Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

Season 10, Episode 3
"I never cared for it. Before. But I could see myself living out there. Not right now. Maybe when I retire."

LaPenna nodded. Brice kept going.

"It was cool. It was nice. Oh! You know Serena’s never seen Sopranos? Like has no idea at all what it is."

"It is a pretty old show," LaPenna looked up towards the ceiling, doing the math in his head, "It’s what, twenty, twenty-five years since the show aired? I’m surprised you’ve seen it."

"I clear out the HBO catalog when I’m bored," Brice shrugged.

"I could never get into it."

"The therapy scenes weren’t good enough for you?"

"No comment on that," LaPenna sheepishly smiled, "Did you watch it with her?"

"What?"

"The Sopranos."

"Oh," Brice cleared his throat, "No. I thought there’d be like more downtime but there really wasn’t. And the free time we did have, we did all the touristy shit."

Brice paused.

"It was nice," he continued, "I know what’s coming, you know. What’s waiting for me. I know what this next month is gonna be."

LaPenna sat there watching him.

"It was like coming up for air. You know what I mean? Like you’ve been underwater for a while and you finally break the surface and you get one good breath and you know you’re about to go back under and you’re gonna have to fight like hell not to drown. So yeah. New York was good. I needed it. I didn’t know I did but I did.”

LaPenna nodded. Brice leaned back.

"The trip was worth it," Brice said, "Even with me not winning. Tavien deserved it. His stats were crazy. I knew he had a good year but damn, I didn’t realize how insane they were until we were doing media."

LaPenna stayed quiet.

“It’s a cute story, too. You know? Ohio State washout goes to Boise State and becomes a star. The media loves that shit. Underdog narrative. Rags to riches. All of it,” Brice shrugged. “I mean, it is Boise State. It is the Mountain West. Not exactly the same as playing in the Big Ten. But hey. He put up the numbers. Can’t argue with the numbers.”

He paused. LaPenna waited.

“I don’t know. Maybe people are tired of me. Maybe they’ve seen enough of Brice Colton. Or maybe it’s the shit with Skylar. Maybe that’s still hanging over me and voters didn’t want to put their name on that. I don’t know. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what goes through people’s heads.”

He cleared his throat again.

“He deserves it, though. It’s not like Boise State is in the playoffs. At least he got something to show for his season. That’s good. That’s real good for him.”

Brice sat up straighter.

“Shit, I’ve got bigger things to worry about anyway. Bigger trophies to win. I’ve already got a Rose Bowl. I’ve already got a national championship. I’m gonna get another one. I’m gonna get another Rose Bowl. That’s what matters. That’s what I’m focused on.”

The room was quiet. He let out a long breath.

“Obviously I wanted to win. Obviously, I’m disappointed."

The words hung there.

"I don’t know, at some point, I sort of realized I wasn’t going to win it. Back in September, when I just kept fucking throwing the ball to the other team. That fucking sucked. Obviously, once I stopped doing that dumb shit, once I stopped worrying about it and just playing free, I started putting up numbers. You had people talking about dumb shit like how many sacks I’m taking or not processing quickly enough or, their favorite, my fucking drifting in the pocket as if I don’t have six hundred pounds collapsing on me within two seconds."

He stopped.

"That’s how I knew I was balling. When they had nothing else to say. After a while, I don’t know, I thought I had a chance to become a finalist. I did. We win the Big Ten Championship, I ball out against Oregon and this dude doesn’t even make the playoffs? I thought I could really win it. And then I didn’t."

"You didn’t," LaPenna repeated.

“Tavien’s a good guy,” Brice said. "Got a chance to talk to him before the draft. He remembered us camping together in high school. I don’t even think he threw that day, but you could tell. He was going to be one of those guys. I’m glad it worked out that way. I’m happy for him. He deserves it. Really."

He looked at LaPenna.

“I’m just upset that I didn’t get to win. It’s not like I’m going to ever get another chance to do it, you know? It’s over."

LaPenna nodded slowly.

“Those feelings are normal, Brice. Both of them. The disappointment and the genuine happiness for someone else. They can exist at the same time. They should exist at the same time. That’s healthy. That’s what it looks like when you’re processing something real.”

