Chapter 1

’Twas the Night Before Christmas and Nick Wanted to Be Invited to His Parents’ Party

I didn’t turn eighteen to still be treated like a kid. That was my opening argument to Harley, my sister, who was stretched out on the couch scrolling her phone. She had that look like she couldn’t be less interested in whatever I was about to say.

I had only just turned eighteen a few months earlier, but it was Christmas Eve, and my mom’s annual party had always been off-limits to me. My sister had been permitted to go the previous year and I wanted to be invited – I didn’t care what happened there. I just wanted the validation that I was an adult now – even though I still rode a bicycle everywhere and was still in high school.

“Nick, I just don’t think it’s possible,” she said, not even glancing up. “You can ask Mom, but she didn’t invite me until last year. And honestly? It’s really not your scene.”

“That’s what makes me want to go!” I said, leaning forward. “What is it? Drinking? Wild dancing? Strange religious customs? Are y’all sacrificing a reindeer or something?”

Her thumb froze mid-scroll, and she raised an eyebrow at me. “Sacrificing a reindeer? Really?”

“I’m throwing darts here,” I said. “You’re not giving me anything.”

She put her phone down and sat up, looking at me like I was some annoying kid asking too many questions. “It’s just not for you, Nick. It’s adults only. End of story.”

“But I’m eighteen now,” I argued. “That’s legally an adult.”

“Yeah, well, TECHNICALLY, an adult is more like it. I was eighteen before I got to go, and I wasn’t invited until last year. You’ve got at least another year to wait.”

“That’s not fair,” I said, crossing my arms. “What is it, anyway? A swingers’ thing? I mean, I wouldn’t care if it was—”

“Nick!” she snapped, her face turning red.

“What? I’ve seen guys come over when Dad’s not home, and Mom’s, you know, extroverted. Flirty.”

She threw a pillow at me, hitting me square in the chest. “Stop talking about Mom like that!”

“Alright, fine. Sorry.” I smirked. “But you’re not saying no, so...”

Harley groaned and threw her hands in the air. “What happens at the party, stays at the party. I’m not playing this game with you anymore.”

“So, it is a swingers’ party,” I said, grinning.

She grabbed another pillow and hurled it at me. “Nick! Go ask Mom if you’re so curious. But good luck with that.”

“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.”

The smell of pine and cinnamon filled the house. Mom was humming softly to herself near the fireplace, hanging stockings and fiddling with some garland. “Ba-rum-bum-bum, newborn ba-rum-bum-bum,” she sang under her breath, her Georgia Peach accent sweetening every word. This was her favorite time of year—she practically glowed with excitement.

I didn’t sneak up on her, but when I walked in and said, “Hey, Mom,” she startled anyway.

“Oh, Nick, don’t do that!” she said, clutching her chest. She turned to face me with a laugh, a strand of tinsel dangling from her fingers. “You scared me half to death. What do you need, sugar?”

I pointed at the extra stockings she was hanging, two marked with a fancy embroidered “D” and “E.” “Who are those for?”

Mom’s eyes flicked toward the stockings, then back to me, and her smile grew just a little mischievous. “Never you mind. It’s a surprise.” She turned back to the fireplace, adjusting the stocking holders with care.

“What kind of surprise?” I pressed.

“The kind that doesn’t concern nosy little boys,” she said playfully, flicking a bit of garland in my direction.

I decided to shift tactics. “Can I go to the party tonight?”

That made her freeze for a moment. She didn’t turn around, but I saw her shoulders tense.

“Mom,” I said, stepping closer, “I’m eighteen now. I can handle it.”

She finally turned and looked at me intently with her baby blue eyes, “Oh, honey, it’s really not for you.”

“But Harley got to go when she was eighteen,” I argued. “That was just last year!”

“And she was in college,” Mom said, brushing a stray hair out of my face. “You’re still my baby boy. Maybe in a few years.”

“A few years?” I groaned. “But I’m an adult now! What could possibly be so bad about this party?”

“It’s an adults-only party,” she said simply, turning back to the stockings. “And that’s all there is to it.”

“Is it a swingers’ thing?” I asked bluntly. I had struck out with Harley about it. I thought I’d just come out and ask my mother for a straight answer to what I had suspected anyway.

