“The children took over the TV in the living room, thanks to the Xbox you had to bring,” Grandma says dryly, with an accusing glance at Felix.

“You wanna entertain them?” My brother raises a challenging eyebrow. “I would love to see that.” Playing with Grandma when we were kids consisted of us lighting her cigarettes (before she quit) and painting her toenails. We spent summers eating Lunchables on the patio with our feet in buckets filled with water, since we weren’t allowed in the Jacuzzi, while she watched her “stories” (soaps) and ate the most expensive chocolate truffles she could get shipped from France, pretending not to realize she’d locked us out of the house.

Grandma raises a brow, too, probably inwardly writing Felix out of the will.

Hall unspools colorful silk ribbons from his pockets, piles them in front of Felix in some sort of passive-aggressive display of power, and commences prepping ingredients for his pie. “Anyone want to help me cut out some snowflakes? Madeline?” He holds up a sheet of pie dough. “We’ll make a decorating bar.”

“Oh, that sounds delightful!” Mom exclaims.

Felix, who is usually her Best Boy, has had enough. “Pie isn’t even that good,” he mutters. “It’s not like it’s cake.”

I’m trying to concentrate on Hall, worried Felix will hurt his feelings, while Marilou laments not getting to wear tulle for her wedding. Athena brags loudly about the tulle she wore for her wedding, and Kaia mutters, “Yeah, you love that dress so much that you keep your first wedding pictures up on the wall still.”

“You can put that prejudice against divorcées back in the 1800s, where it belongs,” Felix snaps. “Just wait till you’re on your third divorce. Courtney will burn your house down, too, and then you’ll know how it feels.”

“Can’t divorce if you never get married,” she shoots back. “Courtney and I broke up. I don’t have time for a relationship. Haven’t you noticed that I never date anyone for longer than a month?” She raises a brow, flicking him a derisive look. “Take notes, big brother.”

Mom gasps. “But you said you loved Courtney. Didn’t you get her name tattooed on you?”

Kaia twists to show us all a delicate black-and-gray flower blooming on her shoulder blade. “Not her name. It’s just a daffodil.”

“Her birth month flower, though, right?” Mom replies. “That sounds serious.”

Kaia shrugs. “Doesn’t have to be. Now it’s just another flower for my garden.”

I didn’t realize Kaia was breaking up with her girlfriends intentionally to avoid long-term relationships. Maybe this is why she always appears to be so chill: she cuts off anything and anyone that could distract from her career. Kaia has the type of personality that comes with a fence; you don’t want to push her for details about her personal life. I’ve been trying to imitate it with no success, since my life is frequently turned inside out and dissected. But when Kaia settles her attention on you with placid aquamarine eyes, not a negative vibe in the wide blue sky of her mind, you mind your business.