But Mom let me open my present early this morning, and it was a new iPad from Dad. He always sends something fancy. I guess money is easier spent than time. But it saves us both an awkward meet-up and I get something awesomely expensive, so who’s complaining? I immediately loaded every cookbook app I could find, and this was the first recipe I saw.

I’m in the kitchen stirring the marmalade while the cookies cool when Mom walks in.

“Your dad called to wish you merry Christmas, baby.”

I don’t stop my stirring.

“I didn’t hear the phone ring.”

I know she called him. He would never remember on his own. Mom holds the phone to her shoulder and whispers, “Just talk to him.”

“Fine.”

“Be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

She rolls her eyes and puts the phone to my ear so I can still use my hands.

“Dad.”

“Lily, sweetheart.” He never calls me Ellie.

“How’s tricks?” I say.

“What’s that? I can hardly hear you.”

I hear Elmo’s World in the background, and one of the boys is screaming. They are three and five. One of them is always screaming.

Elmo clicks off, and I try again. “I’m good, Dad. How are you?”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” He sounds like he’s on a business call. I can picture him crossing talking points off a list. “We’re all good here, too. The kids say hi.”

Sure they do.

The marmalade starts to boil.

“How do you like the iPad?”

“It’s great, Dad. Thanks.”

“Good. Good.”

One of the boys screams, “Daddy!” I hear Elmo click back on.

“Look, Dad, I gotta go. But, uh, merry Christmas.”

I duck under the phone, so I don’t hear if he says it back. Mom shakes her head but lets me go and puts the phone up to her ear before walking away.

I stir and stir until my arms ache. The orange marmalade is perfect and smells spicy from the cloves. I know I should taste it, but I don’t really want to. I take it off the burner instead and roll over to the window.

I wonder if it’s snowing in Tennessee. I wonder if Dad ever misses me. I wonder if he ever wonders what I can do now. I wish I could stop wondering.

“Heeeeeey. Knock, knock. Anybody home?”

The back door is already opening, and Coralee rushes in on a cold gush of air. She’s head to toe in green spandex, like she ran outside in her long johns. And she’s got a sweatband on her head, like Barbie Gymnast. It’s green too, with sequins.

I cannot think of one… single… word to say to this.

Mema comes in smiling. “Well, lookee here. Is that Miss Coralee? I wondered how long it’d take you to come knocking.”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Cowan.”

“You too, honey.”