SOMETIME IN THE LATE eighteen hundreds, a Russian physiologist named Ivan Pavlov figured out that if he always rang a bell before giving his dog food, the dog would start to salivate at the sound of the bell—it became a conditioned response.

Watching Ashley with Phil’s boyfriend was kind of like witnessing a unique version of the Pavlovian response. She so wanted to hate him, but everything he said to her was like another little ring of Pavlov’s bell. She couldn’t help but salivate.

We were all a bit nervous having Michael over for the first time. My dad talked in a loud voice, like we were all partially deaf, which is a thing he does when he feels anxious. And I noticed Caroline giggled nervously a lot for the first hour. Even though Michael behaved like everything was hunky-dory, I am pretty sure he was more uneasy than any of us because when I shook his hand at the door, it was moist, and I had to discreetly wipe my palm on my jeans afterward.

But Michael was so easy to talk to that everyone settled into a groove after a while. The best part by far, though, was watching Ashley.

First, there were her presents: a fashion sketch pad and professional pencils from Phil, and a skirt from Michael. “It’s a Desigual,” Michael told her. “I got it at their flagship store in Madrid.”

Ashley couldn’t help herself. “I love Desigual,” she blurted. Then she immediately tried to cover. “I mean—it’s okay.”

Caroline grinned at Michael. “You did a much better job than I did. She’s exchanging all the clothes I gave her.”

Later, over a delicious dinner of turkey, gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, carrots, and brussels sprouts, Ashley took a pass on the potatoes—and so did Michael. He caught her eye and smiled. “Low-carbing?”

“Yes!” Ashley exclaimed. “I keep trying to convince my mom to try it, even just a watered-down version, ’cause it would totally get rid of her muffin top.”

“Leave my muffin top out of the conversation, thank you very much,” Caroline said.

“I happen to love your mom’s muffin top,” said Dad.

“And I love carbs,” I added.

Ashley sighed. “See what I have to live with?”

Michael smiled. “Your dad’s no better. You love your pasta, don’t you, Phil?” he said, turning to Phil and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

For a fraction of a second, everything grew quiet. Phil turned beet red; Ashley stuffed a brussels sprout into her mouth. Then Caroline, sitting on the other side of Phil, gave her ex-husband a kiss on his other cheek. “I just wanted to say: I’m so happy to see you so happy.”

Phil’s eyes got really watery, and I wondered if he might be allergic to Schrödinger, who was lying under the table hoping for turkey scraps. He raised his glass of wine and said, “And I’m so happy to see you so happy.” We all clinked glasses and drank.

Except for Ashley. She just stared at her plate. Michael cleared his throat and said, “Ashley, I have an upcoming event you might be interested in.” She didn’t look up. “Twice a year I have a private sale of top-of-the-line clothes I’ve bought for various films and commercials, and also things I’ve designed myself. We’re talking stuff that some of your favorite actresses have worn. And you’re so tiny…you’d fit into a lot of it.”

Ashley’s version of Pavlov’s bell was madly ringing, I just knew it. She couldn’t stop herself from salivating. I counted the seconds. One, two—

Bing! She looked up.

“In fact,” Michael continued, looking at Phil, “maybe we could get your dad to bring you down for a sneak preview. You can set aside the stuff you want before I open it up to anyone else. I can cut you an amazing deal.”

It was truly pleasurable, watching Ashley’s face at that moment. Her eyes lit up; then, realizing she looked happy, she tried to frown; then, realizing she really, really wanted this opportunity, she settled for a look that she hoped was somewhere in between, but actually made her look like she was straining to fart. “I guess that would be okay,” she said.

I think it finally dawned on her that trying to hate Michael was a fool’s game, so she picked up her knife and fork and finished her dinner. She ate pumpkin pie, too, even though it contains carbs.

All in all, it was a very nice Christmas. Certainly much nicer than our last two, which stank. When we were done eating, Phil brought out a bag of Christmas-themed fortune cookies that a client had given him. We took turns reading our fortunes out loud.

Ashley’s said, Ho-ho-ho! Do not fear what you do not know. It seemed highly appropriate.

Mine said, Merry Christmas to you! Your greatest wish will come true. And I thought that my greatest wish already was coming true: we were starting to feel like a family.

It was a great Christmas holiday.

Until it wasn’t.