Her hands froze on the garland. She didn’t turn around, but I saw her take a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “Nick...”

“What? I know about the upside-down pineapple stuff.”

This time she spun around so fast her blonde curls bounced. “Enough!” she said, her Southern charm momentarily replaced by the kind of tone she used when I forgot to take the trash out.

“I’m just saying,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered something to herself before opening her eyes again. “Okay, fine. Yes, your father and I are swingers. But that’s not a conversation I’m prepared to have with you right now. And this party has nothing to do with you. Understand?”

Her voice was firm, but not unkind. I nodded, even though I didn’t fully believe her.

“Now,” she said, her smile returning as she smoothed out the garland, “go pack a bag. Your brother’s already spending the night at a friend’s house, and I’ve spoken to Hunter Johnson’s mom. You can stay there tonight.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off. “I’m not debating this, Nick. Be back by nine in the morning, and we’ll have a wonderful Christmas breakfast, alright?”

I stood there for a second, not sure what to say. She leaned in and kissed my forehead, then turned back to her decorating, humming again like nothing had happened.

“Is it really a swingers’ party?” I tried one last time to get a straight answer.

Her humming stopped. She turned her head just enough to give me a sharp look. “Go,” she said, Mom’s sweet southern accent dripping with the finality of the decision. I was relegated once again to the role of a kid too wet behind the ears to join in any adult fun!

I didn’t want to throw a tantrum or pout, but I did on the way out the door – I couldn’t help myself.

“The children were nestled all snug in their beds”

It had snowed earlier that day, leaving the streets crisp and glittering under the streetlights. Perfect weather for Christmas Eve, right? Wrong. The scene might’ve been festive, but I was riding my old banana-seat bicycle to the Johnsons’ house like a second grader.

“This is undignified,” I muttered as I adjusted the scarf Mom made me wear. “I may as well have streamers on the handlebars and baseball cards in the spokes. My parents think I’m immature? This is what they’re making me do!”

The wind cut at my cheeks as I pedaled, the squeaky chain rattling with every push. I imagined Harley laughing it up at the party right now, probably sitting by the fireplace with a glass of wine while Mom teased Dad about his sweater. And me? I was on a banana-seat bike with a neon-green frame that screamed “childhood embarrassment.”

When I got to the Johnsons’ house, Hunter was already sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, setting up some ridiculous video game. It was the kind of game where you moved cartoonish characters around a virtual living room, picking up objects to “decorate” while your parents had real fun somewhere else.

“You’re just in time!” he said, handing me a controller.

I stared at it like he’d just handed me a kazoo. “What is this?”

“Winter Wonderland Party!” Hunter said, like it was the coolest thing ever. “We have to collect as many ornaments as possible before time runs out!”

“Great,” I said flatly, sitting down as Mrs. Johnson walked in with a tray of snacks.

“Do you boys want Chickey-Chicky Nuggies?” she asked sweetly. “Or I’ve got Lunchables!”

Hunter’s face lit up. “Nuggies!” he said, looking at me like I was an idiot for even hesitating.

“I’m good, thanks,” I said, pushing the controller aside.

Hunter gave me a confused look but went back to enthusiastically decorating his fake living room. I sat there watching him, stewing in my frustration. This was ridiculous. Harley was probably at the party sipping eggnog and cracking jokes, and I was stuck here playing kiddie games with nuggets on the menu.

That’s when I realized I had to get out of there.

“I forgot something at home,” I said abruptly, standing up and grabbing my jacket.

Mrs. Johnson turned from the kitchen; her hands dusted with flour. “Oh, do you need me to call your mom, hon?”

“No, no, I’m good! I’ll be right back!” I called over my shoulder before anyone could stop me.

The cold air hit me like a slap when I stepped outside, but I didn’t care. My bike was still in the driveway, coated in a light frost. I swung a leg over and pedaled hard, my mind racing.

“I shouldn’t have asked permission,” I muttered. “I should’ve just gone down there and demanded to be let in.”

A burst of wind made my scarf flap as I coasted down a hill. The houses were glowing with Christmas lights, but all I could think about was what I was missing.

