I jump back on the bed, handing Diego a box and opening mine while Chevron sniffs every corner of the room. When she gets near the bed to sniffle out Mr. Darcy, the cat’s only reaction is to lift his head and throw the dog a disdainful stare. Subdued by this display of animal hostility, Chevron lets out a low whine and settles on the rug by the bed.

Before answering Blair, I can’t resist a quick bite of pizza. It tastes delicious. The place by the corner makes a thick dough and always puts loads of extra cheese—real, made with milk that came from cow’s cheese—on top. But it’s not just that; this pizza is the taste of my youth. I can’t even remember how many Blair and I shared over the years.

When my grumbling stomach is somewhat placated, I finally show enough restraint to stop scarfing down pizza and talk. “Worse than skipping dinner,” I explain. “Julia cooked.”

“Oh, is she that bad?”

“No idea, but tonight she made us a vegan meal.” I switch my tone of voice to talk like a yoga teacher. “To help us cleanse our bodies before the coming days of unchecked indulging.” I go back to my normal voice. “And half of it was raw vegan cuisine, in the middle of December. Can you believe it?”

“Mmm… But you like it when I make you vegetarian dinners…”

“Yeah, because A, you can cook, and B, you actually cook your vegetables. Plus, vegan is extreme: no cheese, no eggs, no butter. And she only allowed gluten-free bread. The entire dinner was disgusting, and we were both hungry again half an hour later.”

Blair laughs. “Yes, I guess vegan eating can be hard.”

“Thanks for the pizzas.” Diego lifts a slice toward her as if he was toasting a glass of wine. “You’re a life saver.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone to starve.” She smiles, then lowers her voice conspiratorially. “So, how did today go? Did ‘the family’ buy your story?”

I’m about to reply when there’s a knock on the door and my dad quickly sneaks into the room.

“Ah.” I look at him. “Come to exact payment for your silence, I see.”

Dad puts on an innocent face that doesn’t reach his mischievous, twinkly eyes. “Would you refuse an old man a slice of pizza?”

“Here.” I grab a napkin and place a big slice on top, handing it to him.

And, old man or not, he looks like an excited kid as he takes it from me.

Dad hasn’t finished his first bite when the door opens again and Paul slips inside, clearing his throat. “Err… I heard there was black-market pizza here.”

I throw a killer stare at my dad, who promptly justifies himself. “Found him in the kitchen scavenging for food. Couldn’t let the poor fella starve.”

I roll my eyes and hand them my box with the remaining half of my pizza. Diego, the saint, nudges his box toward me and I gladly take another slice.