Julia has been uncharacteristically quiet, but I don’t mind. I’m too tired for conversation. Even if I got up super late, I’m still experiencing the after-effects of a sleepless night. And I might be unable to stop smiling, but the bags under my eyes are blossoming. I hope we didn’t make too much noise. What if my parents heard us?

Another yawn turns to a half-smile as a memory from last night plays in my head.

Enough, Nikki.

Right, I need to concentrate on the practical tasks and stop reliving every second of my night with Diego. Not that what I’m doing requires any extent of brainpower. Right now I’m busy revamping the leftover coleslaw by adding more sauce and transferring it into a serving bowl. I’m sprinkling a generous amount of sauce over the vegetables when Julia bangs a metal spoon on a platter, making me jump.

I turn toward her. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. It’s only the third time I’ve asked you to pass me a wooden spoon.”

Someone is cranky today. I grab the biggest spoon from the utensil jar on my side of the kitchen island and hand it over. “This one okay?”

“Yeah.”

Julia snatches it rather violently.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” she hisses.

I set aside the coleslaw for a second and turn to face her. “You have a problem?”

“Why would I have any problem? Relax. You can keep smiling and humming under your breath, not caring about anybody else but yourself.”

“Is it a crime to be happy now?”

“No, but you could be a little less selfish.”

“Why? What did I do?”

Julia brutally mixes her mashed potatoes as she answers. “The fact that you can’t even see it should tell you enough.”

“See what?!”

“That just for once.” She drops her spoons and points at her chest. “This Christmas was supposed to be about me. About my engagement. About introducing my fiancé into the family. But, of course, you couldn’t let me have that. No, you had to bring a new boyfriend home and steal everyone’s attention.”

“Me. Me. Me. Oh, pooh-pooh, poor Julia had to share the attention with someone else, what a tragedy. You sound like a five-year-old. Grow up!”

“And you sound like a bitch.”

“Better a bitch than a brat,” I snap, satisfied to get the last word in.

I get back to the coleslaw, but as I’m unloading a generous serving into the new bowl, the spoon slips from my grip and cartwheels in the air. I dash to catch it mid-flight, but as I grip the handle, a big glop of coleslaw flies away and lands on the side of Julia’s face.

Startled, she brings a hand to her neck. “You didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry!”

I’m so focused on finding a rag for her to clean up with that I miss the mashed potatoes projectile headed for my face. It hits me in the right temple, sliding down my hair.