I'm the first one awake on Christmas Day. That's always the way. I know better than to race into Mom and Dad's room like I used to do when I was a kid, though, so I head downstairs to make coffee. Cooper, who likes to sleep at the top of the stairs, follows me down, his heavy feet thudding on each step.

The Christmas tree looks stunning. I stand next to it, marveling at the work Mom and Liyo and I put into it as I sip my first coffee of the day, a good dose of caffeine and plenty of hazelnut creamer. I've only been here for eight hours but I already want to go back to Laurel's, to crawl into her arms and watch her children's faces as they open presents and play games. I love this day and I love my parents and I have always loved coming home to be here with them, and I'm beyond grateful for their generosity towards me this year, but ugh, I want to be with my girlfriend.

I've been down here for twenty minutes, texting holiday greetings to Liyo – who won't be up for a couple more hours, probably – when I'm joined by Nathan, who fixes himself a coffee before coming into the living room.

"Hey, Annie. Merry Christmas."

"Right back at you." I hold out my mug. It's more hazelnut creamer than it is coffee; I had to blast it in the microwave to heat it up. Nathan touches his mug to mine. "Where's Lily?"

"She's not a morning person." He checks his watch, twisting his wrist the same way Laurel does. "Give it another hour. Maybe two." He looks the tree up and down, taking in the years' worth of old decorations before he glances at me and asks, "Have fun last night? You were out late."

"We had to stay up until the kids were asleep before we could do their stockings," I say. It gives me a little thrill every time I can say we, every time I get to be a part of it. A part of Laurel's life, her parenthood.

"You're such a mom already."

"Speaking of which..." I put my mug down and face him fully, my arms folded. "I hear you offered up your sperm to my girlfriend."

Nathan chokes on his mouthful of coffee, coughing into his elbow as his cheeks cycle through every shade of pink and red and land on white. "Laurel made me promise not to tell you I said that. How the hell did you get her to spill that one?"

"We were drinking Mom's eggnog."

"Ah. Yeah, that stuff should be used by the CIA, it's strong enough to get anyone to spill their thoughts."

"Nathan. It's a very weird thing to say to the woman you knocked up with a child you don't want," I say. "So, what, were you like I have no interest in this child but if you want to make another, just gimme a cup?"

His pallor returns to a deep flush. "Not the cup part," he says. He can't look me in the eye. I can't keep a straight face.

"Oh my god."

"I was trying to be generous," he says. "I mean, it would make sense, right? If you wanted to have a baby together, might as well use a donor who's related to the one who isn't providing the egg."

"Don't get me wrong, it's a very generous offer," I say, and I can't lie, the thought of having a baby with Laurel is enough to float me on a cloud of yes please. "It's just the idea of you offering up your sperm." A laugh bursts out of me at last, picturing the conversation and Laurel's stupor.

"Can you stop saying sperm, please?"

"Hey, you're the one with the never ending supply who wants to knock up my girlfriend," I tease. "Again."

"Right, this is not at all how the conversation went, nor are you accurately portraying my offer, which I'm about to rescind."

"Hey, hey, I'm kidding." I drop my amusement and my smile. "If Laurel and I ever want to have a kid together, we'd love to use your swimmers, so if you're gonna get that vasectomy, can you freeze a few nutfulls first?"

"Annie. Jesus Christ." He massages his temple with a heavy sigh, like it's the end of a long ass day and he needs a whiskey. I mean, it is Christmas. Anything goes on Christmas.

"Thanks, bro," I say cheesily, punching his upper arm.

"You're welcome," he says gruffly. "Though if you guys do have a child thanks to me, I won't be paying for that one. Ava's the result of my ill-considered actions so I'm responsible for her, but if you choose to make a baby, you're funding it."

I hold up my hands. "That goes without saying."

"Okay. Good."

"It'll probably never happen. I don't think Laurel wants any more children," I say, "but I appreciate having the option. Keep it in the family and all that." Nathan pulls a face. "Does Lily know you're out here just offering your sperm up for free?"

