???????? - ?????? ?????

After dinner, we retreated to the living room to relax. The room was cozy and well-decorated, with comfortable couches and an assortment of family photos on the walls. Taylor sat down on one end of the couch, pulling me down beside her.

I leaned into her, my arm around her shoulders, my body automatically seeking her closeness. Her parents had returned to the kitchen to start cleaning up, leaving us alone in the room, though I could still faintly hear them talking.

"So, what did you think of dinner?" Taylor asked, her fingers idly playing with the hem of my shirt.

"It was delicious," I replied truthfully. "Your parents are fantastic cooks."

"Yeah, that's one thing they're both really good at," she said, a hint of dry humor in her tone. I pulled back, arching an eyebrow at her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my tone playful. I pushed at her shoulder, gently. "Sounds like there's a story there."

She let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be exasperated. "They just... have very high standards for pretty much everything, including cooking," she explained. "If a meal isn't absolutely perfect they get a little... well... critical."

"Ah, I get it," I said, nodding in understanding. "Perfectionists, huh?"

"Big time," she said, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Once, when they were making a special birthday dinner for me, they got into an argument because my dad sprinkled garlic salt instead of regular salt on the mashed potatoes. You'd think it was the end of the world or something."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh no, not the garlic salt!" I exclaimed, feigning horror. "How did you survive such a crisis?"

"By reminding myself that they were my parents and I loved them, even if they were a little insane," she replied, her tone dead serious, but a sparkle of humor in her eyes.

"Well, you're a better daughter than I probably would have been," I said, chuckling. "I probably would've rolled my eyes and hidden the garlic salt."

She laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "If you had rolled your eyes, they probably would have spent half an hour explaining in great detail the importance of using just the right seasonings," she said, shaking her head.

As if on cue, I heard footsteps approaching from the hallway, and a moment later, Taylor's parents returned to the living room. They each settled into their own spots - Taylor's mom on the armchair, while her dad took his place on the adjacent couch .

Taylor's mom turned her gaze to me, her expression curious. "Zoe, I've been meaning to ask you something," she said, her voice casual but with a hint of curiosity. "What was Christmas like with your family in England? Any specific traditions or fun stories you could share?"

I shifted slightly on the couch, a little surprised by the question. I hadn't expected to be the center of attention, but I quickly collected my thoughts. "Well, we had a few traditions," I began, a smile pulling at the corners of my lips. "My grandmother always made these amazing plum puddings for dessert, and we'd crack open walnuts with a special mallet passed down through the family. And every year, we'd have a rousing game of charades that would always end up in chaos."

Taylor's parents chuckled, clearly amused by the mental image of a chaotic charades game. "Sounds like quite the eventful tradition," Taylor's dad commented, a twinkle in his eye.

"It was always a blast," I nodded, smiling at the memory. "We'd all dress up in these ridiculous costumes and act out the clues in the most over-the-top way possible. Once, my cousin tried to act out 'The Wizard of Oz' but ended up doing an impression of a chicken instead. We were in stitches the entire time."