I snorted as I got up to pour her coffee. “Still?” I set the full mug on the table in front of her, bending to kiss her brow. “Merry Christmas.”

She smiled without opening her eyes.

I got back to work on my blog. The recipe was fine. I’d tested it last night. The problem was the tone, which was preachy and treacly and heavy-handed. Ugh.

My phone chimed with a text from Meg. Merry Christmas, darling sisters!

It didn’t feel like Christmas without any stockings or presents. Without a tree. Without our mother home. It was even worse for Amy, I imagined. She must miss all the holiday trappings and fuss. She used to wander through December in a little cloud of glitter, trailing ribbons and glue.

Another ping. Beth, from the hospital. Mom feeling better!!! Best Christmas present ever!!!

I smiled at the news and the string of joyful emojis. Can’t wait to see you all, I typed.

When can you leave???

As soon as Dad gets back from church. I’d stayed home this morning, out of guilt, so Amy wouldn’t wake up alone.

“Who are you texting?” she asked.

“Meg and Beth. They messaged you, too,” I offered.

She sipped her coffee. “I thought maybe it was your boyfriend. The arm-porn guy? From your blog.”

I could have explained that Eric was never my boyfriend. I could have pointed out that Amy had never expressed any interest in my blog before. “We broke up,” I said.

Amy nodded sagely. “Guys always break up with you before the holidays. That way they don’t have to buy you presents.”

I smiled, amused in spite of myself. “So young and yet so cynical.”

“Not cynical. Realistic. Most couples break up over money. Or sex.” She rested her head on the back of her chair, closing her eyes again. “Either they don’t have enough or they’re not comfortable talking about it. Look at Meg and John.”

Meg had always protected Amy. It wasn’t my place to confide her worries about John. Even sisters were entitled to some secrets. Anyway, Meg and John had seemed happy enough at the hospital. “Meg and John are fine. They’re like Jane Bennet and Bingley.”

Amy raised her hand. Stop. “Please. Not Pride and Prejudice again.”

“Pride and Prejudice is a timeless novel. I love Pride and Prejudice.”

“Of course you do. Because you get Darcy. You’re always Lizzy, and Meg gets to be Jane, and who’s left? It’s like Beth and I don’t count.”

“I guess . . . Beth could be Mary.” The quiet one who played the piano. “Although obviously Beth is much nicer,” I added. “And a better singer.”

“You know what your problem is?” Amy demanded.

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You pigeonhole everybody. Like we have to fit into the same little boxes we had when we were kids. The responsible one. The smart one. The talented one. The pretty one. But real people aren’t all one thing. We’re all mixed up.”