"What are you doing?" I asked, amused. She froze for a moment. Then, "I'm trying to find the meaning of life in this bottle of dish soap. What do you think?" I tugged at her hair teasingly. "Tell me when you find it." She shook the bottle, mixing the contents. "I'm diluting it." "Why?" "Don't you start on me, rich kid. A kid who grew up poor like me wouldn't even question why I'm doing this." She glanced at me, saw me grinning, and let out a sigh. "Sorry. Habit," she explained. "I wasn't even aware I was doing it. My dad taught me to dilute everything possible to save money. Dish and clothes detergent, mouthwash, whatever. He drinks tea sometimes," she continued. "And even sets aside the teabag for a second cup." "Sounds like a sensible guy." She fell silent as she soaped, rinsed dishes. I grabbed a kitchen towel and started drying. I was going to tell her that I met her dad yesterday, but she changed the topic before I could bring it up. "So, what's it like to grow up a rich kid?" "How do you know I was a rich kid?" "Weren't you?" I frowned. "Depends how you look at it." "What does that even mean? I know we both have crappy mothers, but is your dad the same?" Suddenly I didn't want to talk anymore. I could feel her eyes on me when she said, "Whenever a sensitive subject comes up that you don't want to talk about, your eyes do this strange thing that warns people to back off." "It's not that I don't want to talk about it with you. I don't talk about it at all." She didn't say anything, and somehow that was louder than if she had yelled at me. "Kara," I said quietly, gripping the glass in my hands. "I don't have a relationship with my dad. As far as I'm concerned, Rick is my dad." "I get it, Cameron." When she handed a plate to me, she tipped her head up so she could lay a soft kiss on my cheek. "You know whenever I'd ask you something about yourself, I thought that your answers didn't tell me anything, when the truth is they say a lot." "What do you mean?" "I asked you if Rick was your dad. Before." "I remember." "And you said you wished he was." She let me brood. We finished the dishes without talking. Soaked in my thoughts, I stepped away from her, walked by the window so I could look out in the backyard. The sun was already up, staining the sky with a mix of colors—pink, purple, orange, yellow. It rose early and retired even earlier now. Winter was coming soon. Part of The Yard would have to be shut down. Our office in the city would be busier. Work wouldn't stop, but it would slow down. The loaders would be used for snow removal in the city. Two of our senior men had retired unexpectedly—both had back surgery, so I'd lend a hand with that this winter until Rick found their replacement. It was damaging on the back, sitting all day cooped inside the loader. And if you get the older model, the shittier one at the shop, the seat would bounce up and down uncomfortably, and you'd wish someone would just whack your neck off from the pain after a full workday. Other than that, I liked it. It was quiet, and I didn't have to talk to anyone. On Christmas eve last year, there was a bitch of a snowstorm and I spent Christmas in the loader scraping snow off the city roads. My choice. It was great. "Do you put up a Christmas tree in your house?" I asked. If she found it strange that I was talking about a damned Christmas tree after she asked about my dad, she didn't show it. "Every year since I can remember." Instead of using one of the barstools, she boosted herself up to sit on the bar counter instead, facing me. "Christmas is a big deal in my family. Setting the tree up with them is half the fun. We get to torment each other about missing ornaments. Who put away what. And of course, who'd get the worst punishment of untangling the lights." Her hazel eyes sparkled with excitement. "Dad has a friend in Richer who owns a small tree farm," she went on. "We'd go there and pick one most of the time. They're a pain in the ass to clean—their needles always fall on the floor, but so worth it. Our living room smelled like the forest." "You must've had a lot of presents under it." Now she grinned. "Are you kidding? Dad would stack presents under the tree like we're going to die next year and it's our last Christmas. Didn't matter if it was a small chocolate bar. He'd buy ten of them and wrap them individually. Couldn't wrap a simple box to save his life though, but man, he loves giving us presents. God knows Dylan and I had the best Christmases because of him. How about you?" "How about me?" We didn't have just one tree in the house. We had several. My mother Raven hired a company to set them up. One in the living room, one in the basement, one in the front yard, and one in the backyard just in case my parents decided to entertain that year. After all, couldn't let the neighbors best them at anything. I remembered how the trees were wrapped in shimmering lights, tall as a house, elaborate, expensive and made to look like it. The house would transform into a glittering, elegant fantasy land. But unlike the delight Kara felt, the Christmas trees in my childhood felt empty to me. Kara gave me a long, considering look. "Tell me about your Christmases." Lonely. Cold. Hungry. I didn't really remember most of them. Why would I tell her that and ruin her good mood? "What do you want to know?" I asked. "You're being cagey again. I'll start biting," she said. "If you don't start talking." "Will you now?" She put a hand up to stop me when I walked toward her. "Stay where you are. You're not touching me until this convo is over because, you know, you're so distracting. You started this. Now tell me." It was something you didn't say but do, but she was insistent. Maybe because Christmas was so important to her, and I wanted to be a part of something important in her life. Maybe because it was making plans to do something in the future, and I wanted to see myself in hers. I wanted it so damned much I could picture it. "I'd like to...give you a present for Christmas," I admitted. "That you can put under your Christmas tree." It was a simple thing. A very simple damned thing. How come it didn't feel simple at all? "Cameron," she said quietly. "I can't figure you out."