Emily stood back in awe as Derek finished erecting the tree in the foyer. "Don't you think it's a little...way too big?" she asked.

Derek emerged from beneath the tree, brushing pine needles off his shoulders. "You know what they say, Princess...bigger is better." He smirked, winked mischievously.

"Eww," Emily said.

At the same moment, Alex echoed, "Eww."

That just made Derek laugh.

Emily shared a glance with Alex, rolling her eyes playfully. "Anyway...what do we do now?" she asked.

"We decorate the tree," Derek said, the duh implied in his tone.

"But first," Alex corrected, "We have to make our ornaments."

Emily quirked a brow. "Make the ornaments?" she repeated dubiously.

Alex smiled softly. "It was a tradition your father started. We would each make an ornament that represented the year we'd had. And every year when we decorated the tree, we could look back and see how much things had changed."

"I'm really not very crafty," Emily insisted.

"That's okay," Alex insisted. "It's not about perfection, it's about creating something meaningful." She reached over, squeezed Emily's shoulder reassuringly. "Believe me, I'm no artist either."

"What are you making?" Ethan asked, trying to peer over Emily's shoulder to see her so-called ornament.

She shrugged, too embarrassed to admit what it was.

Ethan squinted, pursing his lips in thought. "Is it an octopus?" he guessed.

Emily pouted, mumbled, "No...it's supposed to be the London Eye."

"It doesn't look like an eyeball," he said.

"Not an eyeball," she corrected, "It's a Ferris wheel in London."

He hummed a thoughtful note. "Maybe it's broken," he suggested.

She gave a snort of laughter. "Maybe I'm broken." She set down her tangle of pipe cleaners, sighed.

"What are you making, Ethan?" Alex asked her son, saving Emily from the boy's interrogation.

He held up his craft proudly. "I made it special for Papa Joey," he said. It was a crooked cut out of a heart with deliberate childish printing...and a lot of glitter.

Alex smiled softly. "Is that an acrostic poem?" she asked.

He nodded. "'Cause we learned about 'em in school. And Papa Joey helped me write one for homework."

"Will you read it to us?"

"J: joyful in spirit

O: open-hearted

S: silly, sweet, and smart

E: eager to make people happy

P: Papa to me and Hank

H: how I will miss him."

Emily opened her mouth to say something about the poem. But instead, the sound that came out was a strangled sob. She clapped a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound.

The table's other four occupants looked up at her with concern.

"I'm sorry," she tried to apologize, but the words came out high-pitched and squeaky. "I'm just..." She shook her head, blinking too fast in an attempt to keep her tears at bay.

Alex stood from the table, moving to take Emily's hand and lead her into the privacy of the next room.

Once they were alone, Emily broke down completely.

Alex gently folded her into her chest, stroking her back soothingly.

"I'm sorry," Emily mumbled, the words muffled by her embrace.

"Don't be sorry," Alex insisted. "You lost your father, you're allowed to have emotions, you're allowed to break down a little."

The responding laugh was dry and humourless. "I don't think I've cried like this since they day Mother moved us out of this house," she admitted quietly. Then, smaller, "Mother didn't approve of maudlin displays of emotion."

There were a lot of things Alex could have said in that moment – like how it isn't healthy to bottle up your emotions, like this was a safe place for her to cry – but she didn't say any of them, for which Emily was extremely thankful. Instead, she just held Emily all the tighter and Emily couldn't help but think that she hadn't been held like this in a very very long time.

When Emily's sobs eventually slowed to quiet hiccups, Alex released her to arm's length – just enough distance to keep a hand on her upper arm to anchor her. "If this is too much for you, we can decorate the tree later," she offered.

Emily shook her head. "I'm okay," she insisted. "I think I just needed to let out some of the pent up emotions. To be honest, I hadn't really cried about Daddy until now."

Alex's smile was gently encouraging. "I'm here if you ever want to talk about him," she offered. "I lost my mother, so I know what you're going through."

"Thanks," Emily whispered, soft, but grateful.

When they returned to the dining room where Derek and the children were waiting, Ethan immediately flung himself at Emily, nearly in tears himself. "I'm sorry, Miss Emily!" he wailed.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, kneeling down to meet his eyes.

"I didn't mean to make you sad," he said, bottom lip jutting out in a pathetic pout. "I won't talk about Papa Joey anymore."

Emily gently hugged the boy. "It's okay," she insisted. "I want you to talk about Papa Joey. I want to hear all your memories of him – I don't have very many memories, so I'd like to share yours with you."

"Really?" he asked in a whisper.

She nodded. "I think that's what he would have wanted."

He flashed a watery smile, hugging her even tighter. When he released her, he said, "Can I help you make your ornament?"

She laughed softly. "I really need the help, don't I?" He nodded solemnly, which made her laugh even harder. "And when we decorate the tree, will you tell me all about the other ornaments?"

He grinned, nodding harder. Over his shoulder, he shot his mother a sly grin. "Can we have cookies when we decorate?"

Alex rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "I suppose we can have a few cookies."

Conspiratorially, Ethan whispered (rather loudly) in Emily's ear, "If you cry some more, she might let us have cocoa too?"

Laughing once again, Emily gently prodded him in the ribs, making him giggle.