"Like donuts?" he supposes. Gabe tries to isolate the flavor of anise in his memory, but mostly the thought summons up the taste of gingerbread cookies. It's nothing like the exotic-sounding flavors that Ignacio describes.

They sound wonderful.

"We have gingerbread at Christmas. And lots and lots of prayers." He knows now that that isn't anyone's idea of normal except his. "I guess that makes us weird."