Brice listened.

“The disappointment deserves the space it takes up. So does the happiness. Neither one cancels the other out. What matters is what you do with them. How you let them move through you without letting either one steer you somewhere you don’t want to go.”

LaPenna sat back. The chair creaked the same way Brice’s did.

“You’re allowed to be sad about losing something you wanted. You’re also allowed to be genuinely happy for someone who earned it. Both of those things can be true. The challenge, and this is the part that matters, is making sure neither feeling leads to an outcome that hurts you or someone else.”

Brice held his gaze for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “I hear you.”

…

Britney set her coffee down on the conference table and didn’t bother with a greeting. Vega was already seated across from her, Cohen to her left, the same arrangement as the last two meetings. The file in front of Britney was closed. She hadn’t opened it once today.

“Thirty,” Britney said. “Reckless homicide and kidnapping."

Vega didn’t blink. “Twenty. Parole at twelve.”

Britney let the number sit. She picked up her coffee, took a sip, set it back down.

“Twenty-five,” Britney said. “Parole at fifteen.”

Vega opened her mouth. Britney held up one finger.

"I want you to think about who’s going to be sitting in this chair after we come back from the holiday recess. Because it won’t be me.”

Vega’s mouth closed. Cohen looked at Vega. Britney watched him do it.

Vega held Britney’s gaze for another beat. Then she gave the smallest nod.

…

"You said she left a half-eaten bowl of ramen on the kitchen counter for two days."

"I know what I said."

"So you hated her," Brice hefted the mini-fridge onto the tailgate and slid it toward the back of the truck bed. The thing was heavier than it looked. He wiped his hands on his sweats and turned around.

"She wasn’t compatible as a roommate," Mel shrugged.

Brice shook his head and climbed back up the stairs. Mel followed. The door was still open, propped with a box. Brice stepped inside. The room was small. Smaller than he remembered from the one time he’d been up here. Mel’s side was mostly packed. The desk was clear. The bed was stripped down to the mattress.

"I don’t know you do it," Brice shook his head, "I would have moved out immediately.

“Not everyone has 'fuck you' money,” Mel said, pulling a box of books off the shelf above her desk. She handed it to Brice. "Besides, it could have been worse."

"How?"

"She could have been bringing random dudes to our dorm. I hate girls that do that shit."

"So you’re telling me this room has seen no action for the last six months?"

Mel rolled her eyes and grabbed another box. This one was lighter. Brice took it and stacked it on top of the first one. He could feel the bottom box buckling a little under the weight. He adjusted.

They carried the boxes down together, Mel taking the stairs two at a time, Brice going slower, watching his feet. Brice set the boxes in the truck bed and rearranged them so nothing would slide around.

They made two more trips. On the last one, Mel came down with a duffel bag over her shoulder and a potted plant in her hands. The plant was small.

“You’re taking the plant?”

“It’s my plant. She never watered it."

Brice laughed. He took the plant from her and set it carefully on the passenger seat of the truck, wedging it between the center console and the seat back so it wouldn’t tip over. Mel tossed the duffel into the bed and slammed the tailgate shut. She moved around the truck and pulled the passenger door open. The plant was right where Brice had left it. She moved it to her lap and buckled in. Brice got behind the wheel and started the engine. The truck rumbled to life.

“So,” Mel said. She was looking straight ahead, out the windshield, at the line of cars trying to exit the parking lot. “New York.”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

Brice put the truck in reverse and checked his mirror. A kid on a scooter cut behind him. He waited.

“It was good,” he said. “Really good, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just being normal for a minute, you know? Before everything goes crazy.”

Mel nodded. She was still looking out the windshield. The scoot kid disappeared around the corner. Brice backed out slowly and shifted into drive.

“I wasn’t happy about the other dude winning it,” he said, "But you can’t win them all."

He kept his eyes on the road. The parking lot exit was backed up. He eased into the line of cars.

"No," she let out a wry chuckle, "You sure can’t."

“I was jealous. I’m not gonna lie. I definitely wanted to win it."

