A Wright Christmas

“She is. Is her mom…in the picture?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

But Piper’s smile fell off her face. “She died…in childbirth.”

“Oh.”

I flushed and looked out the window as the streets of my parents’ neighborhood zoomed past. Christmas lights dotted the houses as everyone prepared for the upcoming holiday. For so long, that had only meant extra hours in the studio and endless Nutcracker performances. Not that I’d ever minded. But in that moment, I minded.

“Yeah, he’s doing okay now, as far as I know,” Piper said. “It was pretty traumatic at the time.”

“I can only imagine.” With a sigh, I turned back to Piper. “So, he’s a single dad? Not…attached?”

Piper’s smile returned. “Are you interested?”

“No,” I said automatically. “I’m only here for a month. I’m just trying to digest everything I missed.”

“Liar.”

Blaire cackled from the backseat. “Yeah, he’s single. His parents and sister help take care of Aly a lot.”

“Oh, wow, Annie,” I said, remembering his sister’s name. “I haven’t seen her in forever. She was just a little kid when I left.”

“She’s in med school now,” Piper said.

“That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, Blaire plays on Isaac and Annie’s soccer team, the Tacos.”

“The Tacos?” I asked with an eye roll.

“Hey the Tacos are awesome!” Blair said. She leaned forward. “Anyway, Isaac started the team. He’s so much better than the rest of us, but I try to keep up. Julian and Hollin aren’t bad, but they’re not as good as me.” She got a wicked glint in her eye. “You could come with me on Sunday. It’s indoor.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that,” I said immediately. “I mean, it would be weird, right?”

“What’s weird is you trying to deny that you’re still into Isaac,” Piper said as she pulled up to our parents’ house.

I ignored her…even if she was right. Especially because she was right.

Instead, I chose to marvel in the splendor of the Christmas display. Every year, my dad tried to outdo himself on Christmas lights. Already this year, he had every inch of the house plastered in lights, and a few of those inflatable Christmas displays were up and operational. He’d recently gotten into adding music and synchronizing the lights display with his favorite songs, which ranged from “All I Want for Christmas Is You” to “Despacito.” The videos they sent always made me laugh.

Piper parked out front, and we hopped out of her Jeep. She jogged around the hood to meet Blaire and me as we walked up to the front door. My brother’s SUV was parked in the driveway. He opened the door before we could even knock and barreled into me, picking me up and twirling me around.

“Peyton’s home!” Peter called inside.

“Pipe—Pey—Peter!” our mother, Hannah, called, always messing our names up. “Whatever your name is, put your sister down right this instant and go help your father with the spaghetti.”

Peter set me down with a wink. He and Piper were so similar sometimes, it was terrifying. They were twins, though Piper would proudly proclaim that she had been born three minutes earlier. And they even looked alike. Same straight dark brown hair and chocolate eyes with a proud, defined jawline and golden skin. Only Peter was a good head taller than both of us.

“You know, Mom, you wouldn’t mess up our names so much if you hadn’t named us so similarly.”

“Bah,” she said, waving a dishrag at me as I stepped inside. “I still would. As long as I get the person right on the last one, that’s all that counts.”

I let her pull me into a hug and kiss my cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. But at least we’ll have you for a month this year. That’s more than I can ask for.”

“It’s good to be home. Where’s Abuelita?” I asked about my grandmother.

“She couldn’t make it tonight, but she’s anxious to see you. You should swing by her place when you have time.”

“I will. If I have time.”

Peter’s boyfriend, Jeremy, was already seated at the dinner table with a copy of The Great Gatsby in his lap. He was an English PhD at Tech and could always be found with a book close at hand.

“Jeremy,” I said, and when he didn’t look up, I repeated his name.

He blinked rapidly and glanced up, completely lost in his book. “Did you say something?”

“I was just trying to say hello.”

He smiled and tucked Gatsby under his arm. He stood to his considerable height, six and a half feet tall and as lanky as they came. Fair as could be—as if, like a vampire, he never saw the sun—with blond hair that always fell forward into his baby-blues and a disarming crook of his lips. Like he wasn’t quite used to looking people in the eye. He was the opposite of my brother, but they just seemed to fit.