“Okay,” I admitted to myself, “maybe demanding to be let in wouldn’t go too far.” I pictured Dad crossing his arms and Mom with that sharp look she gave when she meant business.

I adjusted my plan. I didn’t need to storm in. I just needed to peek. Just enough to know what was really going on.

“It might just be them drinking wine and watching Die Hard,” I reasoned. “But even if it’s not, there’s no way Mom and Dad would let me force my way in.”

As I rode toward the house, my breath puffing in little clouds, I clenched the handlebars. “I’ll just take a look,” I told myself. “No harm in peeking, right?”

“Away to the window I flew like a flash.”

The house was alive when I got there, glowing with warm light that spilled out onto the snow. From where I stood in the yard, I could hear faint music and laughter muffled through the thick double-paned windows. It didn’t sound like Die Hard to me.

I dropped my bike in the yard without bothering to lock it up. My fingers were already cold from the ride, and I didn’t have time to fumble with the chain. The backyard gate creaked as I opened it, and I winced. If Mom or Dad caught me, I’d be dead, but I wasn’t about to walk through the front door and announce myself.

The kitchen window was my first target. I crouched low in the snow, creeping up like I was on some kind of covert mission. My heart thudded in my chest as I peeked over the ledge.

Inside the kitchen, sitting on the table with her bare bottom in a glass punch bowl of eggnog, laughing and handing out mugs of something steaming -was my mom.

Nope, the body language, it was unmistakably my Aunt Daisy – I hadn’t seen her in years. My mother’s identical twin!

I couldn’t believe it! Blonde hair, curvy figure, that same smile that lit up a room—but her energy was completely different. Where Mom had an air of polished Southern refinement, Daisy was loud, lively, and unapologetically bold.

She was bound in red and green rope, Christmas bells, and playful ornaments attached to her naked body, but only for decoration. She could move her arms and even kicked her feet freely and playfully while singing a song I couldn’t hear.

Her shoulders were bare, her cleavage on full display, and she was perched jauntily on the table, sitting IN a pot of eggnog like a cinnamon stick; my Aunt WAS the garnish to the punch bowl. She stirred and ladled the creamy white substance when partygoers came up to her, holding an empty mug like she was a human eggnog dispenser.

The rest of the kitchen was just as lively. I immediately recognized a couple of them from my mother’s charity. They call themselves the DSL, all of them—attractive, vivacious, tits fully on display, wearing only Christmas decorations -tits out, pussies bald, big bare asses in red heels and decorated in Christmas ornaments.

One of them was building a gingerbread house, humming along to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” as she worked. None of them seemed the least bit shy.

I had met my mother’s friends before, but only in passing. They were always a little cheeky and fun, but these women were extremely flirtatious extroverts!

I could hear the beat through the windows. All of these women were tall, big boobs, vivacious, and pretty much nude with only Christmas decorations. There was no way I could stop watching at his point.

I couldn’t hear much, but My Aunt’s laugh carried through the glass as she poured eggnog into tiny mugs.

“Alright, y’all, let’s not skimp on the Southern Comfort!” I could hear her through the glass, just vaguely. She held up a bottle and poured a generous splash into each mug.

Now that my mind was sufficiently blown in the kitchen, I shifted to get a better view of the living room. Through the archway, I could see the party in full swing. There had to be around a dozen people in there. I couldn’t make out who they were -but a few men were in Christmas sweaters.

It looked like men were fully dressed, while all of the women were basically naked, and the only thing they wore were Christmas-themed ornaments with red heels.

It was hard to believe that this Christmas spectacle was playing out in my own living room – a place where me and my little brother played video games. Now, it was full of revelry and naked women! It was like an alternate dimension where everything was filled with bare asses and tits.

A naked brunette with huge knockers stood near the fireplace, holding a mug of eggnog, her hair perfectly styled. Her tits weren’t fake like several of the other women at the party. They were the droopy, natural kind -which made them seem even sexier. Her face reminded me of the actress Morena Baccarin – I had seen her somewhere before, but from this distance, I couldn’t be sure.

She looked like she belonged on the cover of some holiday pinup calendar; this was like no party I’d ever seen. This was definitely an “adult” party, and I would never have imagined my mother would attend, much less host it at our house.

