The Holiday Switch

by Tif Marcelo

  But what does that really mean?

  * * *

  Christmas Day passes like a vivid dream, from the twins’ early wakeup just shy of 5:00 a.m. so that we can open gifts, through brunch and early dinner, which consists of the usual suspects: lumpia and pancit, fried chicken and ham, bibingka, and Filipino fruit salad. The house is turned upside down, the noise level rises and falls depending on who’s in charge of the playlist, and the fire is kept lit throughout the day.

  It is glorious. And like every year, even those lean years, I am swept up in all of it. There’s no rush, no pressure to be anywhere. There is just relaxing, and lounging, and something I never do during the rest of the year: Napping.

  I’m still in my footed pajamas, though I did wash my face and brush my teeth this morning, and I pulled my Ate card and demanded the chaise part of our L-shaped couch. I lie down on my side and watch Grant, who is playing with his army men on the ottoman in front of the fireplace. Without Graham, he’s much calmer, and watching him set up the little figures is like ASMR for the eyes.

  I was just as methodical with my Legos when I was a kid. I imagined worlds and built them one brick at a time. Yes, I would build them according to the box’s instructions, but shortly after, I’d take it all apart and rebuild it anew. Sometimes I took parts from other sets to put together one new world.

  That’s how I built my high school life. One class, one club, one interest, until something bigger materialized. But while it’s so easy to change your mind with Legos if you don’t like the structure, what happens if you simply want to change your mind about the future? At what point can I switch things up? Is there even such a thing?

  My phone buzzes next to my face.

  Teddy: Merry Christmas

  I blink with heavy eyelids.

  Lila: Merry Christmas

  Teddy: I hate to say it but I miss you

  I gasp, now wide awake.

  Teddy: There’s no one nagging me about anything

  I laugh, and Grant turns to me with a goofy grin. He’s holding up a figurine. Then I have an idea. “Grant, smile,” I prompt.

  His smile grows wider, spanning from ear to ear. I snap a picture and send it to Teddy. This, I realize, is the first photo I’ve texted him, and my mind races. Was that a good move? Our conversations are always laced with a little sarcasm and right now, there’s no hint of it.

  I’m confused about lots of things these days.

  Teddy: Grant, right?

  Lila: Yep

  Teddy: Spiderman

  He was the first up the wall

  Lila: That’s right

  At the birthday party, Teddy called Grant Spider-Man.

  My phone buzzes with another text. It’s a picture of Teddy holding up a Spider-Man graphic novel.

  A. Graphic. Novel. My heart flutters.

  Teddy: Show it to Grant!

  Lila: Are you reading that?

  Teddy: Nah.

  Just bought it to let it sit here on my dresser

  Lila: Brat

  “Grant.” I wave my brother over and show him the screen. “Look.”

  “Whoa, that’s cool!” Grant gives me a thumbs-up. I take another pic of him and send it.

  Teddy: My man!

  Warmth fills my chest. I settle back into the chaise, texting on my side.

  Lila: I have a sister too

  Irene

  Lila: A freshman

  Teddy: Three years apart

  Like my mom and Tita Lou

  Do you both get along?

  Lila: We’re sisters

  It’s complicated

  Teddy: I hear you

  I feel the complication

  Not sure how to handle the complication

  I run from complication

  Lila: Climb you mean?

  Teddy: Touché

  Lila: Your Tita Lou is pretty great

  A text doesn’t follow; Teddy either got sidetracked or he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. Which I understand completely. If the Velascos and Riveras are anything like my family, the need for privacy is paramount.

  I heft myself off the couch and find myself alone. Grant must have wandered off in the middle of me texting, and the house is unusually silent. I make sure that the fireplace door is shut, grab a cup of apple cider, and then, as I’ve been taught by babysitting, wander through the house to locate all of my people.

  Wouldn’t you know, everyone is in their bedrooms. Except for Irene. She’s on my bed, half asleep.

  The first thing that comes to my mind: write a blog post.

  The second thing: I have a new computer.

  It’s still under the tree, so I grab it and open the box. I run my hand over the unmarred, sleek and silver top and open it to a pristine keyboard. And when I press the on button, it wakes with a soothing chime.

  The rest of the installation and updates happen in a breeze. After, I log on to the dashboard of my blog. More comments await my reply, the newest submitted once again from Santa with a View, sent just ten minutes ago.

  Again, it’s a link to the BookGalley internship.

  “What a nag.” Still, I click on the link, which leads me to the page once more. This time, I settle in and read through the qualifications: at least eighteen years old, good organizational skills, interest in books, avid reader, can work with documents and spreadsheets. It’s followed by a simple form, which acts as a cover letter, and a prompt for a five-hundred-word essay, much like the college essays I filled out in the last five months. Finally, there’s an upload button for a résumé or a CV, which I have worked on as part of college prep class last semester. The deadline to submit the application is the twenty-sixth. Tomorrow.

