Excerpt 1
His father stood at the head of the table, clearing his throat in a way that demanded reverence. “Let’s join hands and pray over the meal,” he said.

Matt hesitated, his fingers brushing Grant’s as they linked. He glanced at his boyfriend, who exuded detached curiosity, like Jane Goodall observing chimpanzees in a mealtime ritual. The faintest twitch of Grant’s lips hinted at a private joke, but he said nothing, playing the part of the respectful outsider with disarming ease.

“Thank you, dear Lord, for delivering this family together tonight,” his father said, his eyes closed. “Even though my children forsake you, please forgive them so that they may join their mother and me in heaven.”

Matt bit down on his lip and squeezed Grant’s hand tighter.

“Amen,” his mother said. “Matt, does your friend eat ham?”

“I do,” Grant said. “Even if I didn’t, I’d make an exception for this. It’s a honey ham?”

“Yes, it’s Matt’s favorite,” she said. “Isn’t it, Matt?”

Matt scowled at his empty plate. “I’m not as hungry as I thought.”

His father’s cheeks flushed. “Your mother spent all day making this meal. Don’t sulk. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry either,” Elise said as she twirled her origami-like napkin on the table.

Matt’s mother sucked in a choppy breath of air and turned her head, blotting her nose with her napkin.

“Kids,” his father said, “this is Christmas. Christmas is for family.”

“I just don’t understand,” his mother said, giving another sniffle.

A hush fell over the table. Silent night, indeed, Matt thought. A music box chimed in the distance under the tree. Matt could feel his pulse thudding in his neck.

Aunt Cathy refolded her napkin and tucked it under her plate. “Welcome to the family, Grant. Matt tells me you’re a psychologist. I suspect you already know we’re crazy.”

“Still a resident, technically,” Grant said. “I’m just happy to be here. It isn’t my place to say.”

“Maybe we do need professional help,” Matt’s mother said behind a smile Matt didn’t trust. “Do you know why my son and his sister hate his parents so much that they’d come here just to starve themselves at our table?”

Matt’s father didn’t look up from his plate. “Judy, let’s leave Matt’s guest alone.”

“No, I want to know,” she said, forgetting to hold her smile.

Grant took a sip of his wine. “It’s really quite simple, Mrs. Daughtry,” he said as if observing an early impressionist work at the art gallery. “Your children love you but feel the transaction is one-sided. Your love for them is perceived as conditional on their support for your values.”

“Excuse me,” Matt’s mother said as indignation dried her tears.

“You’re excused,” Grant said. “I’m a professional. And you did ask.”

“Grant,” Matt said, reaching for Grant’s knee and immediately regretting how his tone sounded like his father’s. His stomach churned as he saw his mother’s hand tremble over her napkin.

“Is this how you speak to your own family?” she shot back.

“Yes. They’ve come to appreciate my honesty.”

“Elise, do you hear this?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” Elise said. “He’s not wrong.”

“Elise!”

“What? We’re all thinking it.”

Matt’s father dropped his fork with a clatter. “If we didn’t love you, why would we invite you here? Wrap all these gifts?”

Elise rose from her chair. “I don’t think it’s faith or love when it just pushes people away while you cling to a piety that makes you think you’re better than anyone who doesn’t watch your news shows, read your websites, vote for your favorite fascists, wear your stupid dresses, or donate to your megachurch!”

His father huffed and stormed out. His mother turned toward the window, biting down on her knuckles. “This isn’t how Christmas should be,” she sobbed. “Christmas is for family.”

“I wouldn’t mind having one of those nutty brownies now,” Grant said.

Excerpt 2
“They’re calling it Christmas Syndrome,” the clerk said, nodding toward the television.

“Tell me about it,” grumbled the man in line behind Matt. “I had to call the cops last night. Eleven o’clock, and there’s a whole choir outside my house singing Silver Bells. Not kids either—full-grown adults, dressed like they’re headed to some damn Christmas pageant.”

Matt shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the television. The muted newscast showed shaky footage of crowds singing carols outside a shuttered shopping mall, their faces lit with eerie joy as bewildered bystanders looked on. What is happening?

He returned to the rental house, absently chewing on a dry breakfast bar while fumbling for the remote. “The President has been working from the residence and spending time with the first family since Christmas Day,” the press secretary said. “At 9:41 this morning, the White House physician concluded his examination. While the President appears cognizant and otherwise healthy, he insists today is Christmas. And Christmas is for family.”

The briefing room erupted into chaos. Matt sank into the couch, his mind racing to connect the dots: his parents’ behavior, the carolers, gas shortages, the airline shutdowns. It all swirled together into a picture he didn’t want to see.

Grant walked in, coffee in hand. “Morning, boys,” he said. “Flights are still canceled.”

“The vice president is speaking at one o’clock,” Matt said. “They’re invoking the Twenty-Fifth Amendment.”

Elise rubbed her eyes. “Mom and Dad might have an excuse to be crazy for once.”

Grant sighed. “Professionally, I’d never say it. But this is nuts. It’s like mass hysteria. People thought the Salem witch trials were caused by hallucinogens.”

Elise tugged Matt’s arm. “Let’s go see a movie. We’ll be back before the address.”

The Vice President’s solemn voice filled the room hours later. “Many Americans have witnessed friends, family, and neighbors unwilling to return to work, performing holiday rituals at the expense of their health and safety… The syndrome appears to impact those who practice the Christian faith. We estimate seventy-eight million Americans are affected.”

The map behind her glowed in red clusters across the Midwest and South—eerily like an election map. Matt exhaled. “It’s the same states that voted against her.”

Grant shut off the television. “If this is tied to eggnog or fruitcake, the recall should fix it. Once it’s out of their systems, the behavior should fade.”

“I called Mom,” Elise said. “They’re baking more fruitcakes. She said, ‘It’s Christmas. Christmas is for family.’”

“Let them have their delusions,” Matt muttered. “They live in their world, and we live in ours. Not much has changed.”

Grant frowned. “In times like these, we need compassion. That doesn’t mean forgiveness.”

Elise’s phone buzzed. “The internet’s calling them ‘Jingleheads.’ Someone torched the tree in Madison Square Garden.”

Matt leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe they’re not crazy,” he said quietly. “Maybe they just can’t stand living in the same world with us anymore.”