As I lay on the couch in a semiconscious state, I half listened to a news story about this phenomenon. The TV glowed, the daylight waned, and the smell of the ham cooking overwhelmed the scent of mothballs that lingered in the house. I shifted position lazily and looked under the tree. My cards were there in white envelopes labeled Mom and Dad. There were two presents wrapped in green paper. I assumed one was for me from my parents, but I wasn't quite sure who the other one could be for. My mother informed my aunt of what Dad had done with her check so long ago, and she never sent another gift. Dad came through the door just before seven, loosening his tie and shouldering off his heavy coat. The table was set, and bubbling pots sat on the stove. I tiredly leaned back against the door frame in the kitchen and watched my father sit himself down at the head of the table. The rubber bottoms of the chair squeaked across the linoleum as he slid over to his place setting. Mom was spooning various foods into serving dishes.
