Page 75 of Holly Jolly Heat
"Good morning, mija. Boys. I see you all slept well."
"Mom," Michelle warned.
"What? I'm just making an observation. A very happy observation. About my daughter finally accepting her pack."
"I hate you."
"You love me. And you love them. And it's wonderful." Janet beamed at us. "Now, I have a favor to ask."
"No," Michelle said immediately.
"You don't even know what it is!"
"Whatever it is, no. You're meddling."
"I prefer facilitating." Janet pulled out her phone, showing us something. "The attic needs organizing. Christmas decorations are a mess up there. I need all of you to help sort things out."
Michelle's eyes narrowed. "Mom. What are you planning?"
"Nothing! I just need help with the attic. It's a big job. Requires all four of you. Together. In a small space. For at least an hour."
"You're literally trying to trap us in the attic."
"I'm asking for help with a household task."
"Mom—"
"Michelle, honey, I'm your mother. Trust me. You need to go to the attic."
There was something in Janet's voice that made me pay attention. Not just meddling, though there was absolutely meddling, but genuine intent.
"Why?" Michelle asked suspiciously.
"Because you four need to talk without distractions. You need to be in a space where you can't run, where you have to face what you're feeling, where you can finally stop fighting and just be." Janet's expression softened. "Baby, you told them you loved them at three AM and then built a nest. That's huge. But you're still scared. You're still trying to control something that needs to happen naturally. So yes, I'm trapping you in the attic. For your own good."
Michelle stared at her mother. "You're actually serious. Also, how do you know what time it was when I talked to them?"
"Completely serious. And these walls are not that thick. Eat breakfast, go to the attic, sort decorations, and talk to your pack. Really talk. Without escape routes or professional boundaries or anything else you use as armor."
"That's—"
"Healthy," I interrupted. "That's healthy. Your mom's right, Michelle. We need to actually talk about this. About us. About what comes next."
"We can talk down here."
"Can you?" Janet challenged. "Can you really open up and be vulnerable in a space where you can flee upstairs? Where you can hide behind work or family or anything else? The attic has one exit, mija. And I have the key."
"You're going to lock us in."
"Only for an hour or so. You'll survive. And you’ll come back down with armloads of decorations and feeling better about everything."
Michelle looked between her mother and us, clearly torn between indignation and recognition that Janet had a point.
"Fine," she said finally. "After breakfast, we'll go to the attic. But Mom, if this goes badly, I'm blaming you."
"If this goes badly, I'll accept full blame. But it won't go badly." Janet smiled. "You're pack. You just need to accept it. Fully. Completely. Without reservations."
Forty-five minutes later, I found myself climbing the narrow stairs to the attic behind Lucas, with Michelle ahead of us and Dex bringing up the rear.