He scowls at me over the top of his mug. Damn, he really hates the word sperm. I get it. It's gross. "It was her idea," he says, "and I'm starting to regret that I put so much faith in the thoughts of my fiancee."

*

Christmas morning is a lowkey affair. We exchange gifts and nobody mentions sperm and it's like being a teenager again, with Lily taking Theo's place. The first bottle of wine is opened at ten a.m., because the normal rules of society and general decency don't apply, so after a breakfast of champagne and a handful of chocolate coins from my stocking – Mom even made one up for Lily, sitting nestled between Nathan's and mine by the fireplace – I'm pleasantly buzzed by the time lunch comes around.

"Well," Mom says as we sit around the table. "It's been an eventful few days, to say the least." Her gaze falls on me first. "Annie, I've loved seeing how happy you are with Laurel, and I can't tell you how much joy it brings me to know that her daughter is family." She looks at Nathan next and says, "Nathan, I'm over the moon about your engagement and I can't wait to welcome you even further into the family fold, Lily. I'm looking forward to a beautiful wedding."

"Thank you, Diana," Lily says with a soft, wide smile. Kudos to Mom for sidestepping the whole, well, incident. "I'm crazy about your son, and I love this family, as kooky as you all can be."

"Yeah, Theo's a total whackjob," I say. Lily lets out a quiet little laugh, turning it into a cough.

"I'm delighted to be a part of your Christmas this year," she continues.

"And many more to come," Dad adds, to a cheer from Mom, who holds aloft another bottle of champagne and offers it around. I accept another refill. Nathan had one glass before lunch and now he's on soda. I wonder if he's scarred for life, if learning about Ava's existence has scared him out of ever getting drunk again. At least it means there's someone sober around to drive me to Laurel's in a couple hours.

Not that I'm drunk. Just a little tipsy. Which I'm sure I'll need to be in order to survive the rest of the day with Laurel's mom – which is, I must admit, the only thing that could put me off going over there. She can try to act like she likes me but a leopard can't change its spots. Am I nervous? Sure, but it can't possibly go worse than Saturday's dinner, and I'm excited to see Laurel and give her a Christmas gift.

It's two thirty before we leave the table and I'm itching to get moving. This is a new feeling. I've always wanted to make Christmas Day last as long as possible, putting on a movie and slowly opening presents and delighting in watching my family open the ones I've given to them, but now all I want is to be wrapped in Laurel's arms.

"Someone's got ants in their pants," Mom says with a laugh when I wrap a scarf around my neck as the family moves from the dining room to the living room with full bellies and rosy cheeks. I pause, guilt washing over me.

"Sorry. I can stay a bit longer, if you want?" I offer, but Mom shakes her head.

"I'm only teasing you, hon." She puts her arm around Dad and nods at Nathan and Lily, who is now proudly wearing her giant rock of an engagement ring. "Christmas is for spending time with the people you love. I think we've taken up enough of your time. Go see your girlfriend."

Nathan kisses the back of Lily's hand and gets up off the sofa a moment after sitting down. "Come on, then," he says. "Let's get you where you need to go."

*

The relative calm of my parents' house is exchanged for chaos. I can hear shrieks of laughter before I reach the door, and when I knock, it's Laurel's mom who opens it with a smile. A real smile. Directed at me.

"Hello, Annie, come on in," she says, opening the door to the madhouse, a sticker on her head that says Mother Teresa.

"Hi," I say, momentarily blanking on her name, so instead of greeting her by name I say, "Um, Merry Christmas! Sounds like you guys are having fun?"

"We're in the middle of a game, it's gotten rather raucous."

There's another peal of laughter from Hannah. I step in, shutting out the snow, and shed my jacket and my shoes in the hallway before I poke my head into the living room and my heart just about melts at the sight of Laurel on the floor with her head tipped back in a laugh. She's sitting with her legs akimbo, Ava perched between her thighs, and Ava's giggling too.

