Evelyn stood behind him, smiling nervously.

Tristan arrived from the kitchen with flour on his sleeve.

He and the boys had planned to decorate cookies, apparently using a recipe they’d exchanged by email.

“Your apron is crooked,” Liam informed him.

“That’s because I have no talent,” Tristan replied.

“Mom says practice matters more.”

“She’s right.”

We spent the afternoon making spectacularly ugly gingerbread men.