The minute Anya told her mom about the week off, she jumped on her computer and booked two plane tickets to Los Angeles.
“Your father is going to be so happy,” she told Anya. “He was just complaining that he wouldn’t get to see us until spring break in April.”
To Anya, it felt like forever since she’d seen her brother and dad. Technically, it was two whole months—they had both flown in to see her perform in A New Jersey Nutcracker in December. Anya had hoped they would stay for Christmas and New Year’s, but Alexei had midterms to study for, and her dad had an endless amount of dental emergencies to tend to.
“You wouldn’t believe how many people chip a tooth on holiday fruitcake,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “An oral surgeon’s job is never done.” He could see the disappointment in Anya’s eyes. “I’m sorry, honey, but we can’t stay more than a week.”
That was the only part she didn’t like about being a Dance Diva—living 3,000 miles away from her home. The small apartment she shared with her mom in Scotch Plains, New Jersey, was barely big enough for a tabletop Christmas tree. She knew her father would be decking the trees in their front yard with colored lights and blowing up the giant seven-foot-tall inflatable Frosty the Snowman.
“Aren’t you too old for that stuff?” her mom had asked when she griped that their apartment had no chimney for Santa to make his grand entrance on Christmas Eve.
“There’s no age limit on Christmas,” Anya said. “I love Frosty and leaving Santa cookies and milk.”
Her mom held up a box of vanilla ladyfingers. “Think Santa would be okay with these?” she asked. “Or I could make some tiramisu if you’re trying to impress him.”
Anya knew her mom hadn’t been much in the holiday spirit those days and not even a visit from Santa could fix that. Every time her dad called, she went on and on about how cold it was and how many feet of snow was on the ground. Rochelle and her family had invited them over for Christmas Eve dinner, and they said yes, but it just wasn’t the same.
“My mom makes the most awesome sweet potato casserole with mini marshmallows on top,” Rochelle had announced, passing Anya the dish around the dining room table.
Mrs. Hayes blushed. “I’m sure Anya and her mom make a lovely Christmas dinner, too.”
“We do! We have sushi,” Anya piped up. “And borscht—that’s cold beet soup.”
Rochelle pretended to gag. “Eww. Raw fish and beets for Christmas?”
“I’m from Malibu and my husband is from Moscow,” Mrs. Bazarov tried to explain. “We combine our cultures. The kids love it.”
Anya nodded. “I love eel and California rolls.”
“Well, I hope you won’t be too disappointed,” Rochelle’s dad added. “I’m afraid all we have is honey-glazed ham, no eel.”
“That’s okay,” Anya said, helping herself to a slice. “This is yummy, too.”
“Save room for dessert,” Rochelle reminded her. “Apple pie and ice cream.”
Rochelle’s baby brother, Dylan, clapped his hands together in his high chair. “Icy cweam!” he squealed.
“After you finish your peas, Dylie,” Mrs. Hayes said, spooning a few in his mouth. “Veggies first, then ice cream.”
When the table was cleared, Anya carried in a platter of Russian tea cookies she and her mom had baked from scratch.
“It’s my babushka’s secret recipe,” she said, waving the powdery, white doughy circles under Rochelle’s nose. “They melt in your mouth. And I love how they look like snowballs.”
Rochelle sampled one and her eyes lit up. “Amazing!” she said, licking the sugar off her fingers. “Babushka can bake!” She popped another—and another—in her mouth. “What’s a babushka?”
Anya laughed. “My grandma from Russia,” she said. “I know it’s a silly name.”
Rochelle shook her head. “Not that silly. We call my grandpa Pappy Hee-Haw,” she volunteered.
“Not to his face,” Mr. Hayes said, chuckling. “His name is Herman.”
Rochelle was fascinated. “What other Russian words do you know, Anya?”
Anya thought for a moment. While her dad was fluent, she only knew a handful of Russian expressions.
“I don’t suppose you know how to say ‘let’s eat’?” Mr. Hayes asked, trying to wrestle the plate of cookies away from Rochelle. “Rock is hogging them!”
“I think your Christmas sounds cool,” Rochelle said. “Eel and all.”
“It is,” Mrs. Bazarov said with a sigh. “Which is why we miss it so much. It’s the first Christmas we’re not together as a family.”
“But you’re with us.” Mr. Hayes raised his glass, trying to brighten the mood at the table. “And we’re lucky to have you. Cheers!”
Anya raised her water glass and clinked it with Rochelle’s. “Thanks for inviting us, Rock,” she said. “If I can’t be in L.A., there’s no place else I’d rather be.”