It was the first Christmas after Santa. My sister and I were on a mission to identify our gifts.

They locked themselves in the bedroom, my Mom and her sister co-conspirator. The crack under the door wasn’t big enough for us to see in, but big enough to let sounds out. Wrapping paper was meticulously folded and fingers were accidentally taped. Laughter teased from the other side.

On Christmas we had to eat a full breakfast, followed by Mom’s delay tactics like cleaning up. All along the gifts had been numbered.

I was the odd number.