“You’re making fried calamari!” Merrie said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I think we could all use a pick-me-up right now. Matt’s good with a fryer if you need help.”
“No, he’s not,” Olivier scoffed, stealing my Christmas wreath pizza out of the toaster oven and taking a big bite. “Hot! Hot!”
“That’s what you get for coming into someone else’s house and stealing their food,” I growled at my younger brother.
“You should have put another oven or three in here,” Chloe said as she rummaged around the cabinets looking for platters. “We need to heat up the lasagna.”
“And lasagna!” Merrie clasped her hands together.
“I feel like you’re even more excited about the food than you were about me this morning.” I kissed her. “Or last night.” I kissed her again.
“You really undersold your family,” she told me. “I didn’t know you had an Italian as a sister-in-law. Morticia and I are going to be very good friends.”
“One of those lasagnas is mine,” Jonathan insisted as Chloe opened a packed oven to rearrange the trays of appetizers so she could stuff a pan of lasagna in.
“I have one at home for you in the freezer,” Morticia said to Jonathan.
“She loves me,” he declared.
The doorbell rang.
“I thought people weren’t supposed to come for an hour,” I said to Merrie as Kringle bounced around at my feet.
She shrugged. “The senior citizens in this town are used to lining up an hour early for bingo. I have Christmas punch marinating in the butler’s pantry. Just set them up in the foyer.”
But there wasn’t a gaggle of seniors at the front door.
“Bro,” Eli said, “Merry Christmas. We brought a Jell-O.”
He held a towering red, green, and whipped cream confection that wobbled ominously.
“Say Merry Christmas, Greg,” Eli coaxed his older brother.
Greg scowled at me, an antagonistic counterpoint to the half dozen excited little blond girls carrying figure skates, hopping around on the porch, so excited at all the Christmas decorations.
“You and Eli are not going to the Caribbean,” he snapped as the girls rushed inside to coo and pet the large, fluffy St. Bernard. “I don’t have Eli insured, and I don’t want him to get sunstroke, wander off, and get lost in the jungle.”
“Matt is supposed to have a relaxing vacation on the beach,” Eli protested, unwinding his scarf as he and his siblings followed me back to the kitchen.
“It’s not relaxing for me if you come back red as a lobster and start making excuses for why you can’t give me a return on my investment.” Greg’s scowl grew even deeper when we walked into the large kitchen.
Belle was chopping parsley. She paused, knife raised when she saw Greg.
“You have some sort of death wish inviting him here, Matt,” my sister said flatly.
Greg smirked at her. “It’s Christmas, Ms. Frost. Where’s your sense of charity?”
“We’re getting ready to deep-fry some meat,” she said threateningly. “Might not want to get too close.”
“Ms. Frost,” Greg said, pressing a hand to his chest, “there are children present.”
She glared at him. “Every single one of your little sisters was expelled from school for fighting. I hardly would consider them to have delicate sensibilities.”
“Hi, Ms. Belle!” his sisters chorused. “Merry Christmas!”
“Did you all bring your ice skates?” Belle asked Greg’s little sisters, softening her tone.
“Yes,” they said excitedly. “We’ve been taking lessons!”
