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seemed. I was trying to get home before my twin brother, Oscar, even though I knew he would run home ahead of me. That way he could sneak into the kitchen and take inventory of the afternoon sweets. At eleven years old, I might have been taller — but he was, without a doubt, faster. Particularly when sweets were involved.
    Today’s afternoon tea, la hora del té , was a special one. Aunt Cecilia and Aunt Morena were coming to join us. Of course, teatime was delicious every day of the week. But it was especially delicious when we had company. Only then would Abuela Elena buy alfajores de dulce de leche . And today, after eight-nine days of deprivation, I would finally satisfy my craving. My mouth watered at the thought.
    â€œHola, querida,” Abuela Elena greeted me, then took my coat and hung it next to Oscar’s. He had, as I’d predicted, arrived before me. I washed my hands quickly and went to kiss my parents and aunts who had just sat down at the elegantly set table. After I took my placenext to Aunt Morena, Elvira appeared in her starched white cap and apron through the kitchen door, with a steaming silver pot of English tea.
    â€œLeave it on the tea cart next to me, Elvira,” said Mamá.
    As soon as Elvira went back to the kitchen, Mamá prepared each individual cup with experienced grace. I saw her lace the perfumed tea with thin ribbons of cold milk and spoonfuls of sugar while I craned my neck to peek at the plate of sweets behind the centerpiece. But the large bouquet of roses hid them well.
    Mamá served the tea to Oscar and me last. Then, as always, she passed the plate of tea sandwiches around. After that, she passed around a plate filled with buttered toast. And when everyone had their fill of tea sandwiches and toast, it was finally time for the sweets.
    As Mamá lifted the serving dish with tiny brioches and sweet scones, I saw the unimaginable. I looked again in case I had seen wrong. But I had not. In the middle of the sweets plate there was only one alfajor! Aunt Cecilia took the dish, chose a scone, and ceremoniously passed it on to Abuela who served herself a brioche. Neither of them touched the lone sandwich cookie. I could not take my eyes off of it. Papá took ascone and handed me the rest. As I held the plate in my hands, time seemed to stop. My whole body ached for that alfajor . But one look at Mamá and it was clear I had no choice. Her silent gaze firmly warned me against improper manners at the table. I knew exactly what she was thinking: Guests come first. So reluctantly, I handed the plate to Aunt Morena. I knew she had a sweet tooth as big as mine, and I expected her to take what I had dreamed of eating for so long. But she didn’t. Then, the plate had barely reached Oscar when the worst possible thing happened. With a single quick movement of his hand and a sneaky smile, Oscar raised the cookie to his lips — and gobbled it up!

    I gave Mamá a stricken look.
    â€œElvira,” Mamá called behind her. “Bring more alfajores, por favor .”
    But when Elvira returned from the kitchen, she was empty-handed. “Señora,” she whispered, “there are none left.”
    I stared, dumbfounded.
    â€œWhat?” asked Mamá. “Did you not buy half a dozen?”
    â€œWe bought the last four at the bakery,” said Abuela.
    â€œThat means there are three left!” I blurted out.
    â€œThey’ve disappeared, Niña Susana,” Elvira apologized. “I looked everywhere in the kitchen and couldn’t find them.”
    â€œI wonder what could have happened to them,” Abuela mused.
    Oscar, who had been quietly savoring the last bit of milk-caramel cookie started to cough. He coughed until Abuela excused him and led him to his room. It looked fake to me. I figured he wanted to get away for some reason. But why? Abuela came in through the hallway and instantly disappeared into the kitchen.
    My aunts kept