“What’s going on?” I ask before Andrew can say anything else. Because it’s clear something is.

Jack looks up at me, and her face is different than I’ve ever seen it. Locked up, tucked away, completely devoid of the love and affection she showed me in the last twenty-four hours. I want to understand what happened, what changed, but I think deep down, I already know even before she says it.

“I told the family the news about your graphic novel,” she says, in a voice that’s nothing like sandpaper, nothing like a drum. It’s hollow and monotone and absolutely devastating. “You know,” she spits, “the one about the girl who fakes an engagement for money and lies to an entire family at Christmas.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I can feel my throat start to close, but I force the words out anyway. “I—I can explain,” I say. Everyone in the room is staring at me, but I can only see Jack and the stubborn set of her jaw and the coldness of her blank expression. “Please let me explain.”

It’s not Jack who answers me, though. It’s Alan. “You’re going to explain how you came into my home with the intention of stealing part of my father’s money?”

“I wasn’t trying to steal anything. Andrew agreed to—”

“That’s what your webcomic is about?” Jack asks cuttingly. “It’s about how you deceived our family? How you deceived me?”

“No, it’s… it’s… fiction.”

Jack snaps the laptop closed. “It seems pretty true to life from what I’ve seen.”

“I mean, ye-yes… yes…” I stammer. “It’s based on my life, but I didn’t come here to deceive anyone. I didn’t want to deceive anyone! I just—I needed the money, and I didn’t expect to fall in love with all of you.”

Katherine’s arms are folded across her chest, her expression like a closed fist. “I showed you hospitality. I treated you like a daughter. And this—”

“Mom—” Andrew tries, but I’m the one who has to make Katherine understand.

“I know, Katherine. I know! And I’m so sorry. You don’t understand what it meant to me. Every moment of family bonding time. All I’ve ever wanted is a mom like you.”

Katherine cuts her gaze away from me, and it’s clear from her silence that I’m never going to have a mom like her.

I turn to Lovey, but Lovey just shakes her head and slowly rises from the couch. “I—I think I need a joint.”

I finally pivot to Meemaw, who’s clutching her sangria and giving me a pitying look. “Listen, everyone, let’s not overreact to a little light deception,” Meemaw tries. “If anyone is to blame for this whole quagmire, it’s my douche-canoe of an ex-husband. No offense, Lovey.”

“None taken. Where is my lighter?”