Christmas Eve in the Mastriano household was loosely structured. Everyone sat around, laughing and talking while nibbling on food and drinks. There wasn’t a sit-down meal, exactly, though Angela did put out more hearty dishes of lasagna, turkey, ham, and baked ziti at about six thirty.
I mostly stayed in my corner of the couch, not quite able to roughhouse with the little boys yet, and comfortable enough not to get in the way. I wouldn’t admit I was waiting for Noah to show up. Not when I had plenty of good conversation in my pseudosiblings as well as their spouses. Aimee tried repeatedly to talk me into giving her a foot rub, and Marielle’s husband Steve was trying to convince me of the merits of buying a house. When I pointed out his real estate agent was showing, he laughed. I was havi
