I glance toward Bea, who sits on Jules’s other side in a sweater that features Santa sucking provocatively on a candy cane and says sometimes a peppermint stick is just a peppermint stick. I find her eyes, sharing a small moment of gratitude that Jules is slowly coming back, from the trying-hard-to-smile, quiet woman who showed up last Christmas, now laughing loudly, tipsy on Margo’s mulled wine, a bright smile on her face.
“Okay, but what is the science behind this?” Jamie asks, his cheeks a little rosy, eggnog in his hand. His sweater features a Christmas tree that’s a pyramid of green cats with eyes whose bright colors look like ornaments, and says below, have a meowy catmas. “How are zodiac signs so accurate?”
“Not to mention zodiac sign pairings,” Sula says, her holiday sweater a lime-green sequined number that reads in cherry-red letters, i’ve been naughty while Margo’s red one says in green letters, i’ve been nice, then written below it, naughtier. “The accuracy of compatibility in pairings, that’s what blows my mind.”
Toni sits up from resting inside Hamza’s arm, the newlyweds wearing the only exception to the weird holiday sweaters theme. Theirs are silvery white and simply say in pretty cursive, mr., with jaunty Santa hats hanging on the m’s. Pulling out his phone, Toni says, “Let’s check this. Are everyone’s partner signs highly compatible?”
While he searches some website on his phone devoted to the subject, I slip my hand across the sofa and brush pinkies with Jules, the only one here who isn’t partnered.
I know what it’s like to feel as if you’re the odd one out, and I never want her to. I never want any of us to, ever again.
Glancing my way, Jules says, “Thanks for planning all this, KitKat. It’s really special.”
I smile. “Course, JuJu. I did have help, though.” I tip my head toward Christopher, who sits at my feet, his hand idly curled around my calf, rubbing up and down. “Thanks for holding off on celebrating until I could come back from my work trip.”
“Always.” She slips her hand around mine and squeezes. “I do have one complaint about your work travels, though,” she says, a sparkle in her eyes. “You hardly go on them anymore, and I feel like I’m due for another life swap. Now what am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know what to tell you. It seems I’ve become a domesticated Kat.” That makes her laugh. “Maybe it’s time for you to give in to the pull of our family’s wanderlust gene, strike out on your own.”
She smiles to herself, sipping her mulled wine. “Maybe I will. Try somewhere quieter for a while. Maybe upstate. Maybe halfway across the world. We’ll see.”
“To no one’s surprise . . .” Toni calls, drawing us back into the group’s conversation. “Nick’s and Bianca’s signs share extremely high compatibility.” He peers over at the lovebirds, who wear matching powder-blue sweaters covered in fluffy white snowfall appliqués. With a snowperson on each sweater stitched to lean toward the edge, lips poised for a smooch, as Nick and Bianca sit beside each other, it looks like they’re kissing. “Of course,” he adds sweetly.
“Of course,” we all singsong, with a few extra awwws, making Nick grin and Bianca laugh happily as he kisses her cheek.
“Next!” Toni says dramatically. “Kate, our Aquarius queen.” I give a regal wave. “And then Christopher! A Taurus, if ever there was one.”
Hoots go up. Christopher rolls his eyes from his seat at my feet. His hand slips down my leg and hooks around my ankle, squeezing gently.
Toni squints, reading the screen. “So let’s see the Taurus and Aquarius sign compatibility.”
“It’s abysmal,” Christopher says.
The whole room dims to a hush.
Christopher peers my way. “You’re all obsessed with this astrological stuff, so I looked it up months ago, and when I saw in the summary that by all zodiac wisdom, an Aquarius and a Taurus are a terrible match, I decided it was bullshit.”
Slowly, he turns, stretching an arm across my lap and threading his hand with mine. “But then I kept reading, and I came across a little paragraph that said there’s a sliver of a chance that two people of these signs can be the exception that proves the rule. It said, if they’re willing to do the work to get to a place of trust and understanding, they’re rewarded with a passionate, electric connection—the kind of love that feels new every day.” He smiles wide, his gaze warm and tender, only for me. “So I decided it wasn’t absolute bullshit, after all.”