He paused. The line of cars inched forward. He let off the brake and rolled ahead a few feet.

“But I got over it. Being jealous is a bitch trait.”

The cold stare hit him before he even finished the sentence.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, "Old habits I guess."

The silence held for another beat. A small exhale, almost a laugh. She returned to the passenger window, trying to hide her smile.

He smiled too and pulled forward.

“I could see myself living there, though,” he nodded to himself. "Serena really likes it."

Mel turned back from the window. “New York?”

“Yeah.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean New York is a big city. That’s a big adjustment. A lot of distractions. It’s not exactly South Bend or West Lafayette and you got into plenty there."

Brice laughed to himself. The line of cars moved again. He followed. "You’re probably right."

"If you ever do get a tattoo, you should get that on your arm or something. Mel is probably right."

“Shut up.”

He laughed. The exit was getting closer. He could see the main road up ahead, the traffic moving faster, the semester officially behind them.

“So what are the teams?” Mel asked. She’d settled back in her seat, the plant still in her lap, her fingers absently touching one of the leaves. “Like, realistically. What cities could you actually end up in?”

Brice merged onto the road. The truck picked up speed. The dorm disappeared in the rearview.

[Caesar]

Brice did a lot of yapping about not caring he didn't win the Heisman for someone who supposedly doesn't care he won the Heisman.

[Captain Canada]

My man is heartbroken he didn't get that Heisman

[redsox907]

"I don’t know, at some point, I sort of realized I wasn’t going to win it. Back in September, when I just kept fucking throwing the ball to the other team. That fucking sucked. Obviously, once I stopped doing that dumb shit, once I stopped worrying about it and just playing free, I started putting up numbers. You had people talking about dumb shit like how many sacks I’m taking or not processing quickly enough or, their favorite, my fucking drifting in the pocket as if I don’t have six hundred pounds collapsing on me within two seconds."

you're welcome for the motivation

Soapy thinks he slick with Mel

[Soapy]

Brice did a lot of yapping about not caring he didn't win the Heisman for someone who supposedly doesn't care he won the Heisman.

He can't vent to his therapist and friend?

My man is heartbroken he didn't get that Heisman

we thought we had it after that Oregon game

"I don’t know, at some point, I sort of realized I wasn’t going to win it. Back in September, when I just kept fucking throwing the ball to the other team. That fucking sucked. Obviously, once I stopped doing that dumb shit, once I stopped worrying about it and just playing free, I started putting up numbers. You had people talking about dumb shit like how many sacks I’m taking or not processing quickly enough or, their favorite, my fucking drifting in the pocket as if I don’t have six hundred pounds collapsing on me within two seconds."

you're welcome for the motivation

Soapy thinks he slick with Mel

What I do?

[Soapy]

Season 10, Episode 4
The radio was too loud and nobody was turning it down.

Nia sat on the edge of the dayroom bench with her knees pulled up, watching Donna arrange the commissary spread across the metal table. Plastic cups of cherry Kool-Aid in a row, the red so dark it looked almost black under the tier's overhead lighting. A tray of something Donna had been calling dessert for the last hour, which was really just crushed-up cookies mixed with peanut butter and pressed into squares, the edges crumbling where the peanut butter hadn't held.

"Last Christmas" came through the radio's tinny speaker, George Michael's voice warped and thin, and somebody, Kayleigh most likely, had turned it up past the usual volume, past the point where the COs usually came through and told them to knock it off. Nobody had come yet. Maybe because it was Christmas Eve. Maybe because the CO on duty tonight was Rodriguez, who'd let a lot slide if you didn't push it.

"Here," Donna slid a paper plate across the table toward Nia without looking up, two of the peanut butter squares already on it, a plastic cup of Kool-Aid balanced on the edge. Nia took it and thanked her.

"You know what my grandkids told me today?" Sara was saying from a chair pulled over from her cell. "The little boy asked me for a Nintendo Switch for Christmas. I told him, baby, Grandma's in jail, I can't get you no Nintendo."

A few of the women laughed. Nia smiled into her Kool-Aid.