  I am definitely qualified. Especially if I link to my blog as part of my résumé.

  What does it say about who I want to be if I apply? Science versus the arts. Medicine versus writing. While applying isn’t the nail in the coffin, by doing this, I’m pulling all the plywood out. I’m getting the hammer ready.

  It’s tempting.

  Suddenly, the house seems to wake, with one of the twins complaining that they’re hungry.

  It’s the push I need, and the pressure jolts my body forward. With swift fingers, I type in my contact info and cut and paste one document into another. I upload my photo and CV and heave a breath. I’m about to match my name with my blog. There’s no turning back. After I make this connection, I will no longer be anonymous.

  Usually, I only make decisions after tons of research. I consult with others. I take my time. But somehow with encouragement from Carm, Teddy, and even this anonymous Santa with a View, it’s enough.

  I shut my eyes and press send.

  My phone beeps with an email confirmation that my résumé has been sent. All at once my heart rate doubles.

  Holy crap, I did it.

  I did it.

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 26

  Teddy: What are you wearing?

  Lila: ?

  Clothes?

  Teddy: Yeah, thanks smartie. For real

  Lila: Like right now?

  Teddy: No. For dinner tonight

  Lila: I’m not thinking that far ahead

  I’m helping my mom cook

  Mom shoves a spoonful of stuffing into my mouth, successfully distracting me from Teddy’s texts. “Taste this.” The stuffing is just shy of piping hot, and I chew while sipping air. Still, the flavors
pop. Apples and leftover cubes of liempo and onion, mixed in with toasted day-old homemade bread. “Well?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “You think?”

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  “All right, time to put it in the warmer.” Mom sticks the entire stainless-steel pan into the oven, where a ham pot pie and stir-fry green beans already reside. On the stove is a small pot of gravy, just finished, with mashed potatoes. Cooling under tin foil is embutido made with leftover shredded chicken. She eyes her watch. “And right on time for my shower. Can you handle the kitchen until guests arrive?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “How many parties have I helped you pull off?”

  “You’re right.” She cups my face with both her hands and kisses me on the forehead. “I don’t know what I’ll do when you leave for college. Who’s going to help me keep this place a little less chaotic?”

  Except for the dishes piled up in the sink (the dishwasher is already running), the house is party ready. I took my turn in the shower this morning, so all I have to do is jump into fresh clothes when Mom’s all done.

  If Teddy thinks Ms. Velasco is too precise with her opening and closing checklists, he’s going to have another thing coming when he meets my mother, who has every event planned to a T.

  At the thought of Teddy, my cheeks flush. Our texts have been nonstop. But now he’s coming to my house. My. House. “Did anyone cancel?” I ask, wincing on the inside. In truth, I both hope and don’t hope that he decides to come. Texts and photos are one thing, but in person…

  “Still expecting five people. Lou and Teddy, Carm, Frank, and Trish. Super easy guest list.” She unties her apron. “Have you worked with Teddy since you’ve trained him? Is everything better?”

  “What do you mean better?”

  “Irene told me that he was giving you some problems.”

  Of course. I roll my eyes. “She’s such a snoop. How does she even know?”

  “Your siblings are very observant, and anyway it shouldn’t be something you keep from me. I want to be able to support you if you’re struggling.”

  Guilt slashes through me about my sent application.

  I focus on the topic at hand. “It’s fine, Mom. He and I are…good.” Though, as I say it, I consider what our status is. Are we friends? Just coworkers who exchange dozens of messages per day? Conspirators from our shared secrets?

  She hangs her apron on the hook next to the pantry door. “I met him once before, you know.”

  “You have?” I turn and grab for anything to use as a tool for…something. Snapping a paper towel from the roll, I pretend-wipe up the imaginary spills on the stove.

  “When he was a little boy. You were probably twelve? He just turned thirteen. His parents were visiting New York City, and they passed through town to visit Lou. Though that was the last time they visited.”

  “What’s up with them anyway?” I ask casually.

  “The relationship is quite contentious. It’s sad, really. And it always makes me think of you and Irene. I want the two of you to be close, through the ups and downs. Family is all we have.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “Anyway, he was such a sweet kid back then. Very curious, but shy. But now he has earrings.”

  Oh dear, here we go. My parents, in addition to their privacy standards, have somewhat superficial standards when it comes to “proper” grooming and attire. It’s old-fashioned and tiring. I snort. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “No, of course not. And I’m not bothered.” She sighs. “What can I say, I’m always keeping an eye out. You’re my precious girl. And he’s a college kid. A cute one at that.”