Hannah's wearing a forehead sticker that says Benjamin Franklin. Otto's says Einstein. Laurel's says Harry Styles, and Ava's says banana.

"We're not doing very well," Laurel's mom says, following me into the living room. Hannah's the first to spot me. She launches herself at me like we're the best of friends, hyped up on the excitement of Christmas and probably a ton of sugar.

"Annie, you came! You have to play!" She grabs a roll of stickers and a marker pen and sticks out her tongue as she writes down a name.

"Hey, no fair! Why do you get to choose Annie's?" Otto says. Hannah shows him what she's written. "Oh, yeah, good one."

She grins and peels it off, slapping it onto my forehead with more force than necessary. I turn to Laurel, who's still sitting on the floor, holding up her arms to me, a glass of wine in one hand.

"I can't get up," she says. "I've been on the floor too long and my legs have gone numb."

I bend down to hug her and I kiss her warm cheek with my cold lips and whisper, "Hi."

"Hi."

"Merry Christmas. Again."

"Thank you for coming," she says, holding onto me for a few more seconds. There's a wet trickle on my neck where her wine has splashed over the rim. When she lets go and I make myself comfortable on the floor next to her, she says, "How was your morning?"

"Great. Very chill compared to this," I say, surveying the mess – torn wrapping paper and piles of opened gifts and plates of half-eaten food, mugs and glasses and a couple of broken cookies on the carpet. This is what my childhood Christmases looked like, when my brothers and I turned into feral little monsters. "This is what Christmas should be."

"Annie, you have to ask questions to figure out who you are!" Hannah cries out. I've never seen her so bouncy and hyper, the apples of her cheeks round and pink and her eyes shining. She can be quite a serious kid, so it's nice to see her acting like the ten-year-old she is.

"Okay, okay, am I a man?" I ask.

"No. Your go is over. You can only keep asking questions if you get a yes," she says. "Mom, your turn."

"Alright," Laurel says, sitting straighter, one hand in Ava's hair. "Let's see. So far I've established that I'm a famous male singer between the age of twenty and forty, and I'm not American. Am I ... Canadian?"

"Nope," Otto says, making a loud buzzer sound. He's up next. "I can't even remember what I know about mine now. I'm a man, right? And everyone knows who I am? But I'm not an actor or a singer, and I'm not American or Canadian or British?" He frowns in thought. "Am I German?"

"I don't know," Hannah says. She looks to Laurel, who purses her lips in thought.

"Good question, hon. I'm actually not sure." She looks to her mom, who takes out her phone and googles the answer and tells Otto that yes, he's finally got one right.

Otto pulls a face and says, "Am I famous for good reasons?"

"Yes," his grandma says. Christine. Her name comes to me in a flash.

"Is there a forfeit for this game? I literally don't know any famous Germans!" He throws up his hands. "Oh! Am I Arnold Schwarzenegger?"

"He's Austrian, kiddo," I say.

"Damn it. Your turn, Grandma."

We go round a couple more times, still no-one figuring out who they are – and Otto is tearing his hair out trying to think of literally any German person ever – and when we get back to me, I haven't learned anything other than that I'm a woman and I'm alive.

"Okay, okay, I've got this," I say, scrunching up my forehead. Laurel reaches out to smooth out the wrinkle between my brows. At least, that's what I think she's doing, until I realize she's just making sure my sticker doesn't come off. "Am I famous?"

"Define famous," Otto says.

"Does everyone in here know who I am?"

He nods, so does Hannah.

"But, like, am I well-known? Like, if I went around town right now and I knocked on people's doors and showed them a picture, would most of them know who I am?"

"I'd have thought so," Christine says.

"That's a yes, right? So I get another question?" I ask, turning to Laurel. She nods, and I ask, "Do I like this person?"

She nods again, the corner of her mouth tugging up. "Very much so."

"Am I Taylor Swift?"

