The moment we stepped into my mother's house, I could feel the chaos brewing. The scent of cinnamon and freshly baked cookies filled the air, mingling with the sounds of my sisters shouting over one another from the living room.
Christmas music blasted in the background, loud enough to drown out any chance of peaceful conversation.
"Remind me why we're doing this here?" I muttered, dropping my bag near the door and casting a weary glance at Zaya.
She smirked, looking far too amused. "Because your mom insisted."
"She insists on a lot of things," I grumbled, shrugging off my coat.
Before I could say another word, Marisol popped her head out from the kitchen, a Santa hat perched at an awkward angle on her head. "Layla, finally! You're late!"
"We're not late," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You're just early and dramatic."
Marisol ignored me, her gaze shifting to Zaya. "Hi, Zaya! Please save us from Layla's grumpiness."