  “Okay, you can stop there. I mean, yes, he’s cute but…that’s not everything to me.”

  She half laughs. “Well, good. Anyway”—she hikes her hands on her hips—“shower time. We’ll get to know Teddy soon enough on the mic.”

  I still. The mic, as in, karaoke. “We’re not doing karaoke tonight…are we?”

  Her eyebrows plunge. “It’s part of our tradition. Why is this an issue? You love karaoke.”

  “Because there are strangers coming.” What I don’t say is that I’m almost always somehow placed on the spot to sing. Karaoke peer pressure is real. My dad will insist on a duet, like “Islands in the Stream” or “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life.” He’ll look at me and offer his hand, and next thing I know I’m doing the snake and thinking I’m Paula Abdul.

  “Strangers? Everyone has come to a family party except…” She pauses. “Oh…Oh.”

  “No…no, it’s not an oh. I just don’t feel like singing in front of anyone tonight.”

  “But, honey,” she protests.

  Redirection is the key. “Shower, Mom. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

  It works. She startles. “Ay nako. All right. I’ll be out in about ten. Can you…”

  “Run around and pick up? Got it.”

  Mom heads down the hallway and climbs the stairs, joining Dad, who’s in charge of making sure the twins are dressed and all the bedrooms are clean, as if people will be partying on the second floor.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket.

  Teddy: We’re leaving now. Are you excited?

  Lila: Why would I be excited?

  Teddy: Because you get to spend more time with me.

  Lila: And that is a plus?

  Teddy: For someone who likes Christmas books, you sure are a Scrooge.

  Lila: For someone who likes nonfiction you sure like to make things up

  Teddy: Burn!

  I laugh. And despite my denial, the hum zipping through my body is proving that, yes, I am excited.

  * * *

  It’s not even a half hour into dinner, and Graham and Grant excuse themselves from the table. It’s my cue to stand, because sitting next to Teddy properly extinguished my appetite. The usual ease—and even the casual annoyance—I have with him is nowhere to be found. It’s been replaced by my nerves, which are frayed at the edges. Our texts, the banter, our moment in the climbing gym has created an indescribable energy between us where we can’t seem to look at each other.

  What I can’t stop ogling are his arms when he reaches for anything across the table. He’s wearing a preppy long-sleeve button-down over jeans, with the sleeves rolled up. And the cologne he’s wearing? Hello.

  “Honey, is everything okay? You’ve barely eaten,” Dad says.

  “I, um…” Everyone’s eyes are on me. “I grazed the whole time Mom cooked. I’m going to head to the living room and keep an eye on the twins.”

  “Good idea.” Carm stands with her plate. “I’ll join you.”

  Frank, Carm’s dad, rolls his eyes. “The kids don’t want to be around us. We’re just not cool anymore.”

  “Wait till they’re in college,” Ms. Velasco adds. “They are literally always gone.” She gives Teddy the side-eye.

  I hustle away. I can’t be here for this conversation. I know exactly where Teddy has been.

  Once we’re in the living room, Carm pushes her food around on her plate. “So spill. What’s up? I can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.” She assesses my face. “Except maybe Teddy.”

  “Shh.” I bump her with a shoulder.

  She protects her plate. “Whoa. Watch the goods.”

  “Sorry, but no, it has nothing to do with him.” I stab a green bean with a fork.

  “Liar. Pants on fire. If you were telling me the truth, you’d look straight at me. Did something happen at the train depot?”

  “Nothing happened at the train depot.”

  “Then why the incognito meet-up?”

  “It’s because…” Despite my need to tell her everything
, I hold back. I promised Teddy. “I can’t say.”

  “You can’t say? Or won’t say.”

  “It’s…it’s a secret.” A wave of shame overcomes me.

  She rocks back. “A secret?”

  “And not my secret to tell.” The shame is now to the third power. I have never kept a secret from Carm.

  “So it’s his secret.” She frowns. “Which tells me you’ve gotten closer.”

  I shrug. She’s right, in a way. From behind us, I can hear Teddy laughing with our parents. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

  Carm doesn’t answer and instead takes a bite of her roll.

  “You’re upset,” I say.

  “I’m not upset. You’re just always involved with something else. First you were involved with work, and with your blog, and now with Teddy.”

  Irritation rises inside me. But Carm’s face is scrunched in an expression that tells me she’s in no mood for debate. “What are you talking about? We saw each other every day at school, and when we’ve had time, we’ve done Mission: Holly.”

  “The little we’ve done of Mission: Holly. Which is basically one thing. You canceled on me before you started working with Teddy, then after meeting Teddy, you’ve done three things on the list with him.”