Trisha opened the door and froze in place, her lips caught half way between resting bitch face and welcoming smile. Finally, she unfroze and offered an animated proclamation. "What the hell, Ryker. You aren't supposed to be here."

"Merry Christmas to you too, dear sweet sister." He shoved a tin of butterscotch cookies into her hands, kissed her on the cheek and pushed past her into the living room where he deposited a canvas shopping bag filled with presents. As always, Trisha had gone all out with the decorating. An eight-foot tree, trimmed with thousands of twinkling lights and his great-grandmother's antique mercury glass ornaments, graced the room's corner at the far side of the hearth. Tiny white vanilla candles on a holly-laden mantle battled with the tree to become the house's predominant Christmas aroma.

No sooner had he taken in the Christmas cheer than the Grinch was on him again. "I mean it, Ryker. You aren't supposed to be here. What happened to your plans with Arjun?"

"They fell through. His mother-in-law got sick so they're staying in Boston. Anyways, what does it matter? It's not like I'm some ne'er-do-well who never shows up for his family's Christmas. I'm always here."

Before she could reply, his nephew and niece, Rhys and Penelope, came rushing into the room, squealing as they wrapped their arms around him.

"Santa's almost here, Uncle Ryker." Penelope let go of him long enough to grab a piece of peppermint bark from a snowman-shaped tray on the coffee table. "What did you ask him for?"

"A better sense of timing, hopefully." Trisha handed Ryker's cookie tin to her son. "Bring these to the kitchen. DO NOT open them. Then both of you, go out in the backyard and run around for a few minutes. Penelope, that's your last piece of candy until after dinner, do you hear?"

The children laughed lightheartedly and ran off, leaving Ryker alone with Trisha. "Where's Dan?"

"Where do you think? In the kitchen making dinner. He better not have known you were coming because if he did, he didn't tell me."

"Jesus, why are you so opposed to me being here."

Sighing, she pointed to the dining room adjacent to the living area. The table was laid with a red and green table runner – one of their aunt Marilyn's creations. A centerpiece with red tapered candles and an assortment of Christmas baubles arranged on pine branches completed the picture. "How many place settings do you see?"

"Um, seven. You, Dan, Rhys, Pennie, Gran, Aunt Marilyn, and me."

"No, not you... Emmie."

His heart fell, then without asking his permission, it sped up until it was racing out of control. "I thought you said she wasn't going to be here."

"She just agreed to come a few days ago. Don't look at me like that. You weren't even planning on being in Moon Beach tonight, much less at my house. Besides, she's my friend. I'll be damned if I'm going to let her spend Christmas Eve by herself just because you two had a weird-ass relationship that ended badly."

Who says she would have been by herself?" He scowled, thinking that Emmie might just as well have been spending the holiday with her generic cop-ish boyfriend, or whatever-he-was. "Wait, it's just her who's coming, right? Because if Sam's going to be here, I might not be able to keep down my eggnog."

Trish gestured to the set table again, her eyes wide. "Again, seven table settings for seven humans. And really, man, you've got to get over this Sam thing. Emmie already told you there isn't anything romantic between them. Even if there is, there's not much you can do about it. You already blew it."

That wasn't something he needed to be reminded of. He wasn't totally sure as to how much in the wrong he'd really been. She had misled him – he felt justified to be upset about that. But the whole night of their argument was a blur of pain and anger and self-doubt. He could no longer decipher where her wrongs slid into his. "Look, Trish--"

The doorbell rang, interrupting what he was sure would have been an eloquent and persuasive defense of his behavior.

Trisha peeked out through the front window. "Guess who that is. Why don't you go hang out with Dan in the kitchen for a bit."

Ryker's jaw tensed up. He didn't want to be relegated to the kitchen just because Emmie was here. It's true that he'd been avoiding Iola's Eats since their big argument but now it vexed him that his sister thought his mere presence would upset her.

"Ryker!" Trisha snapped her fingers at him. "Get. The fuck. In the Kitchen. Now. You're lucky I'm not making you sneak out the back of the house and leave altogether before she even realizes you were here. "Now go!"

Resigning himself, he eyed the front door with equal measures longing and loathing, and then headed for the kitchen. Dan glanced up from his position at the stove, wooden spoon stirring a thickening brown broth well on its way to becoming gravy. He gave Ryker a nod. "Kids told me you were here. How pissed is Trisha?"

"Swearing at me and ordering me around level pissed."

He nodded again. "So, normal level. We can deal with that. Here, taste this and tell me if it needs salt." He brought the wooden spoon out to eye level, blew on it and then held it for Ryker's approval.

Ryker took a sip. "That's good – really good. I think it's done."

"Yeah? Me too. The turkey's out. Rolls are in the oven now... We just need to wait for Iola and Marilyn, and then all that has to happen is for you not to ruin Christmas."

"What the hell, man. I'm not going to ruin Christmas!"

Dan put the spoon on the counter and gave Ryker a critical look. "Do you remember when Angeline Fairchild dumped you right before Thanksgiving our senior year? You wouldn't speak to anyone and when your granddad gave you a hard time, you threw a drumstick at the wall."

"I was seventeen. And Angeline Fairchild was mean!"

"Then there was the Fourth of July after you found out Carin had a piece on the side. Iola planned the biggest parade Moon Beach had seen in a generation, which granted, was still three floats, a couple of tractors, and the half of Moon Beach High's marching band that didn't have mono, but still... You were supposed to be her big star – the town's first self-made billionaire driving the town's first electric vehicle. But you were so upset about Carin, you veered off the parade route two blocks in... and you never came back!"

"I... I had to clear my head. The crowds, the happy celebratory atmosphere -- it was all too much at the time. Carin was even meaner than Angela. Anyways, I made it up to Iola. She forgave me."

"Really? Then why does she still brings it up?"

"She does not."

"Well, obviously not when you're around, but whenever one of the kids spills something or scribbles on the wall or has some kind of sugar induced meltdown, she tells them, 'You have yet to ruin Nana's parade, so at least you're doing better than your uncle.'

"That's cold."

"All I'm saying is, Trisha has reason to fear the drama that may go down tonight. But for fucks sake, Ryker, it's Christmas. We have happy, excited children in the house. Be a good boy and stay on the parade route, okay?"

He held up his hands. "I'll do my best, but I can't control what Emmie might do."

"What might Emmie do?"

Ryker turned around just in time for his breath to catch and his heart to plummet yet again. Here he was, already off course, and the parade hadn't even begun.

A/N: How is Christmas dinner going to go down, you guys??? What kind of exchange can these two possibly have that doesn't end in tears and thrown turkey drum sticks? If you haven't guessed already, the next update (part 3 of this chapter) will continue our characters' "celebration." Let's hope for the best!

Thanks for sticking with me. Wow, I can't believe how many of you are reading! Your votes this chapter will go towards replacing Trisha's antique mercury glass ornaments that you just know her children are going to break to smithereens one of these Christmases...

Today's dedication is for KevinaOyatedor for, well, lots of reasons actually, including but not limited to: all of her awesome stories, her participation in anthologies and the like, her regular attendance at the Wattpadres' Twitter chats, and the fact that she's reading this story. Yay, Kevina, thank you for being you!