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The one where passports are handed out before entering into the premises.

Itook a deep breath and walked over the threshold or as I liked to call it the war zone of doom also known as the kitchen and was welcomed with loud screaming, cursing, questionable looking food in strange places and what looked like gum in someone’s hair.

I normally loved the chaos, but lately it only reminded me of my own loneliness. My dad and the rest of the bosses, cousins, aunts, uncles—they all had their own lives and apparently it was some sort of race to see who could procreate faster. I think Nixon, my uncle, is still pissed that his daughter Serena made him a grandpa in his early fifties, the guy wasn’t even a silver fox yet. Every friend in high school had a crush on him—every teacher asked me about him.

And then they met my dad and it was all over.

Gross.

An ear-splitting screech bounced off the walls of the kitchen, not the kind that immediately made you think of bloodshed—though one could never be totally sure in this sort of environment—but the sort of sugar infused scream that warned you a crash was coming soon but you’d deal with the wrath of hell for at least thirty minutes beforehand.

"GRANDPA!” little Beatrice yelled.

Junior looked at Serena, Serena looked at Junior, they played paper rock scissors. Phoenix, once the scariest mafia bosses of all from the bloodline of the De Langes and the man who took over the Nicolasis glared between them. “You’re supposed to announce the game before you draw your weapon.”

“Forgot.” Serena smiled sweetly.

Junior nodded. "You were too slow old man.”

Phoenix quickly pulled a knife from thin air—or it seemed like he did—and flipped it between his fingers. “I changed the last diaper while you two snuck off and, wipe that look of your face, Junior, before I tell Nixon.”

His smile faded.

It didn’t matter if he was married to Nixon’s daughter and had been for years—what mattered was that she was still Nixon’s princess and Junior would always be the villain masquerading as a prince who stole her away.

It almost made me crack a smile.

I loved everything about my family so why did it always feel like I was on the outside looking in?

Another little one with his pull up over his head and oven mitts covering his hands chucked a ball toward Phoenix. Junior caught it just in time while Serena snuck away from them and eyed me up and down. “It’s war but when we look back we’ll say it was a lovely playtime where we served tea and had biscuits.”

I eyed said tea and biscuits on the kids table. “And that questionable substance?”

Serena shrugged. “It’s brown so it’s either shit or chocolate. Junior says the consistency is in alignment with peanut butter.”

“Or someone just had peanuts.” I cringed.

"Exactly. So it shall stay on the magical princess tray until someone takes one for the team or loses at paper rock scissors.” She grinned over at Phoenix who threw his knife against the wall. It stuck right into a childhood picture of me and Tempest with Santa.

“Think he lost?" I asked.

She just laughed, then as if remembering the occasion, her face fell.

"Nope.” I held up my hands. “Not the time, Serena. I love you. Other than Ash you’re literally one of my favorite cousins?—“

She rolled her eyes. “I’m one of the only ones who still lives close by.”

“Also true.” I nodded. “And that’s a point in your favor but right now if you ask me if I’m okay I’m going to cry again and I can’t break, not again. Not. I just, I’m going to go somewhere else.”

Serena reached for me then pulled her hand back. She wasn’t even wearing makeup and had her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and she looked younger than me. It was all the crying.

SLAP.

We both looked in the general direction of the noise.

Damon had popped a squat on his plate full of pasta. “Look, Aunty Ena!” That would be Serena. “I go potty now!”

"Son of a bitch.” Ash rushed over to him. “I love being a dad, I love being a dad, I love being a—” He froze. “Did we put sausage in the pasta?”