“I’m trying to save Christmas!” He wrenched open the oven door.
Ah. That answered my question.
Lydia jumped on his back and I darted out of the way. The oven door slammed shut again as she wrapped her legs and arms around him like a monkey. “It still has two more minutes!”
“Babe, I can’t see.” Ryan’s glasses had fogged, and he turned a fast circle, Lydia still on him like a blond backpack. She shrieked and gripped his neck, making Ryan cough.
Mason ran in, an oversized jersey thrown over his pajama pants, and pretended to dribble a ball around the kitchen table. “Grandma says everyone has to come open presentsright nowbefore me and Janie go feral. Whatever that means.” He fake-dribbled his way back toward the door.
He nearly collided with Axel and Chloe as they entered the kitchen. Axel tried to steal the imaginary ball from Mason, who instinctively whipped around in a tight defensive circle.
“Oh, you’re too good, man. Up top!” Axel raised his hand fora high five, which Mason attempted to jump and hit but was still too short to reach.
“Lydia, I’m begging you.” Ryan dumped Lydia onto the countertop in a heap of blond braids and red and black plaid. The aroma of berries and custard warmed the entire kitchen. “The kringle!”
She pursed her lips. “The timer hasn’t—”
Ding.
Ryan launched toward it, nearly smacking into Chloe, who turned from the coffeepot with a full mug at exactly the wrong moment. “Watch out!”
Hot coffee splashed onto the floor. Chloe jumped back.
“What in the world?” Olivia popped back into the kitchen, one hand on her sweatpants-clad hip. “You guys, hello? We’ve got presents in here.”
Axel rushed toward Chloe. “Are you okay?” Then he slid on the spilled coffee and hit the floor, landing on his knees. Which was a blessing in disguise, as Ryan spun at that exact moment and narrowly missed smacking Axel with the piping hot pan.
Ryan deposited the kringle on the cooling rack atop the island and examined it.
“How is it?” Lydia asked eagerly from her countertop perch.
Ryan frowned as he peered down at the filled pastry. “It’s, um…”
“Crispy?” I offered with a wince at the dark brown—okay, black—crust.
Lydia covered her face with her hands and let out a muffled cry.
Ryan froze.
I did too. Had Lydia finally snapped? Mrs. Perfect…it seemed impossible. But then—
“We can fix it!” I set my coffee down and hurried toward her, as if I had any clue what to do. And to that point, whatwasIdoing? The singular time in history that Lydia failed, and I was trying to help cover it up? But it felt right. It was Christmas after all. Chalk it up to personal growth.
I spun a fast circle, searching the cluttered countertops. “Where’s the icing?”
“It’s hopeless,” Lydia wailed. “Ryan was right. He’s always right.”
Ryan’s eyes grew bigger than the kringle. “I am?” He looked at me, as if seeking permission to celebrate. I quickly shook my head.
“Stupid phone!” Kat barged into the kitchen, barely contained anger etched across her face. “Does anyone have a charger? My stupid battery is draining from all my failed attempts to connect on stupid FaceTime.” She tossed her cell on the kitchen table and tightened her ponytail so hard I was surprised a chunk of hair didn’t fall out.
“I’ve got one.” Olivia ushered her son toward the door as I finally found the piping bag of premade icing in the refrigerator. “Mason, go make sure your sister isn’t tearing into everything while I help Aunt Kat.”
“But we’re not supposed to say theS-word,” Mason whispered loudly to his mom. “You know…stupid.” His whisper dropped even lower.
Olivia covered his ears with her hands. “You’re right, we’re not.” She shot Kat a pointed look.
Kat crossed her arms and huffed. “Well, he should try being pregnant.”