I leaned closer, my breath fogging the window as I scanned the room for Harley. There was no sign of her yet, but after studying the Holiday revelers from a distance, I recognized some of the guests: Dad’s work buddies, a few more from the DSL ladies, and it was possible that the brunette with the big naturals was our neighbor Mrs. Sanderson – but she was so mild-mannered and shy. I could hardly believe that might be her. Every one of the ladies was naked, with only ornaments and bells. It was hard to get a good look from so far away. I didn’t want to take a chance on getting caught – and I only remained because my curiosity got the best of me.

I didn’t plan to stay – this was definitely NOT a place I felt I would be welcome.

My stomach flipped. This wasn’t just some casual wine-and-DVD gathering. This was something else entirely.

And then I heard it—a low whistle behind me, sharp and teasing. My stomach dropped.

“Having fun, Nick?”

I froze, a chill crawling down my spine. Slowly, I turned around.

Uncle Eddie was standing there, arms crossed and grinning like the cat that ate the canary. He must’ve been there for a while, watching me. His breath puffed out in the cold as he stepped closer, his boots crunching in the snow.

“Uncle Eddie,” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”

“I think the real question is, what are you doing here?” he said, his grin widening. “You weren’t invited, were you?”

I tried to play it cool, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I was just ... curious.”

“Well,” Eddie said, clapping a hand on my shoulder, “let’s go satisfy that curiosity of yours. Come on, son.”

Before I could protest, he steered me toward the back door, pushing it open and guiding me inside. The warmth of the kitchen hit me like a wall, along with the smell of cinnamon and spiced eggnog.

My Aunt was chattering away in her sweet and sassy manner, “Who wants extra cream in their eggnog? Just pull my left titty and give it a nice twist,” she said playfully while wiggling her ass in the eggnog like a duck.

Inside, Aunt Daisy turned to greet us, her face lighting up.

“Is that Brian? Nick? My, how you’ve grown!” she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her bare breasts. Her voice was almost identical to Mom’s but with an extra twang of unrestrained joy.

“Yes, it’s me,” I said, suddenly very aware of her lack of a blouse.

“Well, come on over here, sugar!” she said, pulling me into a big hug. “The last time I saw you, you were just a little thing!”

She pulled back and looked me over, her hands still on my shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with genuine delight, but I couldn’t help noticing that she didn’t seem to care I was staring directly at her cleavage.

“Want some eggnog? I’ll slip you the good stuff,” Aunt Daisy said, laughing as she reached for the ladle. “I’m on punch duty tonight, but your mom and the Dick Sucking Ladies, your sister, and one of your neighbors are in the living room entertaining.”

I thought I heard my Aunt wrong when she said Dick Sucking Ladies – Daisy had slipped it into the conversation so casually, as if she was talking about the Salvation Army, that I almost didn’t notice what she had said.

I assumed my Aunt meant the DSL charity my mom works with, but that was a pretty raunchy way to refer to them. My Aunt Daisy has a much deeper Southern accent, and I was hoping she was being cheeky. I wasn’t sure what to believe. My Aunt was topless and presumably fully bottomless, sitting in a bowl of eggnog – and offered to let me have a drink of her “cream.”

I blinked. “Wait, the what? DSL stands for Delightful Southern Ladies. It’s Mom’s charity. They do outreach in the Black community.”

Daisy froze for a split second, then threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, is that what she told you? Well, shut my mouth and call me a peach in a pickle jar! I guess I let the cat out of the bag on that one.”

What did the name of the charity mean? I’ve heard my Mom, and her friends frequently shout “DSL” when they meet at our house for book club and a little wine. It had to mean something!

She leaned in with a conspiratorial grin and stroked my arm. “I’m sure those ladies do outreach, sugar, but not the kind you mean. Maybe you should go and talk to your mama about it. Listen, one more thing, Sugar...”

I leaned in close because my Aunt summoned me closer with a finger covered in creamy eggnog.

“I am flattered when you look at me like you have been, but don’t ogle the DSL. They love attention, and none of them are going to mind one lick if you check them out, but try not to let your tongue wag, Nick.”

I was mortified. I had been drinking in my Aunt’s magnificent boobs. I couldn’t look her in the face because she looked exactly like my mother! She also had incredible tits, and I instinctively stared at them.