"Shit, getting motherfuckers switches is what got me in this fucking mess," Sara kept going, "Last year, the little nigga asked for a bike. I told him the same thing. He said, 'Well, can you get me one when you get out?' I said, baby, when I get out, I'm getting myself a bike."

More laughter. Nia set her cup down and picked up one of the peanut butter squares. It wasn't half bad.

Donna was counting under her breath, moving packets around on the table. Nia watched her rearrange the same three things twice.

"Shit," Donna said. She looked up at the ceiling, then back down at the table. "I thought I had enough for another batch. Fuck it. Y'all don't judge the second batch now. I'm just doing the best I can with what we got left."

Nobody said anything for a second. The radio kept playing. "Santa Baby" now. Eartha Kitt.

Nia set her plate down on the bench. She stood up without saying anything and walked the few steps to her cell, pushed the door open. Her stash sat on the top shelf, stacked neat. Packets of ramen, cookie mix, peanut butter, the little coffee singles, a row of candy bars she hadn't touched. More than anyone else had. More than she should have had, really. She didn't think about that. She pulled a handful of chocolate chip cookies from the middle of the stack.

Back at the table, she set the packet down next to Donna's hand. Donna looked at it, then at Nia, and nodded once.

The radio cycled to "All I Want for Christmas Is You."

"He's a nice kid," Sara was saying, "He drew me a picture last time he visited. It was me and him holding hands. He drew me with a big smile. I said, baby, why you draw me smiling like that? He said, 'Because you're happy to see me, Grandma.' I said, you right about that."

Nia laughed.

"There she is," Sara said. "I knew you were listening."

Nia shrugged.

"You just don't say nothing."

"I say things."

"When?"

Nia opened her mouth and closed it. The women around her laughed, and she laughed too.

Donna pressed the new batch of peanut butter squares onto the tray. She cut them into pieces with a plastic spork and passed the tray around. Nia took one and set it on her plate next to the two she hadn't finished.

The radio played. The Kool-Aid cups got refilled.

Across the dayroom, the card game had been going since before the celebration started. Nia hadn't been paying attention to it. She heard the voices first, raised, but not yet angry. Then one voice cut above the others.

"You cheating, bitch."

"I ain't cheating. Count the cards."

"Count them yourself. You dealt."

The radio was still playing. Donna had stopped mixing. Nia looked over. Two women, Brynn and somebody Nia didn't know well, a new intake from last week, were standing over the cards.

"I counted them," Brynn said.

"Bitch, you ain't count shit!"

The other girl reached for the deck. Brynn slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch my cards."

"They ain't your cards. They're tier cards."

The voices kept climbing. Nia set her plate down.

Brynn shoved the other woman. The other woman shoved back. Harder. Brynn stumbled into a chair behind her and came up swinging.

Nia stood, watching the two women grab at each other, watching the other women at the card table scatter, watching Donna step between them with her hands up like that was going to do anything.

The door at the end of the tier banged open.

"Break it up. Now."

Nobody broke it up. Brynn had the other woman by the hair. The other woman had Brynn's shirt twisted in her fist. Rodriguez got between them and peeled them apart the way you'd separate two dogs, one hand on each collar of their jumpsuits.

"This fucking bitch started it!"

"I don't care who started it!" Rodriguez looked past the two women, past the card table, past the scattered chairs and the half-eaten plates, and his eyes landed on the radio. On the volume. On the Kool-Aid cups and the commissary spread and the whole tier standing around watching.

"All of you," he said. "Back to your own cells. Now! Turn that fucking radio off!"

A sound went through the tier, not quite a groan, not quite a protest, just the collective exhale of something good ending. Nia watched Donna reach for the radio and turn it off. The silence that followed was worse than the arguing.

"Move," Rodriguez said.

The women started filing toward their cells. Nia stepped away from the bench. Her plate was still in her hand, the peanut butter squares untouched except for the one she'd taken from the new batch. She looked at the tray on the table. Donna was already walking away from it, her back to the whole thing, heading for her cell without looking at anyone.