Hannah laughs. Laurel says, "Close, but no."

"Mom! You can't say things like that!" Hannah cries out.

Otto snorts and says, "I'm pretty sure it's a joke, because Annie is not close at all."

"Now you're all giving hints away! Can I have a hint?"

Her grandma chuckles and says, "Here's a hint, Hanny – if you guessed Taylor Swift, you'd be nowhere close, too."

A few more rounds go by. Christine eventually gets that she's Mother Teresa and, after asking if she's in a band or a solo artist and gets a chorus of different responses, it isn't long before Laurel figures out that she's Harry Styles. Ava doesn't realize she's playing, and she is no closer to realizing she's a banana, so it's down to Hannah, Otto and me. I have a glass of wine, courtesy of Christine, who has started to tidy up around us and make sure everyone has something to drink.

It's my go. I can't think of any questions.

Otto leans against his sister and says, "She's never gonna get it."

"I thought it was so easy!" she whispers back.

"Me too."

"Hey, hey, quit it, you two, basically calling me stupid over there," I say, tapping my wine glass against my chin. "Okay. Okay. I've got this. I've totally got this. I'm a well-known woman who I like. Am I American?"

"Yup," says Hannah.

"Am I ... over the age of twenty?"

"Yes."

"Over thirty?"

"Yes.

"Forty?"

Hannah glances at Otto, unsure. He nods. I'm on a roll. Hannah's uncertainty tells me to stop guessing at ages and move on to something else.

"Do I sing?"

"Badly," Laurel says, swigging her wine. Hannah laughs.

"That's a no, your go is over," she sing-songs. She presses her hands together and closes her eyes like she's praying, her concentrating face as she recalls everything she has asked so far. "Am I a president?"

Christine says yes. Laurel says no.

"He was a president, darling," Christine says. Laurel shakes her head, leaning back so her shoulders are supported by the sofa behind her.

"Nope, he wasn't," she says, more to Hannah.

"I'm fairly certain that he was."

"I'm positive that he wasn't."

Otto cups his hands around his mouth like he's an announcer when he says, "And here we have the ultimate battle. Mom versus Grandma. Who will win? Place your bets now."

"He was a president, Laurel, he's carved into Mount Rushmore!" Christine says.

Laurel splutters a laugh. "No he isn't."

I hold up my phone and say, "Uh, guys, we can just google."

Because honestly, I'm not even sure.

"Mount Rushmore is Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, and one of the Roosevelts," Laurel says, counting them off on her fingers, and she points at Hannah's forehead. "He was not one of them."

Hannah grins and says, "Okay, so I'm none of them, then."

Otto googles before I can get to it. "Ding ding ding, we have a winner. In the battle of Mom versus Grandma, president versus not president, the winner is ... Mom! Sorry, Grandma, tough luck."

Christine's face sours. I brace myself, waiting for her bitter bitch side to come out, but she seems to remember she's in the presence of her grandchildren and she wipes the expression a fraction of a second later, laughing it off.

"Silly me," she says. I can tell she's fuming inside.

Once Otto figures that he's famous for his contributions to science, rather than as a public figure on TV, and that he's been dead for seventy years, he eventually figures out that he's Einstein. Hannah's clearly wracking her brains, trying to think of presidential-seeming non-presidents. I'm somehow halfway through my second glass of wine since I got here, and Ava has abandoned her mom to sit on my lap, and I can't think straight. I need to keep notes, but Hannah won't let me.

I wrap my arms around Ava and rest my chin on her head, murmuring to myself, repeating the things I know about the name on my forehead. "Who do you think I am, Avie? What's your celebrity knowledge like, can you help me out? Happen to know any forty-something famous American women I like?"

"You're never going to get it," Laurel says. "You've been led down the garden path."

"Mom!"

"What? Annie, hon, you've been misled," she says, her hand on my knee. "I don't think that the definition you gave of famous matches the idea of fame in your head."

