“A package, eh?” I was intrigued; my momma used to send me packages with some frequency before her death. I had no second source of packages other than Internet stores.

I stripped off my winter gear—boots, hat, gloves, scarf, second scarf, outer jacket, inner jacket, a third scarf, sweater—and strolled over to the coffee table, leaving my wool socks on. The package was really a large, padded envelope; it had no return address and the postmark indicated that it had been sent from Franklin, North Carolina.

I didn’t know anyone in North Carolina. At least, I didn’t remember knowing anyone in Franklin, North Carolina.

I gathered a deep breath and set to opening the package, but was interrupted by the external intercom. Tucking the envelope under my arm, I jogged to the speaker and pressed the button.

“Who is it?”

“Let us in! We’re freezing our tits off.” Sandra’s voice was distorted and clouded in static.

“Okay, let me hit the buzzer,” I replied. I pressed the button and added, “I’ll leave the door unlocked so you can come on in when you get up here.”

I walked into the kitchen to check out the soup. Kat must’ve gone to General Tso’s. They put baby bok choy in their wonton soup and use both shrimp and pork.

“Mmm, that smells good.”

“I know you like General Tso’s soup.” She gave me a shy smile—most of Kat’s smiles were shy—and pulled out a bottle of plum wine. “And I picked this up.”

“Oh, nice. I’ll open it.” I placed the unopened package on the kitchen counter and searched for the bottle opener.

Kat and I had been talking recently about sharing an apartment to save on rent. After Christmas, we planned to finalize the details. Originally, I’d wanted to go to Tennessee for the holiday, but as the date approached, I was seriously considering staying in town and picking up extra shifts, which was typically very lucrative. Plus, I didn’t particularly like the idea of being in my mother’s house without her in it. As well, the Dr. Ruinous issue was an ever present dung beetle in my pie.

However, I really missed my brothers. The thought of spending Christmas without them felt unacceptable. I wondered if I could talk them into meeting me halfway between Chicago and Green Valley, or maybe just an hour or two from the homestead.

I heard the door swing open followed by Elizabeth’s shout, “It’s us: Janie, Sandra, Nico, and me.”

“Quinn and Alex might be by later,” Janie announced.

“It is colder than Satan’s balls out there!” Sandra’s voice bellowed from the hallway. Kat and I shared a smile and I rolled my eyes.

“Well, come in then, and take off your clothes,” I called back.

“I can’t. Nicoletta is with us.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Nico’s teasing tone made me laugh.

“It’s not you, Nico.” I heard Janie’s voice respond from beyond the kitchen. “It’s Alex and Quinn. The last time they dropped by knit night unexpectedly and we were having a panty dance party, it took me twenty six days of constant physical intimacy before he started to relax again.”

Nico chuckled. “Because it was a coed party?”

“Honestly, no. I don’t think he was jealous….” Janie walked into the kitchen, pausing to give Kat then me a hug.

“What was it then?” I asked her, curious.

Janie pressed her lips together, her eyes growing wide as she stared at me for a long moment. Abruptly, she leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “I think it turned him on.”

I barked a laugh and covered my mouth. “Oh, my God. By all means, we should all keep our clothes on.”

Sandra burst into the room, still removing layers of clothing. “Yeah, it’s not a good idea. Alex couldn’t keep his hands off me for months after. It’s like I was Alex-catnip.”

I couldn’t help but smile at Sandra. Where Janie whispered intimate information, Sandra just put it all out there. It struck me that they were a perfect yin and yang. Janie was overly verbose about trivial information and made strangers uncomfortable with her random factoids, whereas Sandra was unsurpassed in social settings; she knew exactly what to say and when to say it—when she set her mind to it.

With her friends, Sandra was the queen of personal TMI, whereas Janie never spoke of personal issues unless pushed or prodded.

“What smells good?” Nico hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes twinkly, eyebrow raised, boyish grin in place.