Nia reached over and took one piece off the tray. She set it on her plate and carried the plate with her as she walked the few steps to her cell. She sat on her cot in the dark. The piece of dessert sat on the paper plate in her lap. She could hear Brynn and the other woman being escorted to Ad Seg, their voices fading down the corridor. She could hear Sara's cot creak as she laid down somewhere down the tier. She could hear the tier settling into the quiet it always settled into at night, the kind of quiet that wasn't really quiet at all if you listened hard enough.

Nia picked up the piece of dessert and ate it slowly. The cookie crumbs stuck to her fingers. The peanut butter was sweet and a little too salty at the same time. She licked her thumb clean and set the empty plate on the floor beside her cot.

She pulled the blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes.

…

The dining room table was set for four. Britney’s mother had pulled out the good china, the set with the gold trim. The ham sat in the center of the table on a platter her mother had owned since before Britney was born, the glaze cracked in places where the heat had gotten to it.

“So,” her mother said, passing the casserole to Britney’s father, “How’s the new job looking, sweetheart?”

Britney’s fork was halfway to her mouth. She set it back down.

"It doesn’t start until the New Year. Once the session goes in.”

“Right, right,” her mother nodded, cutting into her ham. “And you’ll be down in Indianapolis for that?”

"When they’re in session, yeah.”

Her father looked up from his plate. “You getting an apartment down there?”

“I’ve been looking at an extended stay. One of those places off Massachusetts. I’d stay there during the week, come back on weekends.”

Her father shrugged. “You should look at getting your own place. Extended stay’s fine for a month, maybe two. But State Senate’s only the start for you. You’re gonna need somewhere to land.”

Britney smiled. "Maybe. We’ll see how the first session goes.”

“First session,” her father repeated, like the words amused him. “You say that like there’s gonna be a second one you’re not sure about.”

“I’m being practical.”

“You’re being your mother’s daughter.”

Her mother made a sound that was half laugh, half protest, and the conversation moved on to her brother’s new job in Fort Wayne, the one he’d started in October that he still hadn’t fully explained to anyone. Britney listened and nodded in the right places and ate her ham and thought about the extended stay she’d toured last week, the one with the kitchenette and the view of the parking lot, and whether she’d actually stay there or whether she wanted perhaps something further away from downtown. Somewhere that felt more like a home than a pit stop.

Her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced down at the screen. The name on the caller ID sat there for a second before she picked it up.

“I need to take this,” she said. Both her parents nodded. One of the perks of the job. She pushed her chair back and stood, already moving toward the back door. “Sorry. One second.”

She pulled the door shut behind her and pressed the phone to her ear, the screen already warm against her cheek.

"I thought you forgot about me for a second," she smiled, "How is it over there?"

…

Mel’s plate was half empty and her brother Marquise was already reaching for seconds before anyone else had finished their first helping. The kitchen table was small enough that elbows bumped but nobody seemed to care. Her mother sat at the head, her father at the foot, and Aunt Barbara had pulled up a chair from the living room and wedged it between Mel and the wall.

“You want more of this?” her mother asked, holding the spoon over the mac and cheese.

“I’m good,” Mel said. "Save some for Mook. He’s gonna eat the whole thing.”

“I’m a growing boy,” Marquise shrugged.

“You’re almost eighteen.”

“Still growing.”

Her father laughed from behind his glass of sweet tea. The ice had melted most of the way down. He set the glass back on the table and looked at the spread in front of him like he was taking inventory.

“You know what this needs?” he said. “That cranberry sauce your sister used to make. The one with the orange peel in it.”

“With the orange peel,” her mother repeated, nodding. “She was always finding some weird recipe online. Had the whole family eating cranberry sauce with orange peel for three Christmases straight because of some white lady on some website. I couldn’t even make the canned kind anymore."

Mel smiled at the sight of her sister at the stove, her laptop on the kitchen counter.

"I ain’t going to lie though,” her father said, swaying his head from side to side. “By the second year, I kind of like it."

The table laughed.

“What was the other thing she used to make? It was like this weird egg thing,” Marquise started, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember.

“Egg benedicts," Mel answered.

