“Homemade garland? Homemade eggnog? Tell me you baked a gingerbread house, and I’ll slash my wrists with a rusty frosting palette. How are the rest of us supposed to compete?” Margaret frowned and turned sideways, squeezing through the doorway. “It’s not a competition. I just want things to be nice. For the kids. And Walt.” “No, I get it. I feel the same way. But sometimes I wonder . . .” Viv tilted her head to the side. “Do you think anybody really notices?” * * * As it turned out, no one did.
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