The sun had set by the time I finished grabbing the last-minute gift and dropped it off at Victoria's penthouse on the upper east side of Manhattan. Finally, after a long train ride from the city to my hometown, I'd made it home, where I was currently unpacking my bags in my childhood bedroom.

    "I'm shocked you haven't tried moving in here yet," I admit to Harper while hanging up some of the sweaters I'd packed with me. We all grew up with our own rooms, with mine and Lizzie's being the biggest. Once I'd moved out for college, Harper constantly teased me that she'd snatch it up.

    "Oh, she's tried," Lizzie answers on behalf of Harper, sitting on my computer chair as she bottle-fed Iris, one of her five-month-old twins, who'd just woken up from her nap. Elliot, her brother, still slept soundly in Lizzie's old room, directly next to mine. "But mom and dad don't want to touch any of the old rooms."

    "Yeah, it's weird. Like you and Lizzie's rooms are some sort of shrines," Harper rolls her eye playfully, from her spot on my bed, her short brown hair, that's she'd just gotten highlighted with streaks of blonde, sprawled across my white floral pillowcases. She wasn't wrong. My room looked the exact same as when I'd left. My bedding was the same, the old pictures from childhood and high school were strung up on fairy lights on my wall, and my closet was full of clothes I hadn't worn in ages. Walking in here felt like taking a step into the past. My room now in the city was much smaller, and the owner of the apartment I rented from didn't allow me to decorate it with anything my own.

    It didn't feel like home, even if I've been living there for well over a year now.

    As if Lizzie could sense me thinking about my apartment, she says, "I bet this pales in comparison to your room in the city." My family had seen my apartment when I first moved in, but that's about it. They had a lot of expectations about city life, none of which my actual life met. To them, I was always out, going to clubs and bars with friends almost every night. In reality, stuff like that had never been my scene. I'd made friends in university, but none that stuck. I rarely left my apartment past eight and spent most of my evenings reading or writing in my apartment.

    "Kind of," I shrug, shutting my closet. I don't have the heart to tell my family that I wasn't living the dream life in New York City, don't get me wrong, I love it there. I love my apartment; even if it's bland and cramped, I love my walk to work in the morning when the city's not fully awake yet. I love my job, even if Victoria can be a lot to handle.

    It could just get a little lonely sometimes, that's all.

    "So, any idea on the "big secret" mom and dad are keeping?" If Lizzie and Harper notice my change of conversation, neither of them brings it up. Instead, Harper sighs, dramatically rolling her eyes.

    "No idea, but they seemed off, right?"

     They had, mom and dad seemed conflicted about something. When I arrived, they were ecstatic, both pulling me in for huge hugs and asking me how my trip up here was. If I weren't paying attention, I wouldn't have noticed the quick, nervous glances they kept sharing. They were definitely keeping something from us.

    On cue, the sound of the front door opening cut out conversation short. Skye had been at ballet class when I arrived, and mom and dad both left to pick her up not too long ago. Now that the youngest of us sisters were home, maybe mom and dad would finally spill what they're keeping from us.

    Harper sat up quickly, ready to sprint down the stairs, "Give them some time, Harps, they literally just walked through the doors," Lizzie shook her head at Harper, lifting Iris up slightly to burp her. Iris' eyes were wide like her moms, the same shade of brown as James, "and besides, James isn't back yet."

    In sync, Harper and I quirk our brows at Lizzie; She might be 28 and considered a mature adult, but Lizzie was also the nosiest out of all of us. She hates not knowing things. It stresses her out. "Oh, who am I kidding," She sighs, standing up from her seat on my desk chair, still patting Iris' back as she walks towards my bedroom door, "Harper, can you grab Elliot?"

    Harper mock salutes Lizzie, walking through the shared on-suite bathroom that connects my room and Lizzies old room. I follow behind Lizzie, barely making it down the stairs before Skye launches herself into my arms, squealing excitedly as she clings to me, "Hiya munchkin," I squeeze her back, chuckling at her enthusiasm, "how was ballet?"

    Skye immediately begins rambling about her dance class, speaking at a pace so rapid I struggle to keep up. Even if she wasn't a Chamber by blood, Skye had little parts of each of us in her personality. Like Harper, she was bubbly and had zero filter; like Lizzie, she is sensitive, and like me, she is curious, constantly wanting to explore and learn new things. "We're doing swan lake for our recital," She informs me, once she's finished showing me the pirouette she'd learned in class tonight, "do you think you'll be able to come this time?"

