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Yuki was here, polite as ever, as he wiped his feet and took of his shoes at the door. He asked you how you were and if you had been busy preparing for the holidays. He gave you that smooth smile that he was known for, a modest display of his handsome face.
“I’m doing well,” you said as you returned to the kitchen, wiping your hands dry before you grabbed the oven mitts. “The gingerbread is just about ready -- I heard the oven beep as I was opening the door.”
“It smells wonderful, Miss _____.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” you said. “_____ is fine. In fact, now that you’re in my house, I insist. None of this ‘miss’ stuff. Makes me feel like an adult or something.”
He nodded with a pleasant laugh. “Fair enough, _____.”
The gingerbread came out of the oven, and you set the trays on the stovetop to cool while you grabbed a spatula. “Can I put you to work?” you asked.
“Anything. I’m more than happy to help.”
“Go ahead and start on the icing, will you? The mixer’s right behind you.”
“And what do I add?”
“Two egg whites and three cups of powdered sugar. Eggs are in the fridge, and the sugar’s in the pantry right above the mixer.”
“Do you do this often? You seem to be very familiar with these recipes.”
You shrugged. “Often enough, I suppose you could say. Every year. It’s a family tradition.”
Yuki was here because you had mentioned your gingerbread houses during a student council meeting. You would be baking them for the holiday gala, but Yuki had never made them before, so he wanted to know how it was done.
“Hm. A family tradition, eh?”
“Yeah, what kind of family traditions do you have?”
He was silent for a few moments, his violet eyes dulling briefly.
“Yuki?”
“Oh, sorry, _____. I was just thinking.”
You began gathering the candies that you had stored away for gingerbread houses -- there were peppermints, licorice strands, chocolates, and gumdrops. These would make your gingerbread house colorful and cheery. “Anything coming to mind?”
He flipped on the mixer at that moment, and the sound of the machine drowned out any conversation. His family most have been a sensitive topic; you decided not to pry.
You walked over to him after a minute, checking on the consistency of the icing. You squeezed a bit of lemon you had saved into the mixture just to add a brightness to the combination of sugar and egg. The icing was good to go. You switched off the mixer, and smiled at Yuki. “Now we fill our pastry bags with this goodness and use it as a sort of ‘glue’ for the gingerbread house. Here, I’ll hold the bag, and you can scoop the icing in there.”
“Of course,” he said. “I had no idea that you were this good in the kitchen. You made that seem easy.”
You could tell that he wasn’t accustomed to cooking, which was fine -- most boys in high school probably weren’t. “It gets easier the more you do it,” you replied casually. “We’re also going to have to wait for the gingerbread to cool before we can start putting everything together. How about we put on some tea and we can chat while we wait?”
“I’d like that a lot.”
So the two of you sat at the kitchen table, talking about your classes and the student council. You were excited for the holiday gala -- not only would it be fun for you and your friends, but it would also be a fundraiser for local charities. He asked you about your family -- they were gone at the moment, of course, but they would be home for dinner. Until then, you had the house all to yourself.
“What about you?” you asked, wondering if he would be more responsive to general questions. “I’ve never heard you talk about your family.”
“Well, I have an older brother. I don’t talk about him much, probably because we’re very different.”
“Do you not get along?”
“You could say that.” He gave you a sad smile.
Those smiles -- it was then you understood. His smiles were a shield. They hid his sorrows and anguish from the rest of the world either because he did not want others to know or because he did not know how to ask for help.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I guess I take my family for granted sometimes.”
“You shouldn’t. They sound wonderful; you should enjoy them.”
You stood, refilling your teacups. “Maybe one day you’ll reconcile your differences with your brother.”
“That doesn’t seem likely.”
“But maybe. You have to keep hoping.”
“Maybe, then,” he said with a contented look on his face.
“Well, let’s get to assembling and decorating those houses, shall we? The gingerbread should be cool enough.” You lifted each already measured piece from the pans -- they were still a little warm, but not so much that it would pose a problem. You showed Yuki how each of the pieces lined up, starting with the base. He seemed pretty good at that, and it was finished in no time. However, when you handed him the piping bag to start on the decorations, he stood there with a look of puzzlement on his face.
“You can decorate it however you’d like,” you assured.
“I know I’ve seen gingerbread houses before, but I can’t remember what they’re supposed to look like.”
“There’s no right or wrong. Really, it’s your creation.” You noticed him hesitate, so you scooted closer to him. “Here, I’ll show you. Just apply a bit of pressure to the bag, and I’ll guide your hand. It’ll be your first gingerbread house.”
Yuki looked a little unsure, but you simply took the lead, and before you knew it, you had lined the roof with adorable shingles, traced the outlines of the door and windows, even adding some detail for the walls and cobblestones.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Yuki said.
“It’s all you,” you boasted. “You’re the one with the frosting.”
“Hardly, without your help.”
“Pfft! You just need some practice, and you got this, Yuki.” You gave him a handful of gumdrops. “Now start with these. Put them wherever you’d like, like right here for a colorful lamp post…”
In just a few minutes, your gingerbread house was finished.
“It looks… wonderful,” Yuki said as he backed away to examine your handiwork.
You nodded. “It does look nice, huh?” You handed him some of the remaining chocolates to chew on. “And you know what’s the best part about this?”
“Hm?”
“This can be a start of a new holiday tradition for you.”
His eyes softened. “I’ll remember this. Thank you, _____. Maybe we can make another one next year.”
“What are you talking about?” you said with a laugh. “We’ll be making a dozen more next week!”
He chuckled. “That’s right. I look forward to it.”