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As for the rest, Benny is only occasionally interested in the event, and mostly just acts as a judge and/or cheerleader. Lisa works with Kyle. Aaron works with Dad, who, to Dad’s credit, takes a long look at Aaron’s outfit but refrains from commenting. Theo and Miles team up, obviously, and Ricky and Mom are a team. Nine times out of ten, they win. I guess that’s what happens when you pair a landscape architect with an artist.
When Kennedy and Zachary started kindergarten last year, we instituted a Swimsuit Rule: Nothing can be carved that would be hidden by a swimsuit. Without the guideline, Theo cannot be trusted. There were a number of years there in our early twenties when even Theo’s snow lizards had boobs.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him the precise moment he spots the thick curved branch that inspires him and Miles to make the snow elephant. The adrenaline of this discovery kicks his energy into high gear and the two guys high-five like fraternity pledges who’ve just tapped their first keg.
Benny sidles up to me at the table. “What’s your plan?”
I watch as Andrew sifts through the box of veggies, waiting for inspiration. A few days ago, we’d started making a panda and then aborted that option when we realized it really just looked like a bear—which Mom and Ricky were already doing and better. We pivoted to the monkey, and I think it would have been amazing if we’d started on that from the get-go.
“I’m going to use what I learned last time and win.”
Benny nods for a few quiet seconds before muttering dryly, “That seems altruistic.”
I glare half-heartedly at him. “Originally, Ricky and Mom won—like they always do—and everyone complained,” I whisper. “We don’t want people complaining, we want people having fun! Project Save the Cabin, right? So, if Andrew and I win, we can make a big deal that it’s our first steak-pick ever. Rah-rah traditions!”
Benny stares at me. “Everyone knows you don’t care about the steak.”
I stare back at him. “Maybe I’m hungry.”
He lifts a brow.
“Or maybe I’m tired of losing.”
Benny snorts into his coffee. “There it is.”
Andrew approaches. I bump my shoulder against his and pretend to give him a vote. “What are you thinking?”
“A panda bear?” he says, holding his hands out to indicate a big, round belly.
I give this five seconds of fake consideration, tapping my chin.
“I think your dad and my mom are already making a bear.” I tilt my head, subtly gesturing, before realizing that of course they’re still gathering materials and I’d have no way of knowing what they’re doing; all they have is a shapeless mound of snow.
Andrew frowns at me quizzically, green eyes narrowing.
“I heard Mom talking about it earlier,” I lie. “I bet it’ll be amazing.”
He buys this—Thank you, Universe—and I walk over to the side porch to locate the two perfect pieces of bark that will become our monkey’s ears. “Maybe we do a monkey?” I hold them to the sides of my head, demonstrating.
With a smile, he digs into the box and brandishes the two arm-shaped squash that will fit our monkey perfectly. We grin wildly at each other. We are geniuses!
“Be cool,” he whispers quickly, wrangling his smile under control. We share a subtle fist-bump.
At first, we’re all working in our respective areas, ignoring what everyone else is doing because it takes a while for the lumps of snow to start looking like anything specific. But as time goes on—around when the twins get bored and start making snowballs nearby—we get more competitive. Each team glances over their shoulders more frequently. We all start to whisper and point. No one is eager for a dinner of sinewy chuck, and we have to know which team we’ll need to beat.
Nearly forty-five minutes in, the monkey is coming out even better than I could have imagined—even better than she did last time. Her ears are just big enough to make her look cartoonish and cuddly. I managed to snag some beautiful tortoiseshell buttons that make her eyes look dark and luminous. Andrew is gifted with the butter knife, apparently, because he’s alternating between heating it up with a lighter and carefully carving out her features. Her nose and mouth are perfect. Look what we can do when we actually put in effort!
And maybe cheat. Just a little.
“It’s too wet.”
I look up at Andrew when he says this. “What’s too wet?”
Swallowing audibly, Andrew uses the butter knife to point to where I’m struggling to get the monkey’s tail to curl up and back over itself. It crumbles every time I dig out the extra snow. “You have a moisture problem.”
The words bounce back and forth between us, growing louder somehow in the ringing silence. His eyes twinkle with repressed laughter, and finally, unable to hold it in anymore, we both break.
