The main floor outside the offices has been transformed into a winter wonderland.

I just stand there. Stunned.

But I have to say, this beats the shit out of anything the mall has ever come up with.

Then my sister, Alexandra, comes walking around the corner. She’s decked out in elegant holiday finery—a red, strapless satin dress, black heels, her hair piled high on her head, with a pearl tiara nestled in the blond curls.

She surveys the room. “God, I’m good.”

I cross my arms and lean back against a snow-covered desk. “A little overdone, don’t you think?”

Alexandra raises her shoulder. “If you can’t overdo Christmas, what can you overdo?” Then she regards me with bright green eyes.

And I deduce, “You’re not here to pick up your daughter, are you?”

“No, my daughter is safe and sound. Why do you think I’m here, little brother?”

“I’m starting to think it’s because every member of my family has been body snatched by green-eyed aliens hell-bent on keeping me from getting any fucking work done.”

She shakes her head. “Even your alien invasion theories are egomaniacal.”

I push off from the desk. “All right, let’s go. The sooner we do this, the sooner I can get back to my desk.” And I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Show me your vision, Christmas ghost. Teach me the error of my ways.”

Alexandra scowls. And checks out her manicure. “Now I’m not in the mood.”

I grit my teeth. “Alexandra . . .”

“I don’t like to be rushed, Drew. You have to invest the time—smell the holly bush, get the full experience. I’m not some wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.”

My face contorts. “I certainly hope not. That’s fucking gross.”

“The heavens have chosen to intercede on your behalf!” She stomps her foot. “To help you. A little gratitude would be nice.”

I pinch my nose, breathe deep, and compose myself. Because the spirit bitch is obviously in a tormenting mood, like a cat toying with a mouse before it’s devoured. Trying to wriggle out from under her paw will only prolong it. My best option is to just give in. Play dead.

Submit.

“I apologize for being flippant, Alexandra. Thank you for taking the time tonight to educate me. I’m truly fortunate to have a sister and heavenly angel who care so much for my emotional well-being.”

Her head bobs side to side, weighing my sincerity. “And do you like the decorations?” she asks petulantly.

I smile. “The decorations are lovely.”

Alexandra’s expression slides toward appeasement. “And the music?”

“One of my favorite songs—a classic.”

She grins teasingly. “I worked really hard on the snow.”

Submission isn’t my forte.

“Goddamn it, Lex!”

She holds her hands up. “Okay, okay.” She straightens and clasps my hand. “Come with me.”

Together we walk to Steven’s office. Instinctively, I close my eyes as we step through the doorway. Then I open them.

“This is . . . this is your apartment,” I state.

My sister’s condo has the typical regal appointments of an exclusive and ultraexpensive New York City living space. Panoramic views, high ceilings, detailed dark wood moldings, shiny, pristine marble floors. But there’s a warmth to it—earth-toned walls, comfy couches, colorful throw pillows, children’s framed artwork—that makes it a family friendly home.

“Brilliant observation, as always,” she returns.

“When is this?” I ask.

Alexandra’s eyes turn sympathetic. “This is tonight. At this very moment. These are the memories you won’t be a part of.”

We go into the family room, where all the familiar faces are congregated. There’s my father, in a black suit and red tie, with a ridiculous Santa hat on his head, talking to Frank Fisher—my father’s lifelong friend and business partner—at the wet bar. He pours apple cider into a shot glass for Mackenzie, who’s perched on a stool between the two men. A small smile comes to my lips as I gaze at my mom, who looks a couple of decades older than her earlier incarnation, but every bit as beautiful—this time in a simple red dress and black pumps. She’s chatting with my sister on the couch. On the far side of the room is my brother-in-law, Steven, his blue eyes sparkling with pride behind his dark-rimmed glasses as he bends his head to hear what his son, Thomas, tells him. They stand in front of the Ping-Pong table—our latest family get-together pastime. They’re getting ready to play my best friend, Matthew Fisher, and his five-year-old son, Michael, as they stand on the other side of the table, looking a little like twins with their short light brown hair and similar button-down green shirts.

Adjacent to the table is a love seat, where Matthew’s wife and Kate’s best friend, Delores “Dee-Dee” Warren, is seated, surprisingly wearing one of her lower-key outfits—a short red leather skirt, a snug white striped sweater, and glowing, dangly Santa Claus earrings.

Next to Dee is Kate, and I can’t take my eyes off of her.

An elegant long-sleeved black velvet dress hugs her in all the right places, her dark, shiny hair falls over her shoulder in waves, and open-toe green heels encase her feet. Three-carat diamond earrings—earrings I gave her for our second wedding anniversary—glitter on her ears. She’s flawless. And so gorgeous I actually feel my chest tighten with a mixture of pride and ever-present desire.

It’s the perfect family gathering. Evergreens and bows add a holiday flair to the decor, Christmas music plays cheerfully in the background, and dozens of delicious-smelling dishes rest on a buffet table, waiting to be uncovered. It’s a modernized version of an idyllic Norman Rockwell image—the entire room is alive with laughter and joyful chatter. Everyone’s happy to be there, everyone’s having a good time.

Everyone except my son, James.

He’s unusually quiet, sitting on the recliner next to the love seat. His dark brown eyes alternate between watching the Ping-Pong match and glancing down the hall toward the front door.

Steven, who’s always been attuned to how others are feeling, nudges James with his elbow. “What do you say, buddy? You want to be on Thomas’s and my team? We could use another man.”

My five-year-old son smiles genuinely and glances down at the two Ping-Pong paddles in his hands. “That’s okay, Uncle Steven—I’m gonna wait for my daddy. I’ll be on his team.”

And doesn’t that just make me feel like two cents’ worth of shit. Because he’s completely unaware that I have no intention of showing up.

James’s words immediately grab Kate’s attention, and she crouches down in front of him. “Honey, remember I told you Daddy had to work tonight? He didn’t want to, but he had to. I don’t think he’s going to be here to play Ping-Pong.”

James smiles at her reassuringly. “Yeah, I remember, but he’ll come after he’s done working. I know he will. He’ll make it in time.”

Kate’s eyes cloud with worry, because she doesn’t want our little boy disappointed. Not on Christmas Eve. And sure as hell not because of his father.

“Can I play with you?” she offers. “I play a mean game of Ping-Pong.”

James giggles. “Thanks, Mommy, but I want to wait for Daddy.”

Kate tries again. “But what if he can’t come, honey?”

James gazes back at her calmly, confidently, because he believes every word he’s saying. “Daddy told me that ‘can’t’ isn’t a real word. That anything someone wants to do badly enough—they’ll do. He said ‘can’t just means they won’t,’ or that they don’t want to. So that’s how I know he’s coming. Because it’s Christmas Eve, and there’s nowhere Daddy wants to be more than here with us. So he’ll be here.”

Guilty pain lances my heart, and I cover it with my hand. I think I might actually fucking cry.

“Ouch,” my spirit sister says beside me. “That’s gotta hurt. And you thought the mother guilt was bad.”

I shake my head. “I’m such a dick. How can I be such a giant asshole and not know it?”