It takes my slightly tipsy brain a moment to figure out what she's getting at, several seconds before it clicks. "Oh. So I'm not famous?"

"No. Certainly not on a level with Taylor Swift."

"That wasn't an actual question, by the way. That was a clarification. It's still my go," I say, pointing at Hannah before she can crow that it's her turn now. "Come on, Avie, give me a hand, girl." I turn her around and stand her on my lap and I look into her eyes, and it clicks. I grin. I know exactly who I am.

"Hurry up, Annie," Otto says. "Got any ideas?"

I tap my bottom lip. "Am I beautiful?"

Laurel shrugs one shoulder and says, "You're alright."

"No! You're the most beautiful!" Hannah says.

"Am I an amazing mom?" I ask, my eyes on Laurel, her gaze ocean deep.

It's Hannah who answers, though, when she says, "You're the best mom."

Across the room, Otto says, "You obviously know who you are. Just say it."

But I'm having fun, and Laurel's lips have blossomed into a smile that widens with each second that I stare into her coffee brown eyes.

"Am I madly in love with a cute blonde?"

Laurel's smile grows even more. "Yes."

"Am I about to kiss her?"

Her grin reaches her eyes as she closes the gap between us and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. Otto huffs a sigh. Hannah giggles, until she realizes she lost the game.

It takes her three more questions (and a couple of hints) before she figures out she's Benjamin Franklin, which is, according to her, a totally unfair person for her to have to guess, even though she spent the last semester learning about the founding fathers.

"Wait! I didn't lose," she says. "Ava still hasn't gotten hers."

"I think you're expecting a little much from a girl who barely knows her own name," Christine says. She goes to peel off the sticker that says banana but I put my hand over it.

"She's smarter than you think," I say, transferring her to Laurel's lap and ducking into the playroom, grabbing her ball and sitting opposite her. "Hey, Avie, what's this? Can you say ball?"

"Ba!" She grins and claps.

"What's my name? You know it, baby girl, can you say Annie?"

"Nana," she says.

I point to the ball and then to my chest, Ava's eyes following my finger.

"Ba! Nana!"

I sit back on my heels and look up at Christine with an expression I hope says ha, take that, and I squish Ava's cheeks. "You clever girl! You got it!" I carefully peel the sticker off her head and show her the word. "You're a banana. A very smart little banana."

*

Laurel's mom stays until after we have leftovers for dinner, at which point Ava is struggling to keep her eyes open. I take her to bed and read her a couple stories until she drifts off, and when I rejoin the others, we play another game and we watch a movie. By ten thirty, Otto and Hannah have accepted that Christmas Day has wound to a close and they head to bed, and at last Laurel and I are alone.

"Thank you for coming," she says, her head on my shoulder.

"Oh! That reminds me." I launch off the sofa to find my bag and Laurel falls into the space, watching me horizontally as I pull out a wrapped box. "Ta da! Merry Christmas, hot stuff."

She sits up. There's a slight grimace on her face. "Annie, you didn't have to get me anything," she says. "I ... I didn't get you anything."

"You've given me the gift of being a part of your family," I say, "and anyway, this is kind of a gift for both of us." I waggle it at her. "Open it. And before you say you hate opening gifts, I already know that, and I don't care because I want to see your face."

The grimace softens into a wry smile as she takes the box and, painstakingly slowly, she runs a nail under the tape and opens a flap of wrapping paper like a snake might jump out and bite her. It's an age before the paper is off and her mouth is a perfect O.

"Annabelle Abraham," she says, gaping up at me. "Don't tell me you spent your last thirty-seven dollars on a vibrator?"

I give her my most innocent smile. "Of course I didn't."

"Annie."

"It's cute that you think I still have that much left in my account." I grin at her. "My mom gave me a bit of pocket money. That thing cost way more than thirty-seven dollars."

"Annie!"

"It'll be worth every cent," I say, sashaying closer until my knees butt up against hers and I sit on her lap, draping my arms around her, dropping my voice to murmur, "I can't wait to use it on you. It's time I made you scream."

