My sister was visiting for the holidays, and the day before she headed back home to Oklahoma, my partner and me grabbed her for a festive happy hour. She came over to our little house. We lit candles, drank wine and ate cheese. Our talk mingled with the rain outside.

My partner, Jamie, is a big nerd, and I love her for it. She enjoys playing video games and indulges my ever-present desire to discuss their cultural relevance. My sister Sarah, on the other hand, has not been known to game.

While she would refute this claim - thanks to her having been the savviest of her friend group during the pandemic and, thus, was the one to create a Steam account and purchase whatever the newest Jackbox Party Pack was at the time - she likes to fill her life with other things.

Which is great. When I tell people about my sister, I always lead with the ways I aspire to be more like her. Sarah is spontaneous and adventurous. I'm more of a homebody who far too often ponders the most minuscule of decisions. My sister is an extrovert who can move to a new place where she knows no one and, within the span of a couple weeks, make a vibrant community of friends. And here I am, an introvert who prefers the solitude of writing.

Sarah's lack of interest in video games is a healthy reflection of her well-roundedness. And I knew that when I bought Unpacking for her as a last-minute holiday gift, it was a speculative purchase at best.

Unpacking* is a low-impact point-and-click game which simulates the positive sensations of moving into a new place without all the stress that comes along with actually moving. The player removes possessions one by one from boxes and decides where they go. Progression is barred until some items are in specific spots, preventing the player from throwing all the items, say, on the floor under the bed. However, the game does allow for some creativity in the way the player sets up each room, and the satisfaction of putting everything in its place does have a singular magnetism to it. This - combined with the delightful pop each finished box makes as it folds up and disappears and the game's lo-fi soundscape - make Unpacking stand out to me as the kind of game that could be perfect for a non-gamer. Especially a non-gamer like my sister who gets immense satisfaction out of organizing her space.

Because walking into Sarah's apartment is like entering the mind of a minimalist who likes crafting and cottages. A purple-red knitted mushroom pillow sings with her meticulously framed and mounted pictures. The bathroom glistens - each soap and lotion in its place - next to an aerial playplace bracketed to an adjoining bedroom wall where Sarah's cats spend hours doing somersaults. Each item you encounter has a purpose. And what screams purpose-driven organization more than a game like Unpacking?

Before Sarah left that evening, Jamie insisted that she sit down and try the game for a few minutes. Sarah obliged and took a seat at my computer. In a matter of seconds we had the game installed and open on screen, Unpacking's light storage and memory requirements checking another box in the good-game-for-non-gamers column.

The game's music thrummed to life a vibe that repainted the edges of Jamie and my little office room in technicolor. Sarah clicked start. She smiled. The first five minutes were about experimentation. She put her secret journal next to a soccer ball in the cabinet. The game didn't like that. The next five, Sarah was in her zone, going through box after box, lining up books by height order on her shelves, deciding whether or not the boombox should go on the floor or the desk.

In the last five minutes, she and Jamie mistook a pallet of multi-colored cassette tapes for something far sillier. I can't remember exactly what. What I do remember is their shared moment of realization, Jamie looking over Sarah's shoulder, their eyes widening, their smiles, their laughter. To steady herself in her glee, Jamie put her hand on my sister's arm. Meanwhile, Sarah's delight bowed her head slightly to meet Jamie's.

Witnessing this moment of physical, sisterly intimacy made that rainy December evening feel comfortable and warm. My chest a hearth, Sarah gave us hugs, and we said our goodbyes. A cheerful fire burns there still. For Unpacking, for family, and for the power of shared gaming experiences to create connective tissue that makes real life feel that much more immediate. That much more present. That much warmer.