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  I slung an arm around Tyler's neck and listened to him

  babble on about school, soccer, the new game system

  he'd found under the Christmas tree. He had never known

  Santa to disappoint him. I'd stopped trying not to be

  envious of that, even though I no longer believed in Santa

  Claus.

  Inside, Jeremy slunk to a chair in the corner and sat with

  crossed arms, the scowl stil in place. Tyler abandoned me

  to round up pens for the game. That left me to the socialy

  torturous task of making nice with Stela's parents, Nanny

  and Poppa.

  Like their daughter, they weren't bad people. They'd never

  gone out of their way to be cruel. I wasn't Cinderela. And

  I understood, now, what it must have been like to try to

  find a place in their hearts for their new son-in-law's

  children, and how awkward it must have felt. A hastily

  wrapped Jumbo Book of Puzzles and a prewrapped box

  of knit mittens would always fal short in comparison to

  exquisitely wrapped packages in shiny foil paper with

  exquisitely wrapped packages in shiny foil paper with

  matching bows, the contents new clothes or toys. I

  understood. Spending Christmas at my dad's had been last

  minute, haphazardly planned and rare. At least Nanny and

  Poppa had made an effort.

  It seemed easier for them now that I was a grown-up,

  though it was more difficult for me. As a kid it had never

  occurred to me they wouldn't like me. Now I was

  convinced they didn't.

  "Helo, Paige," George, also known as Poppa, said. "How nice of you to come."

  He meant wel, but the unspoken insinuation of surprise

  made me bite my tongue against the shout of "Of course I

  came! She's my father's wife!"

  But, like Stela herself, I could never hope to impress

  them. I just wanted not to prove them right. So instead of

  shouting, I smiled.

  "How are you?" I couldn't cal him George, Mr. Smith

  sounded absurd, and I would never cal him Poppa.

  I'd been asking out of politeness, but he told me exactly

  how he was. For fifteen minutes. And I listened, nodding

  how he was. For fifteen minutes. And I listened, nodding

  and murmuring in appropriate places, as though I cared. I

  didn't know half the people he mentioned, but he acted as

  if he thought I should. He never asked me about myself,

  which was fine, because then I didn't have to answer.

  Finaly, the game of Pictionary got under way. Gretchen's

  husband, Peter, begged off, volunteering to take care of

  Hunter, their three-year-old son. Steve and his vastly

  pregnant wife, Kely, played, though, as did my dad and

  Stela, al the grandparents and Tyler. And me. Jeremy had

  disappeared. We split into teams, boys against girls.

  "I'l sit out," I said when we'd counted up the teams to find the girls' side had an extra player.

  "Oh, no, Paige, are you sure?" Stela protested, but not

  too hard. She liked things even and square.

  "Sure. Not a problem. I'l go check on dinner, if you

  want."

  Okay, so maybe I'd cast myself in the Cinderela role. Just

  a little. But it was a relief to get into the kitchen and set out

  platters of vegetables and dip, cheese and crackers.

  Decorative breads and soft cheeses with pretty spreaders

  Decorative breads and soft cheeses with pretty spreaders

  that matched the platter. Stela loved to have parties.

  I found the cold-cut platters in the garage fridge and

  brought them into the kitchen to put them out on the table,

  which was serving as a buffet. I startled Jeremy when I

  came back in, and he whirled, can of soda in hand, from

  the open fridge.

  From the living room, the sound of laughter wafted. I set

  the platter of meat on the table. Jeremy and I stared each

  other down.

  "You're not supposed to be drinking that before dinner," I told him.

  "I know." His chin lifted. He hadn't yet cracked the top.

  "I'm not going to tel you on you, kiddo." I turned to the

  table and took off the platter's plastic lid so I could get rid

  of the fake greenery around the edges. I knew how to

  make things pretty.

  "Don't cal me kiddo," he said.

  I expected him to slink away with his stolen prize, but he

  didn't. When I turned to look at him, he was stil playing

  didn't. When I turned to look at him, he was stil playing

  with the can, shifting it from one hand to the other.

  "Something up?" I moved past him to the big, mostly

  empty pantry, to pul out the fancy plastic plates and

  plastic-ware, the matching napkins.

  "No." Jeremy shrugged and disappeared up the back

  stairs.

  After that, the party realy started.

  It was easier for me with more people there. Stela's

  friends knew who I was, of course, and avoided talking to

  me so they didn't have to deal with the awkwardness of

  how to address their friend's husband's ilegitimate

  daughter. My dad's friends knew me, too, but had fewer

  inhibitions for some reason. Maybe because I'd known

  them longer, or because they had no conflict of loyalty.

  Some of them didn't like Stela much, and maybe that was

  part of it, too.

  Of my father's other kids, I saw very little. Gretchen, Steve

  and I had never been close, even though it wasn't my

  mother who'd finaly won our dad away from their mom.

  Of course, their spouses weren't sure what to make of me,

  Of course, their spouses weren't sure what to make of me,

  either, and it was easier for us to be superficialy polite

  without trying to get to know each other. Their children

  were and would be my nieces and nephews, but I doubted

  they'd ever think of me as an aunt.

  "Paige DeMarco, how the hel are you?" Denny's one of

  my dad's oldest friends. Fishing and drinking buddies,

  they'd known each other since high school. He'd known

  my mom, too.

  "Hey, Denny. Long time no see."

  "Yeah, and you a big-city girl now, too. How's it going?"

  Denny gave me a one-armed hug.

  "It's going great." It wasn't an entire lie. Most of my life was going great.

  "Yeah?" He tossed back the dregs of his iced tea. I

  guessed he was hankering for a beer, but Stela wasn't

  serving booze. Not that I blamed her. Alcohol always

  made a different kind of party. "Where you living at? Your

  dad said someplace along the river?"

  "Riverview Manor."

  There was no denying the pride sweling inside me at

  Denny's impressed whistle. "Nice digs. And your job?

  You're not stil working with your mom, are you?"

  "I help out once in a while, if she's got a big job."

  Denny grimaced at his empty cup, but didn't move to pour

  more. "What's she up to? She stil with the same guy?"

  Questions my dad never asked. I was the only part of my

  mother my dad needed to know about. He'd never said as

  much, but I knew it.

  "Leo? Yes."

  "And that kid, how old's he now?"

  "Arty's seven." I had to laugh for a second. "Wow