“Who did this to you?” Hanna whispered, ripping them off. Dot just licked her face.
She looked around the living room and gasped. Holly leaves snaked around the banister. A mechanical Mrs. Claus waved from the console table that had once held Hanna’s mother’s austere ceramic vases. A tall, tinsel-laden tree stood in the corner, and the fireplace, which Hanna couldn’t remember the family ever using, was ablaze. “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” played on the stereo at maximum volume, and the whole house smelled like honey-glazed ham.
“Hello?” Hanna called out.
Laughter floated out from the kitchen, first Isabel’s goose-honk chortle, then her dad’s booming guffaw. Hanna rounded the corner. The kitchen was packed with people holding champagne flutes and appetizer plates filled with mini quiches and wedges of Brie. Many of them wore Santa hats, including Hanna’s dad. Isabel stood in the corner, wearing a red velvet dress tipped with Mrs. Claus white fur on the cuffs and hem, and Kate had on a tight-fitting red jersey sheath and black-and-white Kate Spade heels. Mistletoe hung from the chandelier, a carafe of mulled cider sat on the counter, and plates and plates of the most delicious-looking Christmas cookies and appetizers filled the island.
Isabel spied Hanna and glided over. “Hanna! Feliz Navidad! O Tannenbaum! Merry Christmas!”
Hanna sniffed. “Um, actually, I’m Jewish. And so is my father.”
Isabel blinked dumbly, like she couldn’t comprehend that anyone, let alone her own fiancé, could celebrate anything other than Christmas.
Mr. Marin appeared at Isabel’s side. “Hey, sweetie,” he said, ruffling Hanna’s hair.
Hanna stared at him incredulously. “Since when do you celebrate Christmas?” She said the word like she might have said Satan’s birthday.
Mr. Marin crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I’ve been celebrating it with Isabel and Kate for the past few years. I told Kate to tell you.”
“Well, she didn’t,” Hanna said flatly.
“We do the Twelve Days of Christmas every year. We always kick it off with a bash.” Isabel took a sip of champagne. “It’s a wonderful tradition. We started early this year with tonight—kind of a housewarming-meets-Christmas thing.”
“And we’d like you to be a part of the tradition too, of course,” Mr. Marin added.
Hanna stared at all of the red and green paraphernalia. Her family had never been that religious, but they lit menorah candles every night of Hanukkah. On Christmas Day, they ordered Chinese takeout, watched movie marathons, and went on a long family bike ride if the weather was decent. She liked those traditions.
The doorbell rang, and Isabel and Mr. Marin moved toward the front door. Hanna wandered toward the drinks table, wondering how much trouble she’d get into if she poured herself a giant glass of Scotch. Then, a familiar, red-sheathed figure swam into view.
“That’s an interesting outfit for this party.” Kate eyed the oversized Eagles sweatshirt Hanna was wearing. “This party is a big deal for Tom, you know. A lot of his new work colleagues are here. You could have put in a little more effort.”
Hanna wanted to club Kate over the head with a pepperoni stick from the food spread. “I didn’t know there would be a party.”
“You didn’t?” Kate raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I’ve known for a week. I guess I forgot to tell you.”
She turned and flounced away. Hanna grabbed a petit four and shoved it into her mouth without tasting it, staring at her dad across the room. He was schmoozing with a gray-haired man in a tailored black suit and a slender woman wearing enormous diamond earrings. When Kate approached, Mr. Marin placed his hand on her shoulder and made introductions, looking proud. He didn’t turn around and wave Hanna over so that he could introduce her too, though.
She was just a big, unwanted lump in an Eagles sweatshirt. A girl who wasn’t invited to parties in her own house. She felt like Lady in Lady and the Tramp, one of Hanna’s favorite movies as a kid. When Jim Dear and Darling had a new baby, they kicked Lady to the curb. Except Hanna didn’t even have a scruffy bad-boy stray she could run off and share spaghetti noodles with because her supposed boyfriend was going to be hundreds of miles away soaking up the sunshine on a nude beach with a skank.
She plopped down on a chair in the far corner next to Edith, an old woman from down the street who wore giant glasses and perpetually looked as though she’d swallowed her false teeth. “Who’s that?” Edith asked, leaning her ear toward Hanna’s chair. She smelled faintly of violets.
“It’s Hanna Marin,” Hanna told her in a loud voice. “Remember me?”
“Oh, Hanna, yes, of course.” Edith felt around for Hanna’s hand and patted it. “Nice to see you, dear.” She pushed a Saran-wrapped paper plate of chocolate-chip cookies across the table. “Have a cookie. I baked them myself. Tried to put them on the table with all the other food, but that new woman who lives here didn’t seem to want them there.” She wrinkled her nose as if she’d smelled something rancid.
“Thanks,” Hanna mumbled, wanting to kiss Edith for not liking Isabel either. She placed a cookie on her tongue, swooning at the taste of sugar and butter and chocolate. “These are delicious.”
“Glad you like them.” Edith pushed another cookie toward her. “Have another. You’re much too skinny.”
Edith had said Hanna was too skinny even when Hanna was a chunky, ugly loser, but it still felt good to hear it. The sugar soothed her. A third cookie might even make her feel euphoric. You shouldn’t, a voice said inside her head. You had all that popcorn at Lucas’s. You’re wearing your fat jeans, and even they feel tight.