“Hi, everyone,” I greet them, walking inside and taking notice of how the interior of the house is no better than the outside. Looks like a Christmas Tree Shop has opened in here. Every square inch is covered with a decoration, wreath, or Christmas light, and the tree they bought this year is so massive it almost touches the living room ceiling. “Mom, Dad, this is Diego,” I make the introductions. “Diego, this is my mom, dad, and my sister, Julia.”

They all do the “nice to meet you” handshake dance—or, at least, my parents do. Julia just stares at Diego, speechless, as he shakes her hand.

Something brushes against my legs, and I bend down to pick up the only being I’m actually excited to see over this break: Mr. Darcy, the family tomcat. Dad found him hiding under his truck when he was just a tabby kitten in my junior year of high school. Even if we only lived under the same roof for two years, I still consider him my cat. In fact, the moment he’s in my arms, he starts purring and bumping his head under my chin.

In the three seconds I’ve been distracted by Mr. Darcy, my mom has closed in on Diego and is bombarding him with questions.

“Mom,” I interrupt her, saving him. “Let us at least drop our bags before you start with the third degree.”

Then I make the mistake of using my cat-free hand to pull my beanie off.

Mom gasps. “Darling, your hair!”

Oh, I forgot they haven’t seen my new haircut yet.

“Yeah.” I ruffle it up to remove the flattening effect of the hat. “New style.”

“But your hair was so pretty.”

Mom uses the same tone she’d strike up if someone in the family had died.

“Well, I wanted something different. I need to drop these off,” I say, tilting my chin toward the bags dangling from my side. Between them and the cat, who’s no feather-weight, my arms are getting heavy. “Can we discuss how I ruined my hair later?”

“That’s not what I meant, honey, of course you look gorgeous.”

Dad takes the opportunity to give me a side hug. “Love the new cut, baby.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I kiss him on the cheek. “So, we’ll pop upstairs and be right back.”

“Great,” Mom says. “Lunch is almost ready. You two go freshen up and come back downstairs whenever you’re ready. But don’t take too long,” she adds in a shrill voice. “I’ve made mac and cheese, and it needs to come out of the oven soon.”

Diego gives her the perfect future-son-in-law answer. “Can’t wait to taste it, Mrs. Moore. I’ve been told your cooking is the best in the entire state.”

He’s worth every single penny.

Mom blushes, and coos, “Oh, please, it’s just something I threw together in five minutes.” She’s lying. Her secret recipe for mac and cheese requires at least five different cheeses and a complicated double-baking timing. And sometimes, besides baked breadcrumbs, she also adds shrimp or lobster, which of course she has to cook separately first, and then add later in the oven. Hardly a five-minute meal. “And please, call me Dora,” she concludes.