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“She used oat milk in it.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It was vanilla.”

Jeremy chuckled good-naturedly next to me. Something about his laugh softened me the tiniest bit. It reminded me of the old camaraderie we always had.

We’d been neighbors when we were kids. He’d known my family since he was ten. I knew his too. I didn’t have to explain or apologize for any of this—the backstory was built in.

I glanced over at him while he watched the chaos. He had some lines around his eyes now. He’d filled out. His lanky teenage frame had turned firm and muscular. He was all grown up.

And I’d missed it.

My traitorous heart ached.

He looked relaxed standing there. Happy, even.

Jeremy was easygoing. Nothing really ruffled him. He pivoted easily and took things in stride, went with the flow. It had always been one of my favorite things about him—it was also probably the only reason he was still here. This was just an interesting little side quest for him, the crime of showing up late to his own Christmas dinner forgiven by the offering he was going to bring: me.

It would be nice seeing them again, though. And I did really like his mom’s cooking. His dad was probably deep-frying a turkey. One that wasn’t half rotten.

Dad got the alarm to stop just as Mom and Jodie came back in and slid the door closed. My sister looked defeated.

“It’s okay,” Mom said, rubbing her back. “We still have the green bean casserole and the corn pudding.”

“Candied yams are my least favorite,” Dad said.

“Todo está bien, mija,” Ivan said, kissing his wife on the top of the head.

My sister sniffled.

Devon rolled his eyes. “Call me when the kitchen’s not on fire. I’m going to play video games.” He turned and left for the living room.

Jeremy watched him go. “He was seven the last time I saw him.”

“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms. “I know.” My tone was clipped. He noticed.

There was a touch of humor around his eyes and he looked like he was about to say something, but my parents circled back and cornered us.

“So how did you two reconnect?” Mom asked.

Jeremy grinned at me. “It’s the funniest story.”

“Hilarious,” I said. “You tell it.”

He eyed me and I cocked my head.

“Well,” he said. “I sent her a potato.”

The corner of my lip quirked up.

“A potato…” Dad said carefully.

“Yeah. You know you can mail a potato? You just put a stamp right on it and they’ll ship it. I wrote a message on the side telling her to call me.”

Mom looked enthralled. “Why didn’t you just text her?”

“She had me blocked.”