My Aunt wiped some Eggnog on my lips teasingly and wished me luck with my mother. I think she knew I was in hot water, but it wasn’t her place to scold me.

I realized, as I smacked my lips, that my Aunt’s ass and pussy had been soaking in that eggnog when she fed it to me. It didn’t taste any different than normal eggnog though.

Eddie wasn’t going to wait for me to go on my own; his calloused hand was firmly grasped around the scruff of my neck, ready to lead me to my mother.

“When, what to my wondering eyes should appear”

From the moment I stepped into the kitchen, it felt like I’d walked into a completely different world. The warmth hit me first, a wave of spiced eggnog and cinnamon.
“Why was Aunt Daisy sitting in the punch bowl, Uncle Eddie?” I asked as he led me toward the living room with a grip that felt more like a sentence than guidance. I felt like a prisoner being marched to the gallows.

“You might want to hold onto those questions,” Eddie replied, his voice rough and uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t think you’ll be here long enough for answers, and you’ll probably need to do more explaining than asking.”

Eddie was usually the life of the party, loud and full of jokes, but now he was all business. His tone wasn’t angry, but it carried the weight of inevitability, like he knew there was no escaping what was coming next.

I didn’t resist. Even if I’d wanted to, there was nowhere to go, no escape from the predicament I’d stumbled into. All I could do was brace myself and face whatever was waiting for me in that room.

From inside the living room, I heard the sound of Christmas cheer—a mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and music. The party was in full swing, and I was about to crash it in the worst way.

The stereo played a Christmas song I’d never heard before, but it immediately caught my attention. The bassline from Back Door Santa thumped against the walls, bold and funky, with a groove that seemed alive. Clarence Carter’s voice flowed over it, smooth and mischievous:

“They call me Back Door Santa; I make my runs about the break of day.”

If I was going to face the music, I suppose this would be as good as any other way to do it, too. I didn’t feel like I had much choice anyway. As Uncle Eddie led me past the others, no one seemed to care that I was intruding on their fun.

The nude women didn’t cover up. I hadn’t yet seen Harley and my mother in the living room. About half of the women were gathered near the Christmas tree. I suspected the others might be hiding on the couch, but I had just walked into the living room, and I was standing behind the couch.

Our living room is built almost like a Viking Long Hall, with cathedral-style elevated ceilings. My mother loved Christmas, and she placed holiday decorations and smaller Christmas trees around the house to give it a festive cozy feel. All I knew for sure was that Eddie was practically frog-marching me to my parents. I let him lead me across the room toward our main Christmas tree.

Eddie’s hand was firm on the back of my neck, steering me like a shepherd guiding a wayward lamb. Any chance I had to turn tail and run was already gone. “Brace yourself, because your Mom’s probably gonna rip you a new asshole so wide that Santa is going to mistake it for a Chimney and put a present in your butt. A few of these ladies might even get jealous!”

I had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good, and that was enough to terrify me. I hadn’t seen my Uncle Eddie in years, but usually, he was ready with a wise crack and a big smile. He wasn’t laughing now.

It only took about 20-30 steps from the kitchen to the living room, but they seemed to last one minute each. In each of those steps, I experienced the agony of a thousand regrets coupled with a deep desire for a time machine to go back and slap myself for thinking about coming here on Christmas Eve.

My stomach churned as Eddie’s words settled over me like a dark cloud. My palms were clammy, and no matter how tightly I clenched my fists, I couldn’t stop them from trembling. My teeth started to chatter, not from the frost and snow outside, but from the guilt and regret welling up inside me. I had made a rash choice, and now I was proving my mother right—that I was too immature to be in a place like this. The butterflies in my stomach felt more like bats, crashing around and making it impossible to catch my breath.

My legs felt like they were made of Jell-O, wobbling beneath me as Eddie led me toward the living room. Every step felt heavier, like I was dragging a ball and chain behind me. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses from the party stung my ears—this was supposed to be a fun night, and here I was, about to ruin it for everyone.

What if they all stopped laughing when they saw me? What if they stared, their smiles fading, and silently judged me for being here? Worse, what if Mom or Dad never forgave me for this? I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t sure I’d ever belong here, and now it felt like I’d overstepped in a way I could never undo.

