Spending Thanksgiving alone hadn't been all that bad. Christmas was torture. The Shaws sent me a box of presents, and I opened them by myself on the morning of the twenty-fifth. Somehow, they'd managed to package the scent of their home and mail it to California. As soon as I had unfolded the cardboard, the familiar smell rolled out in waves. It was the first time I'd missed home since I'd left. I'd longed for Portia, but I'd talked to Ernie and Hensley enough that their absence didn't seem any different than it had when I lived with my mom. There were times I'd go long stretches without seeing them, although not often.
I hadn't been able to unwrap a single package for nearly an hour. And when I finally regained my composure, every piece of paper I tore, tape I removed, and ribbon I untie
