Mallory spends Thanksgiving with Apple and ten members of Apple’s family—her parents, her two brothers and two sisters, and their significant others—who are visiting Nantucket from all across the country. They reserve one of the private, tucked-away rooms at the Woodbox Inn, a place that feels like it’s been around since the original Thanksgiving. The Woodbox has low ceilings and creaky, wide-plank wood floors and a fireplace in every room. It’s the first Thanksgiving of Mallory’s life that feels relaxing. At home in Baltimore, Kitty frets if she can’t find the twelfth Tiffany dessert fork or if Senior doesn’t carve the turkey at the correct angle or if Cooper comes home drunk from the Gilman–Calvert Hall alumni touch-football game, which he always does.

This year, Mallory doesn’t even eat turkey. She orders the beef Wellington, because she can.

Skipping Thanksgiving means that Mallory must go home to Baltimore for Christmas. On Christmas Eve, the Blessings normally go over to the Gladstones’ house to drink Steve Gladstone’s wassail and eat Geri’s famous hot crab dip, then they all dance in the living room to songs like “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” On Christmas morning, Kitty will wonder just what Steve Gladstone puts in the wassail.

For the second year in a row, there will be no Christmas Eve frivolity at the Gladstone house. The year before, the Blessings had tried to take over the tradition but it felt stiff and forced and Geri had spent most of the evening crying on the couch. This year, Leland and Fifi have whisked Geri away to Jackson Hole to ski, leaving the Blessings to fend for themselves. Kitty suggests the party at the country club but that involves Santa and screaming children so both Mallory and Cooper veto it. They want to get pizza from Angelo’s and watch The Year Without a Santa Claus.

“Sounds good to me,” Senior says, handing Cooper a hundred-dollar bill. “Christmas falls at the end of the year and so do taxes. I’ll be in my study. Let me know when the pizza is here.”

Kitty scowls, but only for a second. “Fine,” she says. “I have cooking to do anyway. We’re having a surprise guest tomorrow.”

“Who’s the surprise guest?” Mallory says. It’s now late—the pizza has been devoured (along with a bottle of Dom Pérignon that Mallory bought with Senior’s hundred—why not, it’s Christmas!), Heat Miser and Snow Miser have performed their soft-shoe, and Mallory and Coop are lying on the floor of the living room, the only light coming from the Christmas tree and the dying fire. It’s nice—but Mallory feels sad about their lost tradition. When Steve Gladstone started sleeping with Sloane Dooley, did he realize he was sabotaging not only his marriage but Christmas Eve for the family across the street?

“I have no idea,” Cooper says.

“Not a new girlfriend?”

“Nooooo,” he says. “I’m staying away from women for a while. Alison was fun, Nanette was fun but a hypochondriac, and Brooke was a card-carrying psycho. Like a Glenn Close–type psycho.”

“Let’s not forget Krystel,” Mallory says. “You married her!”

“I’m attracted to head cases,” Cooper says. “Alison was an anomaly. She was normal. We broke up because of the distance but also because I felt like there was something missing…and what was missing was the crazy.”

Mallory closes her eyes. She thinks about how, when she was growing up, Cooper was her superstar big brother, and in many ways she resented him for that. Now he’s her friend and life is so much better.

“I must have been a real jerk in my past lives,” Cooper says.

“Don’t worry, you’ll find someone,” Mallory says. “There are plenty of crazies out there.”

At five o’clock the next afternoon, right before Christmas dinner, the doorbell rings.

“Mallory,” Kitty calls out, “would you answer that, please?”

Mallory’s expectations are low. She suspects it’s going to be the new tennis instructor from the country club. Kitty has been talking about setting Mallory up with him.

Mallory opens the door to find a woman—plump, nervous smile, a long shiny curtain of silver hair, funky teal cat’s-eye glasses bedazzled with rhinestones.

“Mallory,” the woman says. “My God, look at you.”

Mallory blinks. The voice—she recognizes the voice. The hair, the glasses, that smile. She knows this woman, but who is it?

Then Mallory gasps. “Ruthie!” It’s Aunt Greta’s Ruthie, Dr. Ruth Harlowe.

Ruthie opens her arms and Mallory steps right into them. Tears leak from the corners of Mallory’s eyes, not only because she’s gobsmacked by seeing Ruthie but also because, along with the pile of sweaters and CDs, this is a gift from her parents. This is the best gift Mallory can imagine.

The Gladstones may have owned Christmas Eve, but Christmas dinner belongs to Kitty. The instant that Ruthie steps inside, a cork pops. There are champagne cocktails and hors d’oeuvres in the library—clams casino and Kitty’s famous gooey Brie with pecans and sour-cherry chutney. Everyone greets Ruthie like she’s an esteemed personage, which she is, but also like she’s a complete stranger, which she is to everyone except Mallory.

Ruthie is gracious in the face of what must be a very awkward situation. She still lives in “the house in Cambridge,” she says, though she’s in the Baltimore area over the holidays visiting her nephew, his wife, and their new baby.

Ruthie isn’t afraid to suck down a couple of champagne cocktails and neither is anyone in the Blessing family. Johnny Mathis sings “Sleigh Ride”; the fire crackles. Mallory tells Ruthie about her job at the high school on Nantucket and how the gift of that cottage has changed her life. “I can’t thank Aunt Greta,” Mallory says. “But now I can thank you.”

“Greta was so fond of you,” Ruthie says. “She thought of you as her own.”

Mallory is saved the embarrassment of crying by her mother, who calls everyone into the dining room.

Standing rib roast, Kitty’s incredible creamed spinach, homemade popovers with sweet butter—and for dessert, as always, there will be a sticky date pudding with warm toffee sauce and pillows of freshly whipped cream.

Senior says grace and then Kitty raises her glass of Ponzi pinot noir. “There’s something I’d like to say.”

Oh no, Mallory thinks. All she can imagine is Kitty ruining the evening by trying to demonstrate how evolved she is now. We know other lesbians (by which she would mean Leland and Fifi) and have found them quite agreeable.

Mallory locks eyes with Cooper. If she were close enough, she would squeeze his hand until Kitty finishes blurting out whatever cringe-worthy remarks she’s prepared.

Kitty says, “Ruthie, I want to thank you for sharing in Christmas dinner with our family. We owe you an apology for all the years we weren’t as accepting as we might have been. But now, in our advanced years, Senior and I have come to the realization that love is love.” Kitty hoists her wineglass higher. “And really, there’s no explaining it.”