Page 48 of Time After Time

“Murder On the Orient Express—lamb with Turkish pilaf and harissa jus,” Anika reads out. “I saw the movie.”

“You did?” Aksel looks horrified.

Anika nods. “I like Hercule Poirot.”

“Isn’t this the movie where everyone stabs Johnny Depp?” Aksel asks his wife, his eyes wide.

“Calm down. It’s Agatha Christie—it’s harmless.” Latika raises an eyebrow. “I worry more about Thomas watching Lord of the Rings and strutting around with a stick, telling people they shall not pass.” She takes a sip of wine and deadpans, “He tried it with the UPS guy last week—nearly poked his eye out.”

“Well, I can’t wait to eat aDeath On The Nile,” Giselle announces. “I love a good sea bass.”

Aunt Tanya chuckles. “Margot, you missed a trick not calling dessertA Pocket Full of Rye—you know, for something with whiskey.”

“But,” Heidi interjects, “4:50 from Paddingtonis inspired. I love sticky toffee pudding withclotted cream.”

“Why, thank you.” Mama waves a hand like she’s royalty. “Chef Pascal and I re-read a lot of Agatha Christie to come up with this menu.”

Dinner unfolds beautifully. The murder hasn’t happened yet. We’re told it will occur between the cheese course and dessert.

The kids are buzzing about presents, which will be opened in the morning.

“We can’t open them tonight?” Thomas pleadsagain.

“Sorry, poppet.” Papa kisses his grandson’s forehead. “First thing tomorrow morning.”

Anika looks thoughtfully at my father. “Grandpa Jean, why is it that only children get gifts and none of you do?”

Calypso coughs as she’s drinking her water. “No Christmas gifts?”

“Well, we decide on activities for the following year that we can do as a family. Shared memories instead ofthings,” Latika explains. “Honestly, my kids will remember the time they saw the pyramids rather than some toy they received.”

“But,” Papa interjects, “Margot likes to break the rules.”

“Which is why,” Margot says with a smile, “there are still small things under the tree for everyone. Even for the Grinches among us.” She looks meaningfully at Aksel, who grunts in mock protest.

Calypso leans over and murmurs, “I hope you gotme something,” in a tone meant to be teasing, but it lands heavily, like avarice, in the thick candlelight.

Ransom stiffens slightly. Everyone catches it. The room shifts, just slightly, like a snow globe with one swirl too many.

I look away, busying myself with adjusting the silverware.

It’s not a present she wants. It’s his attention. It’s his thoughtfulness.

I know that feeling—wanting something from someone who won’t give it.

It hollows you out.

It shrinks you.

You start folding yourself into smaller and smaller shapes, hoping they’ll notice. Hoping they’ll offer what they never intended to.

The conversation picks up again. My family is loud and warm.

Calypso smiles tightly, trying to keep pace.

I sip my wine and watch them all, loving them fiercely and feeling, as I often do, like I’m floating outside the glass, a spectator.

Racquel clears up the plates with Freja, Aksel, and me helping, just like we always have. However, it’s not easy with our costumes, which leads to some mishaps and a whole lot of laugher.