Reading Christmas tales while the AC is going full blast is kind of weird, but here’s a bit of The Last Multivariable Differential Christmas, from the forthcoming Twisted Presents collection.
“So,” Gillian said. “Any plans for Christmas?”
“Nope,” I said. “Just another Sunday.”
Puzzlement flashed across her face.
Idiot. She’d offered a social pleasantry, not an actual question, and I’d derailed her. I could guess her next question.
“You’ve got family somewhere, don’t you?”
“My grandma.” And my folks, back at the house I still hadn’t burned down. “But she’s busy.” Tabby was in town for the first time in years. Grandma had made it clear we were both welcome at Christmas, but our parents had constantly played Tabby and I and even Harry Junior against each other. Grandma had the only honest Christmas I’d ever known and I’d miss it, but I didn’t feel like eating turkey and waiting for a metaphorical knife between my ribs.
Not Tabby’s fault. Not mine. Just how it was.
Gillian arranged her plate, putting one of the slices of cake to the side. Yep. Another bribe. “That’s rough.”
I shrugged and reached for the pizza. “Lots of folks have it rougher.” Some parents hurt their kids bad. We’d been lucky.