Tuck, Blair & etc. (?)
It would be incorrect to say that Tucker hated his holiday. Hate would imply that he felt particularly strongly about it one way or the other, and strong was certainly not a very good descriptor for whatever it was that he felt. Numb was more like it. It wasn't really so unlike his birthday, except without the most of the good parts (i.e. the day being all about him). His father had offered him the usual perfunctory pleasantries suitable for the day, and Tucker had spent much of the morning and early afternoon shut up in his lab with Alex, to give Blair and Portia as much as room as necessary to work. Dealing with the trappings of Bright Lucy wasn't his place, after all, and it would be emasculating to assume them.
But there was a small mercy, as much as he could give her, in letting her do it alone. Had it been, say, Portia alone completing all the requisite tasks, he would have been far present, and more critical. But for Blair, he withdrew, allowing her to make whatever mistakes might befall a first-time Lucy away from as many pairs of judgmental eyes as possible.
And really, once things got going, they were really quite acceptable. He personally preferred the red candles to the more traditional white, and of course Blair looked positively stunning in that dress she'd picked. to say nothing of the candlelight. The red was a gorgeous contrast with her porcelain skin, and he watched her, transfixed, as she descended the stairs, just barely remembering to keep his mouth closed.
It wasn't hard to discern how little Blair was enjoying it, however. At least, it wasn't for Tuck. He was hardly an empathetic sort, but he did read Blair's body language well, and as poised as she looked, the tension in her neck and shoulders wasn't particularly hard to spot. So he said, "Oh well all know the story. Girl is starving, girl goes into the dark forest, comes back with candles on her head, blah, blah," he waved dismissively, exchanging a little eyeroll with Alex and crossed from where he was sitting to light on the piano bench. "Let's just play come hymns and talk," he suggested, and launched into a version of one of the traditional hymns that was so ornamental it discouraged singing along, though his guests were welcome to try.