I try to hide behind Andrew, hoping he’ll protect me from his maniacal family, but instead, he dumps a handful of snow down the back of my puffy jacket, and it’s Dylan who grabs my hand and tugs me into the trees so we’re concealed from the onslaught. I’m half convinced Dylan is about to use this whole snowball fight as a cover for impaling me on an icicle, but then Katherine and Lovey dart into the trees alongside us, and I understand: battle lines have been drawn.

“Those monsters are ruthless,” Dylan grunts. “And we can’t beat them unless we’re willing to fight dirty, too.” They turn to me with a grave expression. “Ellie, how is your aim?”

“Uh…”

“I assume that means bad,” Dylan cuts in. “That’s fine. You’ll prepare our stockpile of ammo with Lovey while Katherine and I lead the assault.”

A stoned Lovey gives Dylan a salute and immediately starts building snowballs for our arsenal. I shoot a glance through the trees to where Andrew, Jack, and Meemaw have all hunkered down together behind a giant stump. The hot toddy thermos is long forgotten as Meemaw seemingly draws out a plan of attack in the snow using a stick. Both Jack and Andrew have their arms folded across their chests, twin expressions of consternation on their faces.

I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. They’re six grown adults engaged in a snowball fight like it’s a matter of life or death. It’s easy to imagine, though, how this tradition might have started, if you grew up in a family like this. A seven-year-old Jack throwing snowballs at her brother like she threw punches. The grandmas egging them on, Katherine indulging them. Clinging to the tradition over the years like they cling to each other.

For all Dylan’s strategizing, when it actually comes time to start throwing snowballs again, it’s utter chaos. Katherine and Dylan throw a few through the trees, and some even hit their marks, but then Meemaw grabs a snowball in each hand and charges directly at us. From there, the teams dissolve, and it’s every Kim-Prescott for themselves.

I hide behind the trees a few beats longer before I grab one of my premade snowballs and attempt to lob it at Andrew. I miss and hit the back of a khaki jacket instead. Jack swivels to find the source of the assault. Her face conveys the briefest flash of surprise before she unleashes an epic battle cry, gathers up a fistful of snow, and barrels toward me.