“If you say so.” I am somewhat disturbed by his assessment of Kaia. Maybe I should be giving her more hugs myself.

“I just told her that I saw her happiness was low and said that if she opens up to her family instead of dealing with her struggles alone, she might feel better.” He levels me with a look, so that I know exactly who he’s segued into talking about.

“Opening up is not a Watson-Hughes family forte,” I reply thinly.

“I think people can work out anything, as long as they put in the effort. Even though you’ve argued with your family a few times this visit, you haven’t left. You’re still here.”

“That’s because you’re here. You make it better.”

The light in his eyes dims somewhat, smile fading. But he hooks his arm in mine and briskly changes the subject. “Time for dinner. I fixed a turkey, with all of the traditional sides, so that I can pretend it’s Thanksgiving. Kind of a two-in-one! We’re eating a bit early because I have a surprise in store for later.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

*

“Oh, not that!”

“Yes, that! Come on.” Hall grabs my arm, steering me toward the spiked black gate bordering my grandparents’ property, opening it up to the sheer, plunging driveway. He’s always been a whirlwind, but his velocity is especially powerful this evening. He rushed us through dinner so that we could get to this part, but by dinner’s end, when he was trying to convince us all to accept third helpings, I could tell he was regretting not taking his time. Now we’re overstuffed and the last thing we want to do is go on a walk, but the bracing air does feel nice.

“Caroling!” Mom cries, clutching a song booklet to her chest. We’ve all got a copy, but I don’t think any of my family members have examined the covers closely enough to realize that the vintage artwork of the group of people singing is us. “I adore caroling!”

Kaia belts out a few lines with such easy and enviable talent that Athena pouts. “It isn’t fair to make me sing alongside a professional.”

“You sang in that J.G. Wentworth commercial,” Sean reminds her, but is silenced with a glare.

“This is going to be fun!” Hall says. “I promise.” It comes out sounding like or else.

He leads the way down to Old Homestead Road, the conductor of our caroling train. The children keep zigging and zagging, shouted back into place by Grandma, whose favorite part of the holidays is getting the chance to boss the youths. Felix is showing off his baritone, asking Mom who’s the better singer, him or Kaia. I make up the caboose, because I’m still trying not to have fun. It’s a lot more challenging than I’d expect considering it’s quality time with my family. I’m on the dangerous precipice of smiling for no reason.

Peaches and cream oatmeal, I think to myself, focusing on the ills of this world. Tucker Carlson. The cancellation of Pushing Daisies. The dog from the Bush’s Baked Beans commercials. Family Guy. (They’ve made fun of me before.) The way Play-Doh smells like it should be edible. Hall’s got the Watson-Hughes clan singing “Here We Come A-Caroling” and he hasn’t had to threaten anyone’s lives to do it. Sean and a few of the kids had laughed off the suggestion, but here they are, louder than all the rest, showing off their pipes. Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa harmonize effortlessly. Dad hums, which is his limit. I hum under my breath, too, lip-syncing whenever Hall glances over his shoulder.