Katherine chokes on a mom-guilt sob, and Andrew sweeps in with another hug. “No, I’m sorry,” he says as he holds her against his chest. “With Dad out of the office dealing with Grandpa’s passing, I’ve been working too much. But Ellie and I are here now, Umma.”

With that, Andrew reaches out to thread our hands together. Mine is definitely sweaty from all the excitement, but Andrew doesn’t seem to mind. This person, this Andrew—he isn’t a Burberry coat or a snapback. He’s a well-worn sweater, comforting and familiar. An investment banker dude bro who genuinely loves his family.

And maybe, I think, full of sangria and drunk on secondhand familial affection, I could love him. Especially if loving Andrew means having the love of his family. Maybe Meredith was right, and maybe fake feelings will turn real. Maybe Andrew is someone I could build an emotional connection with.

“We’ll have over a week of family time!” Andrew tells his mother, and my heart turns to putty in my chest. “I didn’t even bring my work computer.”

Katherine blinks up at her son. “You didn’t?”

“Well, no, I mean I brought it. But I promise I won’t use it unless it’s an emergency.”

“No work,” Katherine echoes, demurely brushing away the evidence of her tears.

“Speaking of…” Andrew glances behind his mother into the large, modern kitchen. “Where’s Dad?”

Katherine drops her gaze and begins smoothing out an invisible wrinkle on her dress. “Your father couldn’t make it today. Something came up at work.”

“At… work?” Andrew repeats.

“Yes, he said he has that big land deal in the works with the South Waterfront property, and he missed so much time with the trip to France for your grandfather, so he needed to work through the weekend. But he said he’ll be here Monday morning.”

“Right. The land deal,” Andrew says, and his words are clipped, his loving expression now stern and unforgiving, with the same sense of secrecy he had in the car about his sister.

In the background, Burl Ives starts chanting, “Have a holly, jolly Christmas.”

It’s the best time of the year.

“Who needs more sangria?” Meemaw blurts, and she’s refilling my glass before I can protest.

Andrew is still glancing around the house. “And what about…” He coughs. “Is, uh… is Dylan coming this year?”

Katherine has returned to fluffing the flowers in the centerpiece. “Yes, of course. They’re driving up with your sister, who should be here any minute. In fact, she should have been here an hour ago, but you know how it is with her. She insists on towing that damn thing up the mountain.” Katherine turns to me with an apologetic expression. “My daughter lives like a nomad.”