Your Stepdad's Christmas Present

I used my fingers to count the hours. I had worked fifty-hours this week. I could do it. I could skip out on work two hours early and head out to San Marcos. The rest of my dining room chairs were there waiting for me at Pottery Barn, I just knew it. And the outlet mall had at least forty other stores had the secret to the question that had been nagging at me for a week now: what the hell was I gonna get the man for Christmas?