    Ironically, I'd missed Skye's last dance recital because Victoria insisted she needed my help getting her daughter Hyacinth ready for her own in the city. It wasn't the first time I'd missed family stuff because of work; I also missed Harpers opening night of the school play and wasn't able to go to the hospital when the babies were born. It never got easier having to miss important milestones in my sisters' lives, but it's like I had a choice.

    "I'll try my best," I nod at Skye, ruffling her ginger-coloured hair, "why don't you go get ready for bed. If we have time, I'll read you a story."

    "Any story I want?"

     Satisfied with a simple nod, Skye rushes past me up the stairs to her bedroom, leaving me in the foyer of the house. Harper joins me at the bottom of the steps as our other sister runs past, bouncing a distraught Elliot in her arms. His chunky cheeks are blotched, red with stained tears, his pudgy hands rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Unlike Iris, who barely has any hair, Elliot's head is a mop of curls. We enter the kitchen together, where mom, dad, Lizzie, and Iris are all gathered.

    "Oh no," Mom coos, reaching for Elliot as she stands up from her seat. I couldn't help but notice how her normally perfect brown hair was messy as if she's been running her fingers through it. I swear mom doesn't age, because she looks the same as when we were kids, her hair a shade of brown similar to my own, her skin still glowing with a youthful radiance that most woman her age lost years ago. "Is someone hungry?" She asks him, speaking in a high-pitched baby voice that she reserves exclusively for the twins.

    Lizzie sighs as my mom stands to prepare Elliot's bottle. Having twins wasn't easy. It seemed that whenever one was finally asleep, the other would wake up and cry for something. I was glad she had my parents and Harper to help around when James was at work. I just wish I could help more too.

    "I thought you were unpacking?" Mom asks me as she measures out Elliot's formula, bouncing him on one hip.

    "Yeah, we just finished," I nod, sliding into the barstool across from my dad. Harper takes the seat beside me while Lizzie continues standing, rocking Iris to sleep.

    "We were saying how it's been a while since we all just talked," Harper adds, clasping her hands together, "is there anything you wanna talk about?" Lizzie shoots our younger sister a glare while I kick her with my foot under the table. Subtlety is clearly not one of Harper's strong suits.

    Mom looks at dad over her shoulder. The two of them had always been able to do this, have silent conversations with just their eyes. I couldn't see dad's expression as he looked over his shoulder to look at mom, but I could see hers.

    Normally, I could somewhat read her. It was a family trait. We all wore our hearts on our sleeves, meaning everyone knew how everyone was feeling without any of us having to say a word. Mom looked guilty and somber, nodding for my dad to say something.

    "Actually," My dad started, turning to look back at us. He's been sporting a goatee over the last few years, one that's started to fade into a peppery grey colour, matching his brown hair that had started to go grey ever so slightly, "there is something we've been meaning to discuss with you girls." He admits as mom retakes the seat beside him, feeding Elliot his bottle.

    "There's going to be some changes to Christmas this year," Mom adds, looking up at us. We didn't have many solid Christmas traditions. They all changed once the Oliver's stopped celebrating with us. We tried creating new ones without them, but none had stuck. So, we did something new every year.

    "Like what?" Lizzie asks. I could see the wheels in her head-turning. She hated when things changed. Lizzie loved to be in control, and when things changed, she hated not having a grasp on it.

    "Well, it's the twin's first Christmas," Mom smiled optimistically. It was blatant she was just trying to lighten the mood, "so, that's a change..."

    "Yeah, but one we already knew about," Harper remarks, shaking her head, "what are you keeping from us?"

    Mom's smile faltered. If I thought she looked guilty before, she looked even guiltier now, "Okay, you know what," She looks at dad, "just say it, rip it off like a band-aid."

    Dad nods at mom before looking at us again, taking in a breath before saying, "Girls, I know it's going to be a lot, but-"

   Someone knocking on the door cuts dad off before he can finish, "That must be James," Lizzie sighs, shaking her head, amused. James had gone shopping for Lizzie's Christmas gifts tonight and planned on meeting us all here once he finished, "he probably forgot his keys again. Marles, do you mind getting that?"

    I shoot a look at dad before standing up, silently asking him to finish his sentence, "Might as well wait for James," He shakes his head, smiling at me sadly as I stand up from my seat.

    I begin speaking to my brother-in-law as I open the door, "How is that you never remember to bring your-" my breath hitches before I can finish my sentence. Instead of opening the door to see James, I'm face to face with the last person I expected or even wanted to see.