“Hey, I’m just here for the candy,” Alix said, popping a gumdrop into her mouth.
The competition unfolded exactly how it always did — icing everywhere, someone humming “Eye of the Tiger,” Helen and Matt’s house collapsing in slow motion. Grace worked like she was auditioning for a Food Network special, building perfect lines of peppermint along the eaves.
Alix mostly narrated, her commentary growing more dramatic by the minute.
“Ladies and gentlemen, a marvel of modern engineering — she calls it ‘The Gingerbread Ranch.’”
Grace snorted. “That’s not helping.”
“I’m moral support.”
“You’re eating the shingles.”
“They’re delicious.”
When they finished, Grace’s creation gleamed like a miniature real estate ad — straight roofline, frosted fencing, a tiny marshmallow horse out front. She had frosting in her hair and on her cheek. Alix had a sudden urge to kiss the sugar from her skin but instead clenched her hands until the half-moon imprints of her nails appeared on her palms. Meanwhile, Helen and Matt’s looked like it had survived a small explosion.
“Time for judging,” Helen announced, wiping icing off her chin. “Mick!”
From somewhere deep in the house came a muffled, “What?”
“Judging!”
A few minutes later, Mick Wolf appeared, wearing slippers and a sweatshirt that saidST LOUISand looked like he’d had it since sweatshirts had been invented. He surveyed the two houses like a man deeply committed to neutrality.
Silence.
Then he pointed. “That one.”
The room erupted.
“What?” Alix protested. “Dad, ours has symmetry!”
He shrugged, made eye contact with Helen, and nodded like they had a secret pact.
And with that, he walked away, taking his coffee and all moral authority with him.
Matt high-fived Helen. “We’re legends.”
Grace looked as though she might burst into tears but was putting on a brave face.
Alix stared at her masterpiece in disbelief. “This is malarky. A real dog and pony show. We were robbed.” She patted Grace’s shoulder. “That was rigged. But don’t worry, I’m sure Mom was just kidding about making a guest do hard labor. Right, Mother, who wouldn’t even let Grace do any dishes last night?” Alix said, turning with a sweet smile toward her mom.
“Guess you’re doing it all by yourself, then,” Helen’s eyes had a mischievous glint.
After lunch, Helen clapped her hands and announced, “Time to show Grace where the chores start.”
Alix groaned. “Mom?—”
“You two lost fair and square. It’s tradition.”
“It’s cold and she doesn’t have a coat.”
Grace perked up. “I want to meet horses. I don’t mind… mucking… whatever that is.”
“She can borrow one of mine,” Helen said.
Helen walked to the hall closet and pulled out a coat that Alix had seen her wear in the nineties. Grace bundled up in the puffy jacket, scarf, and gloves, Alix tugged on her too-small denim relic and hoped pride generated body heat.