Laurel laughs. "Thank you," she says, her hands on my waist. "But unlike you, I can control my volume."

"Give me ten minutes with that thing, I'll loosen you up. You'll make noises you didn't even know you could," I say, grazing her earlobe with my teeth.

"Probably not any time soon," she says. "It's a full house for the next couple weeks, so you're going to have to keep it in your pants."

"I'm sure Otto and Hannah have friends they can go see, and my mom is dying to spend the day with Ava," I say. "Trust me. Where there's a will, there's a way, and I will fuck you with this thing until you're crying out my name."

I kiss her, and she moans against my lips. Oh, god, that little moan. I want to tease it out of her, to set her loose; I want her thrashing in the middle of the bed, begging for more.

"Do you think, if we ask nicely," Laurel says between kisses, "your parents will take all three?"

I grin against her mouth. "I'm sure we can figure something out."

Words fade out as we kiss. Long, lazy kisses, which might be my favorite kind, although I also love the desperate, almost painful ones that come out in the throes of passion. I love the simple ones, too, when she catches my chin and presses her lips to mine like it's something she's done forever. I guess I just love kissing Laurel in general.

"Seeing as the store's closed tomorrow and we're both free," she says, eking each word out slowly, "maybe your parents could come over?"

"That is so not where I was expecting that sentence to go. Laurel, I am sitting on your lap and we're making out and you're thinking about my parents?"

Her nose nuzzles mine. "You said they want to meet Ava. I want them to be a part of her life," she says quietly. "I want to surround myself with as many family members as I can. I thought she only had me and her siblings but now she has you and your parents."

"I think they'd love that," I say, relaxing against her once more. "I have one, uh, I don't know if it's a question or a stipulation or what."

"What is it?"

"When I came over on Saturday," I say, getting off her lap to sit next to her so we can talk properly, "Hannah called me Auntie Annie. I know she was just being funny, but ... Laurel, if I'm going to be around, I don't want Ava to call me her auntie. I know I technically am, but–"

"I get it," Laurel says, her hand on my knee, trailing up my thigh. The only light comes from the twinkling tree, the string lights set to fade in and out so half the time her face is in shadow.

"I'd rather she knows me as your girlfriend, or partner, or whatever."

"Annie. Be honest," she says as the lights go off.

"What?"

There's a moment of darkness before the lights come back on and Laurel's giving me that doe-eyed look. "You want to be her mom."

My eyes sting as I nod. "I do. I know that's not fair and it's too soon and it's way too intense and, god, we've only been together for three weeks and my brother's already offering us a child and this is crazy, and I don't want to be too much for you but–"

"You're not too much. Annie, you're everything."

"Everything sounds like a lot." There's a tremor in my voice. Laurel cups my cheek and smiles, and I stare at her until I can't see her anymore, until I can only feel her touch.

"You're everything I need," she says in the darkness. "You're not going anywhere this time. You belong here, Annie. Your place is here."

"Deer Pines?" I ask. Laurel laces her fingers through mine and holds our joined hands over her heart.

"Here."

I swallow hard. I can feel her heartbeat under my palm.

"I used to watch you with Hannah, when she was little, and I'd think god I wish she was here forever. And now I watch you with Ava and I think god I hope she never leaves."

"I'm not going anywhere." I only just manage to get the words out before I start crying and I blame the alcohol. I've had far too much to drink, even though I feel completely sober as I sit here hanging onto Laurel's every word.

"Actually, you are."

"What? No, Laurel, I promise, I'm not. You, this, your kids, it's all I want. I'm not going anywhere," I say, my words tripping over themselves in their rush to be heard.

She stands. Pulls me to my feet. Presses her hand to the small of my back and brushes her cheek against mine. "You're coming to bed with me."

*

nothing better on christmas day than a raucous game of heads up! it always turns into absolute chaos in my family