Every year during the winter holidays, the young narrator’s Grandma flies in to visit, and her aunts and uncles arrive at her house by car with all the cousins. “Every year we play charades, loud and rowdy. Then we light a fire in the fireplace and eat Grandma’s three kinds of pie. That’s what happens every year. It’s tradition.” This year a huge snowstorm disrupts travel plans and it’s just her immediate family members (all are white): Mom, Mama, her brother and her. “Would it even feel like the holidays with just us?” Mom directs them in making stew in the slow cooker (no turkey from Aunt Sarah), and Mama leads them on a hike through the glittering snowy landscape. There aren’t enough people for charades after dinner, but they play cards. “It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t rowdy. But it was kind of fun anyway …” Still, when it’s time for the fire and dessert, the narrator’s lingering disappointment brims over—no pie! A video call to grandma, in which she talks them through making apple crisp, is the perfect salve. “It was just us, but it still felt special.” This entertaining, relatable, emotionally honest story is full of delight in the details while illuminating ways disappointment can sometimes make space for unexpected pleasure, and even new traditions.