The kitchen erupted in laughter.
A batch of almond polvorones was pulled out of the oven and placed fresh onto the cooling rack. Bea grabbed one, blew on it, and stuffed it into her mouth for survival.
Joon, her seventeen-year-old cousin, snuck in beside her, swiping a cookie of his own. “You caved too fast.”
Bea scowled. “I did not cave.”
“You did,” he countered, munching happily. “You got defensive and started yelling. Classic signs of guilt.”
Bea groaned, slumping onto the counter, chin on her folded arms. “You’re all the worst.”
Laughter rippled through the room, but before anyone could grill her further, the front door swung open, bringing a rush of cold air and a new stampede of younger cousins tumbling inside. Snow dusted their hair, their coats half unzipped as they shook off the winter chill, breath puffing white in the warm air.
“We’re going skating,” one of the twins announced.
“Hockey at the park after!” said the other twin.
Bea’s youngest cousin, Han, barely four years old, tugged on her sleeve. “Are you coming?”
Bea smiled, ruffling his hair. “Not this time, bud. Someone’s gotta set the table.”
He nodded solemnly, like this was a great responsibility. “Okay. I’ll bring you a snowball.”
Bea barely dodged her cousin’s flying hand as he grabbed for another polvorón.
“Joon!” Auntie Linda barked, smacking his wrist away. “Have some self-control.”
Joon, grinning like a menace, dodged away. “I am! I’m eating them without icing to reduce calories.”
Bea grabbed another one and stuffed it in her mouth before her aunt could scold her too.
“See, Nuna’s doing it,” Joon pointed out.
Her umma shook her head. “You’re supposed to be a sophisticated St. Ives girl, hm.”
“Sorry, too busy lowering my tax bracket,” Bea said, mouth full.
Little Han, still clinging to her sleeve, looked up at her, wide-eyed with betrayal. “You said before we had towaitfor dessert.”
Bea froze, mid-chew.
The entire kitchen turned on her in an instant.
“Wow,” Elias breathed. “The lies.”
“You can’t trust anyone.” Joon frowned.
Her papa, who had been outside with her uncles shoveling snow, walked into the kitchen, shaking his head. “I raised you better than this.”
Bea crouched down to offer Han a cookie, contrite. “I was wrong,” she admitted.
“Bea!” Umma’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Come taste this!”
The living room was a disaster zone of ripped wrapping paper, ribbons, and discarded gift bags. The laughter had eased into a warm hum, and Bea was curled up on the couch, tucking a blanket around her legs. The fire danced low, casting golden light across the room, the scent of pine and cinnamon lingering in the air.
Earlier they’d sung carols by the fire, Auntie Melissa playing the piano, the whole family’s voices rising in layered and occasionally off-key harmony. After dinner, Uncle Mateo had read the nativity story aloud, as he did every year, his voice slow and steady while the little ones passed around Hotteok and mugs of Castilian hot chocolate.
She loved that Christmas tradition the most.