"Those were fire," Marquise nodded.

The conversation moved. Her mother asked about Barbara’s drive here, whether the roads were clear. Marquise finished his second helping and started talking about this playoff pool that had been started at his office and how he had already lost twenty dollars to it. His dad playfully chastised him for betting against a Black quarterback led team.

"What they told you about your graduation date?" her mother asked, reaching for the sweet potatoes.

"If I do summer, I can finish in December," Mel answered, "I don’t know, I’ll see what internships I’m able to land."

Marquise pushed his chair back from the table. “Alright. Stop running from this smoke, Melly Mel."

“What smoke?"

“Monopoly. You owe me a rematch."

"How I owe you anything when I beat you?"

"You and daddy were conspiring against me. I have a half-a-mind to think momma was in on it too but I’ll hold my tongue."

"You better," their mom laughed.

“You just don’t know how to play.”

Marquise was already heading for the living room, pulling the box off the shelf where it had been sitting since Thanksgiving. Mel watched him set it on the coffee table and start unfolding the board.

She looked back at the table. Her father was stacking plates. Her mother was scraping the last of the sweet potatoes into a Tupperware. Aunt Tasha had her phone out, scrolling through something, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Come on,” Marquise called from the living room. “You can’t run from it."

Mel stood. She carried her plate to the sink and set it next to her mother’s, their elbows brushing the same way they had at the table.

“You want the car or the dog?” Marquise asked.

“The car,” Mel said. “Always the car.”

…

“This better not be another coffee mug,” Devin said, pulling tissue paper out of the bag. “I got enough mugs to open a store.”

“It’s not a mug,” Serena said.

Devin pulled out the box and turned it over. A set of drill bits. He held them up and looked at Serena.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

“You said you needed new ones.”

“I did. I did say that.” He set the box on the table and reached for the next gift. “Your turn.”

Serena pulled the closest box toward her. It was wrapped in silver paper. She tore the paper off along the seam and opened the box.

Inside, sitting in a bed of tissue paper, was a watch. Rose gold face, silver band, the kind of weight that told you what it cost before you even turned it over to check. She picked it up and held it in her palm.

“Damn,” Devin said, leaning over to look. “That’s a nice watch.”

“Brice?” Daphne asked from the stove, half-turning.

“Yeah,” Serena said. She turned it over. The back was engraved with her initials and a date. She ran her thumb across the engraving and set the watch back in the box.

She closed the box and set it on the table next to her plate. Devin was already opening the next thing, a sweater from Daphne that he held up against his chest and declared too small before trying it on anyway. Daphne turned back to the stove, the spoon clicking against the pot.

Serena reached for the next gift. A book from Devin, something about financial literacy that she’d mentioned wanting to read back in October. She thanked him and set it on top of the watch box.

“Your turn,” she said, pushing a wrapped package toward Daphne.

Daphne wiped her hands on a towel and came over to the table. She sat down across from Serena and pulled the paper off carefully, the way she did everything, folding it as she went.

“Oh, baby,” Daphne said, holding up the scarf. “This is beautiful.”

“It’s cashmere.”

“I know what it is.” Daphne wrapped it around her neck and looked at Devin. “How do I look?”

“Like a million bucks.”

“You look like you spent a million bucks,” Devin said, and Daphne threw a piece of crumpled wrapping paper at him.

Serena laughed and reached for her coffee. The watch box sat next to her elbow. She didn’t open it again.

…

The house was one of those California rentals that was built more for aesthetics than the practicality of someone living in there, the kind with too many windows and not enough furniture. James sat in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by wrapping paper and boxes, some of them opened, most of them not. A stuffed giraffe with a bow still on its neck. A wooden train set still in its packaging. A stack of picture books wrapped in paper that had reindeer on it. A rocking horse that nobody had bothered to assemble. A remote-controlled car that James couldn’t operate and wouldn’t be able to for at least another year. More. Way more.

“How are we even getting all this on the plane?” Sophie said from the armchair, her legs pulled up under her.

Nobody answered. Brice was at the table by the window, his laptop open. The screen showed Georgia’s defense in their usual tite front. Brice had paused it on the snap. He was leaning forward with his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his knuckles.

