I suddenly realized what she was getting at. Yvonne’s stints in rehab—her public struggle with drugs and alcohol. Car accidents and gambling debts, all of it fueling tabloid headlines back when she was still working as a model. I didn’t know if she’d sobered up recently; Lon and Jupe didn’t talk about her. And the media had lost interest in an aging supermodel that hadn’t worked for years.

The Giovanni family had disowned Yvonne. Rose had bonded with Lon over Jupe and chosen them over her own daughter. I knew this was a sensitive subject. I didn’t want to upset Jupe, but I didn’t want to back down, either.

I straightened and locked gazes with her. “I can make a good guess as to why you feel that way, but don’t make the mistake of confusing me with your daughter.”

She flinched in surprise before staring me down like she could will me to burst into flames. The room was uncomfortably quiet for several beats.

“Now, if you’ll please excuse me,” I finally said, “I need to wash up.”

I turned to head upstairs. Lon tried to follow, but I put a firm hand on his arm to tell him no. And as I climbed the first few stairs, I heard Rose say behind me, as if nothing had just happened, “Who wants oatmeal blackberry bars?”

• • •

The evening got better. An unexpected introduction to Mr. Piggy helped liven things up. Who could resist a pygmy hedgehog that could climb up the Christmas tree and leap onto your shoulder when you least expected, like some kind of little psychotic, quilled monkey?

I avoided speaking to Rose directly, except to say “thank you” and “excuse me” and “sorry my pet hedgehog jumped on your shoulder.” And she avoided speaking to me as well, but wasn’t antagonistic. After the hedgehog incident, Lon put on music, a Stax Records compilation he sometimes played on Waffle Day, otherwise known as Sunday outside the Butler household. It was hard to be upset while listening to Issac Hayes and Otis Redding. He knew this; he’d played it on purpose. And when Jupe and Adella began telling a long story about the origin of a handmade Christmas ornament on the tree—a clay disk that on first glance was Jupe’s handprint, but on second, was actually the impression of Foxglove’s foot—Lon slid beside me on the couch and pulled me close, almost into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rose darting the occasional glance our way, but she made no comment.

Adella and Jupe finished their story. They both made big, sweeping hand movements when they talked. What else had he inherited from his mother’s side? It was as if the mysteries of his dynamic personality were being revealed, layer by layer.

And, dammit, I really liked Adella. She was smart and witty, and she snorted when she laughed, just like Jupe. I tried so hard not to be jealous when Jupe begged her to come up to his room and watch late-night TV. But, you know, that was my job. I got to turn off the TV when Jupe fell asleep on my arm.

Dear God, what a pity party I was having. I wanted to slap myself. Instead, I excused myself and ate another blackberry bar in the kitchen. As I was licking the last sticky crumb off my finger, Rose walked through the doorway. Alone.

“I’d have made more if I knew they’d go so fast,” she said, staring down the nearly empty plastic-wrapped pan.

They were pretty freaking divine, though I wasn’t about to tell her that. And I wasn’t sure if she was trying to tell me to keep my grimy hands off her baked goods, or if she was acknowledging that she was pleased I liked them. Maybe she somehow knew this was my third one, even though I’d tried to be stealthy.

I really didn’t know her intentions at all, so I just didn’t say anything.

She’d taken her jacket off and was walking around in her stocking feet. She had firm, slender arms and incredible legs, which wasn’t fair. She was in her sixties. Her legs should be . . . well, I don’t know, but they shouldn’t look like that. Mine didn’t. I was sort of relieved when she put the blackberry bars in the fridge and moved her too-good legs out of my sight, standing behind the curved kitchen island as I washed my hands in the sink.

“I don’t believe in couples living together outside the bonds of marriage.”

My hand slipped on the soap pump. A streak of green gel sprayed against the white subway tile behind Lon’s sink. “Is there somewhere you’re going with this?” I said as I aggressively lathered my hands. “Or is that just a general comment?”

“Lon told me it was none of my business when I asked if you were living here, which is probably true. But Adella told me that Jupe said you rent a house in Morella.”

“I own a house in Morella,” I corrected.

“Well, regardless of whatever arrangement you and Lon normally have, I’d like you to stay at your own house while I’m visiting.”

I slammed the faucet handle off and spun around halfway, flinging droplets of water into the sink. “Let me get this straight. Are you telling me—”

She held up both hands. “It’s not a demand, but a request. I don’t like Jupiter thinking that couples living together without strings is okay. And if I consent to stay here while you’re living in sin with Lon, then that sends a signal to Jupiter than I approve of this. And I don’t. I’d like you to respect that.”

“Well, I think that’s pretty ballsy of you to ask.”

She took off her glasses and wiped them on the corner of her striped, sleeveless shirt. “No one’s ever accused me of being timid about speaking my mind.” Without looking at me, she fit her glasses back in place. “Regardless, it’s either you or me. If you stay, I’ll go to a hotel in town. But I’d appreciate it if you decide soon, because it’s half-past nine. That may not mean much to someone who works the graveyard shift at a bar, but I’ve spent the afternoon standing in security lines at the airport. I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed. And I’d also like for Christmas to be a happy time. His mother ruined one too many holidays for all of us. I hope you don’t do the same.”