Page 67 of Back for Seconds

“You love fun. You love food. You love Christmas. Put everything else out of your mind.” She reached for my free hand, and we gave each other a squeeze. “If you bone, you bone.”

“If we bone, we bone,” I repeat in her same casual tone, shimmying my shoulders. “It’s just boning.”

“Exactly.” She grabbed my hands and we drew in a breath together. On the exhale, she breathed: “Juuuuuuust a bone.”

“Thank you for coming home,” I said. “I missed you.”

She smiled, chucking one of her long glossy nails under my chin. “There’s no place else I’d rather be.” Then she turned and knocked on Joey’s front door.

Bernie answered with an explosion of energy and kisses, taking our coats and shooing us down the long hallway that led to the kitchen and living room. The cabin was bursting with chatter and laughter and music, the smell of frying fish and roasted, crackling pork, mixed with perfume and decanted red wine, all heady and floral.

Joey was behind the island—head thrown back in laughter, shoulders shaking, tan skin bright and warm.

As we approached his eyes caught mine, and suddenly his smile doubled. “Junebug!”

Joey threw his arms open and I curled, briefly, into his chest. “Merry Christmas!” I pushed the tray of blondies into his stomach. His arms tightened around me, and I felt his lips press to the top of my head. I nudged the tray a little harder into his stomach. “For you.”

“You shouldn’t have!” Then, with a world-tilting grin, he added: “But thank god you did.”

Joey shepherded us over to meet everyone, before bringing us over to the unbelievable array of food spread across the island.

“Did you cook everything?” Mimi asked, sounding genuinely amazed.

“Me, my mom, and Dad.” Joey rounded the island and clapped a short man with snow-white hair on his thin back.

The man responded by patting him lovingly on the arm, a grin almost identical to Joey’s on his lips, before reaching over to shake my hand. “Angelo Pagano, so nice to finally meet you.”

“June.” I introduced myself with a smile—a big smile. What did he mean by finally? Had Joey brought me up to them? Had Sandra said something? “Thank you so much for having me.”

After a few more introductions, Joey took me on a tour of the expansive spread, laid out over the entire length of his kitchen island. “These are all the traditional Cuban Noche Buena foods,” he said. “Slow-roasted pork shoulder, congrí, yucca in mojo sauce, avocado salad. Then we have our feast of the seven fishes—in case you were worried.” Joey flashed me a sardonic smile. “We have the classics: fried smelts, baccalá stew, calamari stuffed with tomato and scallops. Last but not least, we have my famous vegan crab cakes.”

Bernie looked up from where she was mixing herself a drink, catching my eye. “They’re actually really good. Better than real crab cakes.”

A little girl came running out of the adjoining room, throwing herself around Joey’s legs. “Uncle Joey, can you fix the TV? Mina sat on it.”

“Mina sat on my TV?”

“On the remote!” This decree came from a very tiny, very angry looking child in a turtleneck. She ran full speed past me, narrowly skirted the lip of the island countertop, and crashed directly into Joey’s legs. “I didn’t break anything. I just sat, and then it all went black!”

Joey caught my eye, a twinkle of amusement and affection in his gaze. “Mina, Bri—can you say hi to my friend June?”

They whipped in my direction, pigtails flying. “Hi,” they said in a single, unimpressed voice. Then, with their attention pointed back—and upward—at Joey, they once began their campaign:

“We wanna watch a movie.”

“Can we watch a movie?”

“A Christmas movie!”

“Dad said it’s ok! He said we can have screen time ’cause it’s Christmas!”

“Well, if Dad said it’s ok.” Joey lifted the girls with ease, tucking one under each arm as they squirmed and protested, hauling them off toward the sectional.

I felt vaguely rudderless without Joey, especially since Mimi had blended into the party without a single backward glance. I spied her pouring herself a glass of chilled Pinot while loudly admiring Bernie’s boots. They were already laughing like old friends. She was so good at this stuff.

There was a table in one corner of the room that seemed specifically for the over-forty crowd shouting and laughing over cards and dominos. Around one end of the island, Mimi had gathered with Joey’s brothers Isaac, Angel, and Louis, plus an extremely tall man who had his arms draped around the shoulders of a statuesque woman made even more chic by the sharp edges of her French bob, perfectly executed red lip, and the swell of her pregnant belly.

“Room for one more?” I asked, wagging my brows at Mimi. She and Louis were in deep conversation, judging by the way his chocolate brown eyes were essentially glued to her profile.