Page 10 of The Kiss Class

“Home sweet home.” A deep breath fills me as I get out of the car.

Anna rushes out with Ilsa and Kangaroo Jack on her heels. Cal carries a pair of giant resin candy canes and plants them at the end of the sidewalk. We share a rowdy round of hugs, complete with happy squeals. The guys exchange a look as the three of us sisters link arms and head into the house.

While catching up with Ilsa and Anna, the sound of hockey highlights comes from the other room, along with Dad’s voice, likely instructing Cal and Kangaroo Jack on the fine art of the saucer pass.

If I were to ask—I wouldn’t dare after Ricky—he’d vote down having a hockey-playing son-in-law. But maybe he wouldn’t mind if at least one of his daughter’s spouses were fans. By the sound of his breakaway analysis, he’ll mold them into hockey aficionados one way or another.

But that’s not the focus as Anna takes out Mom’s massive KitchenAid stand mixer, and Ilsa lines ingredients up on the counter. The cookie-baking bonanza is about to begin, and I am here for it.

Every year, we make twelve different kinds of cookies—dozens each. Some of them are for our enjoyment and others we package up for friends, family, and neighbors, the firefighters and EMT team in town, and the hospice workers from the association that helped take care of Mom.

We call ourselves The Mrs. Claus Squad since she doesn’t get nearly as much of the spotlight as she should. Also, because Dadaszek called Mom Mrs. Claus from December first to the twenty-fifth, since our mother loved Christmas so much, it’s a way to keep her memory with us. Some people might think thistradition is sad, but we know Mom would love our little ode to her.

No sooner are we mixing and blending do Anna and Ilsa ask about my non-existent romantic life. I relay my encounter with Richy, the cute guy with BO from the plane, while dramatically holding my nose. This makes them laugh, and we reminisce about terrible dates over the years.

They both conclude that they married the loves of their lives.

“Which means it’s your turn,” Anna says, tossing a chocolate candy Kiss wrapped in foil my way.

I pop it in my mouth because I know what’s coming.

Ilsa spins by me, tying an apron around my waist. “We’ve been planning . . .”

I suddenly have an inclination about how Dad is going to feel when we present him with his mandatory European summer vacation Christmas gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I’m having second thoughts. Our father makes good money and if he wanted to spend a summer gallivanting abroad, he would. He’ll love the Hockey Hall of Fame museum in Finland but could manage to get himself there without our help.

By this logic, if I want to date, I will.

Right?I mean, right?

However, I have a knack for meeting guys with BO or an abundance of nose hair or who don’t tie their shoes—I couldn’t be worried Felix was going to trip all the time.

It’s not like I’m trying to check off every box, but basic hygiene and shoelace skills are a good place to start.

Anna parades by with a bowl full of sugar cookie dough. “We just have to get you out there.”

“You need some more experience,” Ilsa says, taking a swipe of the batter.

“I’ve done plenty of studying when it comes to the romantic arts. Take Dante and Beatrice or John and Abigail Adams, for example—” I’m about to launch into a retrospective on Queen Victoria and Prince Albert when Ilsa interrupts.

“When did you last meet a guy for coffee or go to the movies . . . in real life, not in a fictional escape?”

I look from side to side, wishing for an easy exit. Unfortunately, my sisters know where my bedroom is, and they more than likely know what I’m thinking. It’s a triplet thing.

“It’s been a minute. But while I’m here—” I didn’t quite think about how to present my “homework” sketching storyboards at the arena all week without revealing that graphic design and studying law aren’t the same thing. “I’ll be busy.”

I get a pat on the head from Ilsa. “Sure you will be.”

“Uh huh, starting with a blind date.” Anna grins like an evil mastermind.

“No way.”

“And you’re going to text the guy I have in mind.” Ilsa cackles and then runs out of the room.

Anna wants to send me on a blind date with one of Cal’s buddies. Not especially interested. Ilsa has someone she wants me to text. No, thanks. I can’t imagine either of those scenarios being the start of my happily ever after.

Seconds later, my phone beeps.

Pumping her arms in the air in success, Ilsa whisper shouts, “I just got his number off Dadaszek’s phone.”

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