“This is ridiculous,” My stepfather, Cole, says as we watch my mother wrap a seatbelt around the box and click it into the front seat of the SUV.
“You don’t even want it,” he reasons.
“Maybe not, but my aunt will expect to see it at our house when she comes to visit.”
Cole and I look at each other. Aunt Marian never visits us. She beckons us to her house every few years and Mom scrambles to obey.
This year, it was to open Christmas and New Year’s at her huge house in North Carolina. Mom and I flew here as soon as my winter break classes ended. Cole flew in a few days later, just in time for Christmas.
I snort as I remember his flabbergasted-s***h-disgusted look when Mom opened the large box and found the ugliest cuckoo clock known to man as her only present from Aunt Marian.
My pres
