Dragonfly by Jax Hill 

Jack and Jazz’s parents, and my dad and step-mom came on Christmas morning for breakfast  — a big country breakfast with bacon and eggs and biscuits and gravy and oatmeal, ham and cheesy grits. Sully, the only kid we had, had never experienced an actual Christmas Christmas before ... he must have been the only kid in the nation who did not realize there was supposed to be an orgy of gift-giving at the crack of dawn on Christmas. He believed it was Christmas because of all the amazing food we were getting ... He’d never even heard of a grit before.

As we were all shoving away from the table, about to burst, Maggie said to Sully, “Well, do you want to open presents?”

He gave her a round-eyed look that reflected pure amazement at such a question. He had just turned six years old the week before, and he had received actual birthday presents from Maggie and Tawny and Marigold, and a birthday cake and candles shared with the rest of us ... it was clear he could hardly believe there were more presents associated with this time of year. It was sweet, in a way, that he wasn’t expecting anything and was astonished just by the bounty of the table here at Pete’s house ... but it was also sad that he’d never supposed there might be a gift for him on Christmas day.

Angel had sent him some things. She had progressed so far in her program, she had now joined a choir that visited churches and schools to sing and tell about drug and alcohol abuse prevention. On one of those outings, she’d been allowed to visit a shelter for abused women and children — when they heard she had a little boy, they gave her a backpack full of Crayons and coloring books and a few little school supplies. She had wrapped it all up and sent it, the backpack for his birthday, and the rest of the stuff for Christmas. I’m pretty sure these were the first birthday and Christmas gifts she’d ever given Sully. What’s more, one of the program directors from the rehab had also sent Sully a present, some kind of Transformer that was a car and a robot.

And my step-mom had brought him a couple of sweaters and a pair of shoes, and Jack and Jazz’s mom had brought him a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. And Maggie and the Story Ladies had bought him some of his favorite books from Story Hour, to keep as his own, since he was learning to read.

He was overwhelmed by it all. He tore through all the wrapping and kept running around to various gift-givers to say thank you and give them big hugs. Then he passed out. Not literally. I think the combination of the big breakfast and all the excitement was too much. He piled all his new things in a corner around him and sat down to read his books, and in about 10 minutes, he was asleep.

The rest of us ... we hadn’t gotten each other any gifts. There was this unspoken but very powerful idea that what we had together was enough; that gifts would have been superfluous. All Sully’s presents had made a nice pile under the tree, and now it was just empty wrappers and bits of ribbon and crushed bows. But it was perfect.

“Pete, Phyllis, thank you,” Torstein said. He seemed more relaxed, and happier, than he had been the night before. “I know this was a lot of trouble for you.”

“Not at all,” Phyllis said. “And you could stay, Torstein, you’re welcome here.”

She didn’t include the rest of us who were sleeping in her basement and sewing room and children’s rooms! But we all had our own places.

“Thanks,” he said. “I know you mean that, and I appreciate it.”

Franz was sitting on the big chair — Pete and Phyllis had this big chair that looked like an easy chair but was just big enough for two people to snuggle into if they weren’t too big. Franz was small, and Tawny had consented to sit in the big chair with him. Now he pointed to the tree and said:

“There’s one more present under there still wrapped up.”

Tawny sat forward to see where he was pointing and said, “Oh, too bad. Sully missed it. Should we wake him up?”

“I don’t think it’s for Sully. Can you see the tag on it, Marigold?”

Mari had been sitting in the floor with Sully, helping him sort out which presents came from who so he could make his thank-you’s. She reached for the small box in its red and white striped paper and said, “Tawny — it’s for you. From Franz.” She stopped and looked up at Tawny, wrinkled up her nose like a kid and stuck her tongue out as she said, “With love from Franz!”

We hooted at that, and Tawny blushed.

It was amazing, really, how far Tawny and Mari had come. Mari had been so determined to appear grown-up and tough as nails when she joined us. Now she was sticking her tongue out like a little kid. Tawny had been so afraid and unsure about everything except her ability to excite men ... and now she blushed at a “With love.”

She glanced at Franz as she took the box, and opened it, revealing, of course, a diamond solitaire set in a slim gold band. “Franz!” she said, in a choked little voice.

“Will you marry me?” he said, trying to get a glance under the hair that had fallen over her face when she ducked her head.

“OK,” she said, “OK, but not for a while, all right? Not until the spring maybe?”

“Whenever you say,” he said, and then she did look up, and they kissed, and the rest of us cheered, and Maggie cried, and Mari pouted. “Who’s gonna be my room-mate now?”

And Torstein looked happy, but, I don’t want to say, pained as well. He was happy for them, clearly, but it looked like he also feared for them, too.