A few days after Christmas I went to the local pharmacy to pick up some supplies. I was browsing the aisles, all three of them, looking at the country knick-knacks, figurines of mice playing instruments and garish ‘designer’ purses, when someone made a loud and fake coughing sound.

I turned. “Hank!”

He reddened. “Hi, Maggie.”

Hank wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat for once. His hair was cut different, more stylish than it used to be. His tan had faded a little and his cheeks were red from the cold. Or maybe from running into me.

I hid the box of jumbo size tampons behind my leg. “How are you?”

“Good. Great. Yeah, fine.” He rubbed at the top of his head. “You?”

“Fine.” I probably didn’t look fine in my sweats, knock-off Uggs, and my dad’s giant parka. I wasn’t even wearing mascara. Hank looked hotter than he used to, but my heart didn’t flutter, not even a bit. Still, it felt comfortable to see him again. “I heard about you and—”

“Ashley?” He looked away. “Mags, I—”

“It’s great. I’m so happy for you.” I didn’t sound happy. But I really was. For him. Just not in general.

“Oh.” His shoulders lowered. “Well, good. She’s really nice.”

“I’m sure she is.”

He looked at me. I hadn’t meant that to sound sarcastic or condescending. Hank wouldn’t pick any other kind of girl. He wasn’t interested in the girls who got around, the party girls or the ones with bad reputations. He didn’t want lying or cheating or boozing. Even though he was only twenty, he wanted a wife.

I hadn’t wanted that a few months ago, and still didn’t. I barely knew what I wanted anymore, aside from getting into Essence. Jay Thornton flashed in my head and I almost laughed. I didn’t want Jay, I was only thinking about him because he’d been the only one who’d been interested in me.

“Anyway—” I started.

“I should—” Hank said at the same time.

We both let out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, I should go,” I said. “It was nice seeing you, though. I’m glad everything worked out.” I moved past him to the front counter.

“Did it?” he asked.

The lie slipped easily off my tongue. “Of course.”

When I got home, there was a giant package sitting near the front door.

“What’s this?” I asked when Mom appeared at the top of the stairs. She hurried down.

“It’s from your brother!” she said. “Can you believe it? Frasier never sends gifts.”

Frasier never had the money to send gifts before. I examined the box. There was no return address, just his name in the top left corner in big bold letters.

“I was waiting for you to get home so we could open it together.” Mom called my father who materialized from his office. He picked up the box with a grunt and carried it to the Christmas tree.

Mom handed Dad a kitchen knife and he sliced through the tape. Inside was a pile of crumpled newspaper. Dad took it all out, and Mom immediately placed it in recycling. When she was back, Dad lifted out the presents. There were four, all wrapped in Santa-themed paper.

Mom opened hers first. It was an exquisite porcelain statue of Mary holding the baby Jesus. “Oh,” my mom breathed. She held it tenderly in her hands.

Dad’s present was a collection of books on doctrine and scripture study. Dad’s mouth dropped open. These weren’t the kind of presents typical of Fraze, and not just because of the cost. He usually got us gag gifts—like the time he got me a Santa that pooped M&Ms. Or when he got my Dad a card that said, “You’re old enough to be told that the Easter Bunny and Jesus aren’t real.”

Dad did not like that one bit.

I opened mine, tearing off the paper and hoping my brother hadn’t gotten me a golden cross or something. My package was much smaller. I lifted the lid off the box and stared.

It was a pair of Undeez—contemporary dance shoes made of leather strips. I’d made mine and they looked dreadful. Now I had a real pair. How had Fraze known?

“These are quite the gifts,” Mom said. My parents exchanged glances, probably wondering how Fraze could afford it all.

Dad handed Mom the last box. There were also two envelopes. One he handed to me, it had my name on it. The other he opened.

“Dear fam,” he read. “I hope these get to you by Christmas but I was cutting it a little close. Sorry if they’re a few days late. It’s the thought that counts, right? Anyway, I have a great new job and I wanted to get you guys some good stuff this year. But I couldn’t help getting one of my gifts. You know what I’m talking about. Merry Christmas to you all, and to all a good night! Love, Frasier.”

Mom unwrapped the present and I tried not to laugh. It was Cards Against Humanity. “A game for horrible people,” my mom read. Dad’s mouth tightened. It would go straight in the dumpster. Dad wouldn’t re-gift it because he wouldn’t want anyone else to be corrupted.

Mom put the game aside and picked up her statue. She ran her hands along the off-white porcelain. “This really is beautiful,” she said, probably trying to distract my dad from the game. “I wonder how he could afford it?”

I slipped off my fuzzy socks and tried on my Undeez. They were a perfect fit. “His job sounds pretty good.” How had Fraze known the size of my feet? “He said he’s working for a record producer or something.” I didn’t meet their eyes; I didn’t like to lie. But maybe it wasn’t a lie. For all I knew, he could’ve taken that job, if it existed.

Who was I kidding?

“So he says.” Dad sat down in his chair, the stack of books on his lap. He started flipping through one.

My brother’s letter to me sat unopened on my lap. I took it, and my new dance shoes, and slipped out of the room.

Upstairs, I went into Frasier’s old room. All of his stuff had been cleared out, either taken by him or boxed away. The furniture was still the same, but empty. Only his navy blue plaid comforter reminded me of him. I sat down on the edge of the bed and tore open the letter.

“Hey sis. Hope you like my present. I had to do some reconnaissance before I left to figure out what you might want. I went through your stuff multiple times, even your unmentionables. GROSS. Anyway, I found your taped up pieces of crap that I assumed were shoes in your dance bag, and that’s when I knew. It wasn’t hard to charm the girl at the dance clothes store to help me out. *wink wink*

I hope you have a great Christmas, but don’t get trapped there. Go back to Vegas, get Bronwyn away from that soul-sucking boyfriend, and give Dad a heart attack by getting into that dance company. Got it? These are things you have to do and I expect you to do them. Get a better job while you’re at it. Never mind that last bit. I want free food when I visit again. Love and stuff. F.”

A storm of emotions swirled inside me. An ache over missing my brother. Annoyance that he thought the food had been free. And sadness at the mention of Bronwyn. He didn’t know. How could he? I hadn’t emailed him since he left.

I sighed, scrubbing away the tears at the corners of my eyes. I’d have to tell him, but not yet.

I refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Fraze, Bronwyn, they all thought I could do it. Be more than the girl from Hillstone. More than Hank’s wife or the preacher’s daughter.

I’d gone to Vegas thinking the same, but it hadn’t turned out the way I thought. I’d become more, in some ways, and also less. But I still didn’t know who that person was, or who I was supposed to be.

The only way to find out was to go back. To try again and again, like Bronwyn had said. When I’d been in Vegas before, I’d made a start. It was time for me to finish.