Winds of Change

Alex Barrett stared at the plate of cookies on the table in front of him like they were land mines. He’d grown up knowing that his family’s Christmas gatherings were practically synonymous with sugar overload—gingerbread men, snickerdoodles, sugar-dusted shortbread, chocolate crinkles, and those famous chocolate-covered marshmallow Santas, not to mention all the grease and red meat—Christmas feasts at the Barrett household could put Henry VIII and his court with their lavish banquets to shame. It was always mouth-watering and tantalizing—a feast for the tastebuds and a feast for the eyes. A guilty thrill used to accompany every sweet he popped into his mouth, but now, it just made him queasy thinking about it.

“Alex, are you even listening?” his sister Chloe asked. She was holding up a particularly sparkly snow globe featuring a snowman that spun when the button on its base was pushed. “I was asking if you think our nephew will like this?”

“Oh—yeah, yeah, it’s great,” Alex replied, distracted. He pulled his cardigan tighter, leaning back in his chair as his stomach grumbled. Cutting back on sugar and everything delicious, really, was far more of a struggle than he’d anticipated. 

Chloe raised an eyebrow and placed the globe back on the table. “What’s with you lately? You’ve been off since Thanksgiving.”

He sighed, staring past the holiday decorations to the string of twinkling lights around the window. Chloe knew about the stress he’d been under at his job at the law firm. His boss, Viviane Vaughn, was notoriously demanding, assigning tight deadlines and dropping last-minute "urgent projects" without so much as a warning. That pressure had led Alex to form some truly terrible habits—stress eating junk food in the car on the way home and collapsing into bed without so much as stepping on the treadmill he'd bought last year.

When his doctor ran a routine checkup in early December, the news wasn’t good. His cholesterol was through the roof. The word "prediabetic" came up in the results conversation. That particular wake-up call had felt like being hit by a freight train.

“I went to the doctor last month,” he said at last. “LDL’s off the charts. A1C’s 6.4.” He let the numbers sink in before adding, “They’re calling it prediabetes.”

Chloe’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God, Alex.”

“It’s bad,” he admitted. “Too much greasy drive-thru stuff. Too much candy—no thanks to Viviane and her 60-hour workweeks. That woman seriously needs to chill—maybe even Netflix. Maybe that would mellow her out a bit.”

“Well, that explains why you turned down Grandma’s pecan pie,” she said. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “How are you holding up? Like… do you need help or anything?”

Alex chuckled weakly. “What help could there be? It’s Christmas. Everything in this house is a giant ball of carbs.”

“That’s kind of true,” Chloe conceded, glancing over at their mom and grandmother bustling in the kitchen with heavy cream, butter, and flour for their traditional Yuletide pudding. “But there’s gotta be ways to make this better.”

As much as Alex appreciated her optimism, he wasn’t so sure. Sure, he’d cleaned out his apartment of temptations—goodbye to the candy stash in the pantry and the cans of soda in the fridge—but resisting treats brought by well-meaning coworkers had been torture, let alone Christmas at the Barrett family home. It was starting to feel like the universe was conspiring against his health.

He turned back to the glittering snow globe, twisting it absentmindedly, when he heard Chloe clear her throat. “Okay. Here’s the plan. You and I are making a new dish. Something good for your heart.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “Are we? Because I’m pretty sure you don’t cook.”

“I can learn,” she said, standing and tossing him her car keys. “You drive me to the grocery store. We’ll hit the salad section or whatever you’re allowed to eat, and we’ll figure this out.”

Alex found himself looking skeptically at a kitchen counter covered in kale, walnuts, pomegranates, and low-sodium chicken broth. “This feels sacrilegious,” he muttered. 

“Nonsense,” Chloe said, pulling out a well-worn recipe binder with a flourish. “We’re pioneering new traditions. Behold… this heart-healthy kale salad with roasted vegetables. Even if it kills us to look at it, Mom and Grandma will be thrilled you’re participating.”

With a sigh, Alex helped her prep the vegetables, tossing the kale, carrots, sweet potatoes, and onions in olive oil and seasonings. He admitted the vibrant mix wasn’t entirely unattractive as he spread it onto a baking sheet.

For the next hour, they maneuvered around the kitchen in what Alex privately referred to as “choreographed chaos.” His grandmother scolded them for taking up oven space while Mom cheerfully offered tips for roasting. When the salad was finally ready and spread out on a serving platter, Chloe whisked together a lemon vinaigrette to drizzle over the top, her brow furrowed in determination.

When they presented their creation at the table alongside the family’s usual indulgent fare, the reaction was mixed. Mom clapped her hands in approval. Grandma pursed her lips. Uncle Rick scoffed at the lack of butter. But Alex? Alex felt strangely victorious. 

“Can I try some?” asked his 10-year-old nephew, Drew. 

“You’ll hate it,” his sister assured him. 

“Will not!” Drew took a bite and then made a face, but he didn’t spit it out. “Okay, it’s… okay. Not great, but not bad.”

“I’ll take it,” Alex said, serving himself and digging in. It wasn’t Grandma’s pie, but it was satisfying—and satisfying on his terms. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel like the only guy in the room trapped by his health. Instead, he felt like he was doing something.

That evening, when Chloe walked him to his car, Alex paused to hug her tightly. “Thanks for this,” he said. “It’s probably the first Christmas meal I haven’t regretted in years.”

“Anytime,” Chloe replied. Then, with a sly grin, she added, “New tradition next year: kale lasagna.”

He groaned but laughed along. Maybe the new season ahead wouldn’t be so bad.