My throat was dry, and I tried to swallow the lump forming there, but it wouldn’t budge. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear the music anymore. What if this was the last straw? What if I never got invited to anything like this again? It wasn’t like I understood what this party was fully, but the thought of being exiled, of disappointing everyone—especially my family—made me feel like I was shrinking with every step.

I wanted to turn and bolt, but my feet wouldn’t move backward. I was stuck in this slow march to my own social execution, completely powerless to do anything but follow Eddie’s lead and brace for whatever judgment was coming.

“Nick,” Eddie lightened up a little and said not to shit myself. His voice low and teasing, “You’ve arrived on the on day your Mom may not be in a position to kick your ass as hard as you think you deserve. Welcome to the party. You wanted to see what goes on? Well, here it is.”

I didn’t understand why my Uncle had me feel such foreboding, until I realized that was Uncle Eddie’s sense of humor. “I am fucking with you, Son. I don’t give a shit that you are here. You are old enough to handle it – Act like it and don’t be a pussy or I’ll get out my Rudolph nose and you can be our 9^th reindeer.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I could tell that it didn’t sound like I wanted to be a reindeer, any more than I wanted to be in mom’s crosshairs.

The living room was alive, glowing with the warm light of the fireplace and the glitter of the Christmas tree. It wasn’t crowded—six men and seven women, laughing and talking as if they’d known each other forever. Cozy, but with an energy that made it clear this wasn’t your average holiday gathering. Nobody seemed embarrassed or uncomfortable that all the men were dressed in Christmas sweaters and slacks, and all the women were practically naked.

The fire crackled softly, throwing flickering light onto a tall tree decked out in ornaments and twinkling lights. Four of the DSL ladies were lined up in front of it, standing shoulder-to-shoulder like contestants in some kind of nude pageant. Their smiles were wide, and they giggled as one of the men, a neighbor I vaguely recognized, leaned forward and said something I couldn’t hear.

One of the naked women adjusted her Santa hat with a playful smirk as the others whispered to each other and laughed. It looked like someone was adjusting the rope bindings around her boobs.

Clarence Carter’s voice crooned on:

“I ain’t like old Saint Nick, he don’t come but once a year.”

My eyes drifted to the rest of the room. Dad was on the couch laughing with a couple of men nearby, a drink in his hand and a big grin on his face. Harley sat on the floor by the tree, cross-legged next to a guy I didn’t recognize. He looked tall, nervous, and a little out of place, but Harley seemed perfectly comfortable. Her hand rested lightly on his knee as she watched the scene in front of her with a small, amused smile. She didn’t notice me quite yet – but she was naked too!

Mom wasn’t in sight yet, but the couch was packed. Two women knelt on plush cushions or blankets that were near the couch, chatting with one of the men. Another woman leaned against the armrest, twirling a strand of tinsel around her fingers.

I couldn’t help staring. The room was so different from what I’d imagined—not wild, not exactly, but charged with something playful, a little flirty like everyone here was in on some unspoken joke.

“Come on, son,” Eddie said, his hand still guiding me forward. “Let’s say hi to your folks.”

I stumbled slightly as he nudged me further down the open hall toward the great Christmas tree and fireplace where most of the partygoers were, all at once, the conversation shifted. Heads turned, and for a moment, it felt like every pair of eyes was on me.

“And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name”

As Eddie guided me further into the room, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to throw up, bolt for the door, or pretend this wasn’t happening. His hand stayed firm on the back of my neck, leaving no room for debate. My pulse hammered in my ears, and the warmth of the room felt suffocating now like I’d stepped into an oven.

The fire crackled softly, its light dancing on the walls. The funky bassline of “Back Door Santa” pulsed through the speakers, smooth and playful. Clarence Carter’s voice filled the room, unapologetically cheeky:

“They call me Back Door Santa; I make my runs about the break of day.”

Mom turned from the couch, kneeling gracefully by my father’s feet. Silver bells and mistletoe adorned her wrists, giving the impression of being bound, though she was completely free to move as she pleased. My mother was definitely NOT happy to see me. I didn’t think she would be. Her face froze, the warm smile she’d been wearing replaced by something sharp and unforgiving.