Sophie looked at him, then back at the pile of gifts. She picked up her phone.

Across the room, Tom and Liz sat on the couch. Liz had a gift bag in her lap, one of the ones with James’s name on it in her handwriting. She was folding the tissue paper inside it, smoothing it flat against her thigh, then folding it again. Tom was doing the same thing with a piece of wrapping paper, creasing it along the same lines he’d already creased it twice.

“You remember that Christmas,” Tom said, not looking up from the paper, “When we got the boys those signed jerseys?"

“God,” Liz shook her head. "Those cost us a fortune."

“Brice wore his to school every day for a month. The teacher called us.”

"At least he didn’t wear them to bed like Jimmy," Liz laughed, "I found him asleep in it one night with the tags still on.”

“Tags still on.”

Tom set the wrapping paper down and reached for another piece from the pile on the floor. This one had snowmen on it. He turned it over in his hands. “What about the year Sophie ate the ornament?”

“Oh, don’t. She didn’t eat it.”

“She bit down on it. Close enough."

“You were the one who screamed. I was the one who stayed calm.”

“You were calm because you were in shock.”

Liz smiled. She picked up the gift bag again and looked inside it like she was checking to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. She hadn’t. There was nothing in it but the folded tissue paper.

“Those were some good times,” Tom let out a small breath.

Liz didn’t say anything. Not right away. She set the gift bag on the floor and reached for a roll of tape that had rolled under the coffee table. She picked it up and turned it over in her fingers.

“Yeah, they were,” she said.

Tom picked up another piece of wrapping paper. Liz found a gift tag and started writing James’s name on it.

“What about the year of the snowstorm,” Liz said. “When the power went out and we had to cook the turkey on the grill.”

“In the snow.”

“In the snow. Brice kept going outside to check on it and coming back in with his hair frozen.”

“Jimmy called it the best Christmas ever.”

“He called everything the best Christmas ever.”

“He did,” Tom said. He was smiling.

Liz set the gift tag down. She looked at the pile of unopened boxes on the floor, at James sitting in the middle of them, chewing on the corner of a stuffed animal’s ear. She looked at Brice at the table, still paused on the same frame of film, his jaw working like he was chewing on something himself. She looked at Sophie in the armchair, phone in her lap, scrolling through something with her thumb.

She looked at Tom.

“This is nice,” he said.

Liz held his gaze for a beat. Then she picked up the gift tag again and turned it over, writing something on the backa note, maybe, or just more of James’s name, filling the space.

“It is,” she said.

[Caesar]

Buddy think he funny with these names. I got you.

I know that ain't who I think it is calling his side piece on Crimmus?

Surprised Sophie ain't try to go see Jimmy in person at this point, because damn.

[Captain Canada]

I'm not dumb enough to think Liz and Tom are capable of rekindling anything, but at least they're able to keep things somewhat cordial.

Surprised Sophie ain't try to go see Jimmy in person at this point, because damn.

I mean, even I'm somewhat surprised at this point. Figured this was the other shoe that would inevitably drop.

[redsox907]

Serena laughed and reached for her coffee. The watch box sat next to her elbow. She didn’t open it again.

bihh wanted that RING

[Soapy]

Buddy think he funny with these names. I got you.

I know that ain't who I think it is calling his side piece on Crimmus?

Surprised Sophie ain't try to go see Jimmy in person at this point, because damn.

I almost spelled it differently but nah

You sure that's his side piece? #nonnooticer #caesargpt

Why y'all keep wishing death on everyone

I'm not dumb enough to think Liz and Tom are capable of rekindling anything, but at least they're able to keep things somewhat cordial.

Surprised Sophie ain't try to go see Jimmy in person at this point, because damn.

I mean, even I'm somewhat surprised at this point. Figured this was the other shoe that would inevitably drop.

Nobody wins when the family feuds

Serena laughed and reached for her coffee. The watch box sat next to her elbow. She didn’t open it again.

bihh wanted that RING

They've been dating, exclusively, for like 8 months