“Just for a moment, Mark,” Cora said. Her eyes locked onto his. There was a flicker of something ancient and patient in her gaze. Mark’s protest died on his lips. His jaw went slack.
Even little Leo, the agent of chaos, was quietly stacking his mashed potatoes into a serene, lumpy mountain, humming “Jingle Bells” in perfect, tuneful calm. Mistress Of Hypnosis Holidazed
Dinner was, predictably, a car crash. Lila praised Serena’s ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend’s Instagram. Mark accused Chloe of burning the yams (she hadn’t; he was just drunk). The toddler, Leo, began a sustained, high-decibel meltdown because his mashed potatoes were “too lumpy.” “Just for a moment, Mark,” Cora said
“And now,” Cora murmured, the pendulum coming to a stop in her palm, “when I count down from three to one, you will all feel a deep, abiding sense of peace. The perfect, simple peace of a silent night. No arguments. No resentments. Just the quiet joy of being together. Three… two… one.” Mark’s protest died on his lips
“It’s just a little relaxation technique,” Cora said, her voice dropping into a lower, richer register. “A gift, really. For the holidays. Close your eyes, everyone.”
“Unless you have a mute button for your cousin’s whining, I doubt it,” Serena muttered.
The chain swung. Back and forth. Tick. Tock. Like a gentle, hypnotic grandfather clock marking a time that didn’t exist.
