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One day soon, maybe, Phoebe’s children would be the ones running through the halls and playing hide-and-seek in the library. Maya could hardly wait.
The staircase creaked, and Maya jumped up to greet the next awake: Olivia, whose dark hair cascaded messily and beautifully down her shoulders and back. She wore a big t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and she raced to hug Maya with more energy than most children.
“Merry Christmas!” they said in unison.
Maya hurried to pour her sister a cup of coffee as Olivia chatted happily, following her from the living room to the kitchen and back again. “I had a strange dream about Mom,” she said, wrapping her hands around her mug of steaming coffee. Her eyes were as big as orbs.
“What happened in it?”
Olivia raised her shoulders. “I can’t remember. I just remember warmth. And love.”
Maya sipped her coffee and sat back down on the couch. Olivia sat cross-legged beside her and followed Maya’s gaze to the Christmas tree.
“She must know we’re together,” Maya said. “I dreamt of her, too.”
Olivia was wordless. Ever since she’d moved into the Albright mansion ten days ago, they’d spent hours getting to know one another, going through the events of their lives, and telling each other the deepest secrets of their souls. Maya had joked they should start a podcast. They’d spent the first fifty years of their lives without each other— and they had to catch up.
A moment later, another creak on the staircase brought Phoebe into the warmth of the living room. She greeted them both with hugs and hurried away to get her own coffee before returning to cozy up alongside them. Maya’s heart burst.
“This place is enormous,” Phoebe breathed. “Henry and I nearly got lost on our way to our room last night.”
Olivia and Maya giggled.
“We’ve gotten lost several times,” Olivia reported, giving Maya a sidelong glance.
“We should draw a map,” Maya said.
“Especially if we really set up the hotel,” Olivia offered. “Phoebe, did Maya show you the potential menu she wrote up for the hotel restaurant?”
“It’s all just make-believe,” Maya insisted. “I’m not a chef. I’m just a food critic.”
Phoebe and Olivia glared at her.
“You have got to be kidding,” Phoebe said.
“What?” Maya laughed nervously.
“Every single meal I’ve had since I moved in has been exquisite,” Olivia protested.
“Yeah,” Phoebe said. “Did you ever consider cooking the food rather than writing about it?”
In truth, Maya had considered this. Endlessly. She’d sat in gorgeous restaurants across the world, studying the way dynamic flavors engaged with her palate, speaking with chefs, and tapping into the culinary scene. There was nothing she loved more than eating— and sharing the food she prepared.
Phoebe placed her head on Maya’s shoulder and watched the fire, whispering as though she could already visualize the next few years of Maya’s life.
“I’m picturing the mansion as a beautiful hotel,” she breathed. “With a five-star restaurant, numerous rooms, a library, two swimming pools, and tennis courts. And I’m picturing your blog, Mom. ‘A Taste Above The Rest.’ But you don’t need to travel anywhere. You write about the hotel. About the guests you have here. And about the food you prepare for them.”
“I love the sound of that,” Olivia breathed.
Maya could see it, too. She imagined beautiful Olivia at the front desk, greeting guests happily and showing them to their beautiful, refurbished rooms. She imagined herself experimenting with different flavors, ingredients, and textures in the kitchen. And she imagined herself, Phoebe, Olivia, Veronica, and Brad in the hotel restaurant after a long day, sharing a bottle of wine.
There was no telling what would happen next. But there, in the Albright Mansion, they could do nothing but gaze optimistically toward their futures. Once upon a time, Diane and Victor had set out on an adventure that had changed the course of their lives forever. It had been a dark and alienating road; mistakes had been made. But here, so many years later, Maya, Olivia, and Veronica had decided to right the wrongs of the past. And none of it would have been possible without Aunt Veronica— who’d retained her belief in the magic of Christmas, even when all was lost.
