Menagerie Fountain Pen for my father.

The wind bites at me as I hurry from my car into the Four Seasons where we’re set to have dinner. A personal concierge is waiting for me just inside the door, and beside her stands a bellman with a silver cart. My gifts are immediately offloaded by the bellman then I’m shown the way down the hall, past the noisy dining room where Bostonians are enjoying a Christmas Eve buffet, to a discreet private room hidden behind thick burgundy curtains.

“You’ve arrived just in time, Mr. Mercier,” the concierge tells me with a kind smile. “Please enjoy your evening at the Four Seasons and let us know if there’s anything we can help you with in the future.”

She gives a small bow then sweeps aside the curtain for me to enter. I walk into the room to find every seat at the dining table already filled, save for one. I’m the last to arrive. Down at the head of the table, my father sits like an emperor on his throne. Beside him, Maman, and to her left, Ignacio. Alexander sits beside Ignacio. On the other side of my father, Fay Davenport lifts a glass of red wine to her lips, surveying me with a cold gaze. On her right, with her attention pulled down to the table, sits Lainey.

“What an awful surprise.”

Lainey winces, but no one says a word. My father shoots me an aggressively disapproving glare. Maman is too self-absorbed to register what I’ve said.

“Emmett! My precious boy!”

She leaps up from her seat in a great show of motherly affection, rounding the table with her arms stretched wide. I get engulfed in a hug I don’t want, squeezed tightly by a mother I hardly consider family at all. She’s had work done since I last saw her. When she pulls back to look at me, I notice her nose is thinner, slightly out of proportion with the rest of her face. Her eyebrows are arched unnaturally high, and her lips and cheeks are overly filled. She’s still beautiful, but it’s hard to discern beneath all the fakery.