just that they're always glad to see me and aside from the
fact they're spoiled brats who could use a good spanking
now and then, I'm usualy glad to see them, too.
'Hey, Paige.' Jeremy at twelve no longer ran to clutch at
my legs. He settled for a half wave with limp fingers.
Tyler, ten, was nearly as tal as me but squeezed me
anyway. 'Paige, c'mon, we're going to play Pictionary.
Grandma and Grandpa are here already. So's Nanny and
Poppa.'
'And Gretchen and Steve, too, I see.' I pointed to the two minivans that belonged to my dad's kids with his first wife.
'Everyone's here,' Jeremy said somewhat sourly, and I
gave him a glance. He'd always been a pretty upbeat kid.
Today he scowled, blond eyebrows pinching tight over the
smaler version of our father's nose.
I leaned back into my car to grab the gift, then locked my
car. It was unlikely anything would happen to it parked in
my dad's driveway, but it was habit. 'Come. Let's go in.'
I slung an arm around Tyler's neck and listened to him
babble on about school, soccer, the new game system
he'd found under the Christmas tree. He had never known
Santa to disappoint him. I'd stopped trying not to be
envious of that, even though I no longer believed in Santa
Claus.
Inside, Jeremy slunk to a chair in the corner and sat with
crossed arms, the scowl stil in place. Tyler abandoned me
to round up pens for the game. That left me to the socialy
torturous task of making nice with Stela's parents, Nanny
and Poppa.
Like their daughter, they weren't bad people. They'd never
gone out of their way to be cruel. I wasn't Cinderela. And
I understood, now, what it must have been like to try to
find a place in their hearts for their new son-in-law's
children, and how awkward it must have felt. A hastily
wrapped
of knit mittens would always fal short in comparison to
exquisitely wrapped packages in shiny foil paper with
exquisitely wrapped packages in shiny foil paper with
matching bows, the contents new clothes or toys. I
understood. Spending Christmas at my dad's had been last
minute, haphazardly planned and rare. At least Nanny and
Poppa had made an effort.
It seemed easier for them now that I was a grown-up,
though it was more difficult for me. As a kid it had never
occurred to me they wouldn't like me. Now I was
convinced they didn't.
'Helo, Paige,' George, also known as Poppa, said. 'How nice of you to come.'
He meant wel, but the unspoken insinuation of surprise
made me bite my tongue against the shout of 'Of course I
came! She's my father's wife!'
