Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six(3)

Leo comes to the sectional with a stack of neatly wrapped boxes, starts looking at labels and handing them out.

“From you, Dad?” asks Hannah.

“No,” he says, glancing at the tag. “From Santa.”

She can’t tell if he’s kidding or not. She’d thought his surprise gift had been cash this year, a thick red envelope he’d handed to each of them with a warm embrace. You’re such a wonderful mother, he said to Hannah. I’m so proud of that and all you’ve done.

Her dad was always proud of her, even though she hadn’t accomplished nearly what she thought she would have by this point in her life. And now there was Gigi.

When they all have their boxes, Dad included, they rip at the red wrapping.

“Oh,” says Hannah, staring at the rainbow helix on the box, the foil-embossed lettering.

“Origins,” reads Bruce.

“What is this?” asks Sophia, looking at it with disapproval.

“Huh,” says Mako. “It’s one of those DNA testing kits. Dad, I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be into something like this. Too sci-fi.”

Dad shakes his head, offers a light chuckle. “Seriously, guys, this isn’t from me.”

“Then who?” asks Liza.

They all look around at each other, offering clueless shrugs. Hannah feels a little tingle of unease. Somebody is not being honest. Otherwise, where did these boxes come from?

“It has to be from Mickey,” says Mom, holding up her box and pointing it at Hannah’s brother. Something is going on between them; they’ve been glaring at each other like rival gang members all night. “Believe me. I know when my son is up to his tricks.”

“Mako, Mom,” says Mako, whose given name was, in fact, Michael. Mickey all his life until he went off to college, where he decided he needed to shed his childhood self.

Mako. Like the shark.

“Oh that’s right,” Sophia says. “The name I gave you wasn’t good enough. Like everything else. Never enough.”

She drops the box, bends over to pick it up. Hannah keeps her eyes on Mako. An angry flush is working its way up his neck.

“So,” says Dad, interrupting Mako’s reaction again. “What is this exactly?”

Hannah’s waiting for it but Mako doesn’t blow. Instead, he casts an annoyed look at Mom, then turns to their father.

“It’s a kit. There’ll be some kind of saliva collection vial. You register online, then send it in to this company. And it will give you any number of different reports about yourself—health, ancestry, genetic predispositions, etc. It might even connect you with long-lost relatives.”

“Huh,” says her dad, inspecting the box. He seems vaguely interested, but wary. Hannah’s guessing it did not come from him. “That is a little sci-fi.”

Sophia blazes a hard stare at Mako, her expression unreadable even to Hannah who knows all her mother’s many moods. “At this age, I assure you I know as much about my family as I care to. Thanks for the gift, Mickey. But I’m not interested.”

She rises unsteadily. Hannah stands to keep her from toppling over.

“I’m fine,” Sophia snaps, grabbing her arm away.

Hannah sits and Bruce takes her hand, gives her an apologetic look. Your family. Wow. Were you switched at birth? That’s what he said the first time she brought him home.

“It’s not from me,” Mako says.

“Whatever you say, son,” says Sophia. “I’m turning in. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.”

“It’s not from me,” Mako says again, this time looking at Hannah. “Did you guys do this?”

“It’s not from us,” says Hannah, with a brisk shake of her head.

Everyone looks at Liza, who raises her palms. “Not me. I would hesitate to share my personal data with a corporation like that. Who knows what they’ll use it for? And you guys should think twice about it, too. When did everybody just decide to give their privacy away?”

“Okay,” says Mako impatiently. “Then who is it from? Where did these boxes come from?”

Hannah looks at the gift. The tag has been printed from a label maker, no handwriting to inspect.

To: Hannah.

From: Santa.

No clue from the paper, a glossy red foil. She’d seen rolls and rolls of it at Target.

“Dad, did these come in the mail? Or did someone drop these off?”

Since his retirement, her dad was in charge of the mail—going to the mailbox, bringing in packages. He also did the grocery shopping now, took out the garbage, ran all errands. The hunter-gather.

He lifts his palms. “No, they were not delivered by mail. Someone brought them in and hid them behind the tree. They weren’t there yesterday.”

“Huh,” says Hannah. “Some Christmas intrigue.”

She was trying to keep it light. But it was odd wasn’t it? She didn’t think her brother was lying. She knew they hadn’t brought the gifts. So did someone else have access to the house? Had someone snuck in? That was silly. The only one who broke into your house and left gifts was Santa.

“Doesn’t anyone else find this strange?” asks Hannah.

“Someone’s having fun,” says Bruce, stacking his and Hannah’s together, putting it on their pile of presents.