parents work into the night. At this point, Dad’s probably trying to wrap up and go to bed. But Mom’s glued to the raw footage. Every time Dad goes to press pause, Mom blocks the keyboard with her arms and says, Just five more minutes.
It’s the filmmaker equivalent of Just one more chapter.
Gramps joins us at the table, reaching for the applesauce because he’s on the right team. “It’d be nice to not have the phones at the table tonight.”
“The parents say Happy Chanukah,” Ollie says.
“Happy Chanukah. Go to sleep,” Gramps says. “Tell them that’s from me—and then put your phone away! It’s present time.”
Gramps is very serious about the Chanukah table being a No Phone Zone while we exchange gifts. Instead of one present every night, we decided just one gift each on the first night would be enough.
My present is for both Gramps and Ollie, but it’s kind of the best.
I hand Ollie the envelope. His eyes bulge out of their sockets when he opens the card and boom, I am the best older sister on this planet. Success.
“How?” he asks, mouth open in awe.
“I’m the best,” I say.
“Obviously! Oh my God …” Ollie’s face scrunches. “There are only two tickets.”
“It’s a bro date,” I say.
“It’s too much,” Gramps says, eyes wide, but he’s smiling and that’s how I know I’ve nailed it.
“Clear your schedule for April sixth, Gramps. We’re going to the Red Sox home opener!” Ollie throws his arms around me. For a split second, I forget that lately he’s annoyed at me ninety percent of the time. I forget that I haven’t even told him about the panel yet. With this gift, I am the best, coolest sister again—if only for one night. I’m a pretty awesome granddaughter, too, if I do say so myself.
The small fortune was worth it just for the look on their faces.
Gramps gives Ollie his old baseball glove, but his gift for me is hand-wrapped—not in a bag—and suspiciously book-shaped. It’s … kind of disappointing. I mean, I know I am books. It is my brand. I guess I thought maybe Gramps would branch out into other realms of my interests. I contain multitudes. I rip the menorah wrapping paper, wondering which book on my TBR will be inside.
I’m not expecting a book I’ve already read.
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. All proper and British, like Grams promised. Grams, who always said no true Harry Potter collection was complete without the philosopher’s stone. When she came back from the London Bookfair with Cadbury chocolate and a Harry and Meghan royal wedding mug, I just thought she forgot.
“Oh,” I say. I have the biggest lump in my throat. “Gramps—”
“It’s from us,” Gramps says. His voice cracks on us. “From our London trip, before—well, you know. It was supposed to be your birthday present. I found it when I put up your shelves. You should open it.”
There’s a handwritten note on the first page. Gram’s handwriting.
Happy birthday, Hal! Your collection is now complete. We love you. —Grams & Gramps
It’s so normal, so Grams. Like she had no idea this would be the last gift she’d ever give me. But just seeing her writing again is the real gift. I throw my arms around Gramps before I have the chance to overthink it.
I hold the book close to my heart and it hits me all at once—this Middle-of-Nowhere house is home. I can’t even imagine saying goodbye.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his scratchy grandpa sweater. “It’s the best.”
“Pretty sure these”—Ollie holds up the Red Sox tickets—“are better.”
We laugh and I’m grateful he’s always here to lighten the mood, even if he doesn’t need to. Gramps has been doing better. I’ve been doing better. We can miss her without spiraling into sadness. It’s Chanukah. We eat tons of latkes and tell stories and are comfortable sitting at the kitchen table for hours. Comfortable in our togetherness.
Before I know it, Ollie eats the last latke, his potato-to-sour-cream ratio a new level of disgusting, and the Chanukah festivities come to an end. Gramps turns the TV on, but the only choices are Christmas specials, so he turns it off and we start to clean up.
“Play that Chance guy,” Gramps says to Ollie and I die.
Near the end of dish duties, long after Gramps has retired to his room for the night and in the middle of yet another Chance the Rapper chorus, the doorbell rings. At first, I think it’s in the music, but then Scout