It took me months to get used to Nico, maybe even a year. I definitely had a little—and very benign—crush on him. In fact, I was pretty certain we all did. Never mind the fact that he was a celebrity, he had dangerously unnatural levels of charisma. It was like having a crush on a nebula or a painting; you just wanted to look at him.

Over time, however, the sensation and feelings became similar to the girl-crushes I had on the rest of the knitting ladies. I admired him, enjoyed his company, and wished him happiness in all things.

“Kat picked up wonton soup and egg rolls for dinner,” I explained.

“Hey, thanks, Kat!” The group echoed this grateful sentiment, and Kat ducked her head, her cheeks turning pink. Since she and I had started spending more time together, I’d noticed that she did not accept praise or compliments very well. I would have to start saturating her with comments about how awesome she was.

“It’s no big deal.” She waved away their gratitude.

“Hey, Ashley, what’s this?” Sandra strolled into the already crowded kitchen and picked up the package I’d left on the counter.

I pulled several wine glasses from the cabinet. “Oh, I don’t know. It just came.”

“Can I open it?” She asked. “You know how I love to open other people’s mail—so annoying that it’s a felony.”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

She began ripping into the package while I filled the goblets with plum wine.

“I need some advice,” Janie announced. She was leaning against the kitchen table, her arms folded, her pretty face marred by a pensive frown.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Elizabeth squeezed into the kitchen and grabbed the bowls from the counter to set the table.

“I don’t know what to get Quinn for Christmas.”

“You—in a bow.” Nico said this deadpan. “Maybe forget the bow.”

“No—I mean, I have it narrowed down to two things. I need help deciding between the two.”

“What are they?” Sandra asked as she pulled a rectangular bundle wrapped in newspaper from the envelope. “Why don’t you make him something?”

“Well, I already crocheted him that hat and scarf. So, that’s done.”

“And it’s black and very dark gray, so you know he’ll love it.” Elizabeth said this with some sarcasm. We had a running joke that Quinn was actually Batman.

Janie nodded, both because she agreed and because she got the joke. “But the other two things are a little complicated. I can either fly his parents out for Christmas, or I think I can get his sister to come.”

“But not both.” Kat stated this, her voice warm with sympathy and understanding.

Janie sighed. “His parents would be fine with seeing his sister, but I think Shelly wouldn’t come if his parents were there. She still has…issues.”

I listened to the conversation with interest because it mirrored my situation. I wanted to see my brothers for Christmas, but I didn’t want to face Drew. Whether I liked it or not, my brothers considered him a part of the family. Actually, he was a part of the family—especially after all he’d done for us, for my mother, for me.

Hearing Janie struggle with the situation made me realize how selfish I’d been about the whole thing. I didn’t want my brothers to choose between us. I wasn’t that person. My momma raised me to be better. I would just have to find a way to need nothing from Drew like he needed nothing from me.

I cleared my throat, prepared to tell Janie that she should invite both of them—Quinn’s sister Shelly and his parents—but then Sandra gasped.

I was mid pour, so I gave her a cursory glance. “What is it?”

“Oh!” Elizabeth’s startled exclamation came next.

At this, I set the bottle down and crossed to where Sandra held the contents of the envelope, but Elizabeth was blocking my view.

“What is it?” I asked again, insinuating myself between them so I could see what the fuss was about.

Then I saw it.

“Oh….” I exhaled, my eyes moving over the object in Sandra’s hands.

It was Drew’s leather notebook; the one he carried around in his pocket, always seemed to be writing in, and was never without. I immediately recognized the Norse symbols on the front. But it was singed; the cover was burnt as were several of the pages. The edges were black and brittle, but—other than the scarred cover—it was mostly intact.

Sandra held it out to me, her eyes wide. “Drew sent this to you?”

I shook my head, not taking the notebook. “I—I don’t know.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I wanted to be irritated or ambivalent, but I wasn’t.