by Tif Marcelo
I don’t know what to say. So, I do the thing that requires the least bit of verbal effort. I wrap my arms around her. She stiffens at first, then melts into me. After beats of silence, she says, “I’m still going to repaint your room.”
I croak out a laugh; her comedic timing is perfect. “You have my blessing.”
From her pocket her phone buzzes. Her eyebrows lift. “You’d better log on.”
“Was that an alarm?”
“ ’Course.” She slips her phone out and presses the snooze button. “I learned from the best.”
I snicker. “Not sure who you’re talking about. I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“Aw, Ate. I don’t think anyone knows what they’re doing, but I think you might know what the next step is.” She has a faint and encouraging smile on her face. “You just have to admit it.” She turns me toward the screen. Then she backs out of my room with a final wave. “Kick butt.”
I nod, still with my sister’s words hanging in the air: You just have to admit it.
No more secrets. It’s time.
TINSEL AND TROPES
A HOLIDAY BOOK BLOG
Title: Holiday by the Lake by Charlene Dizon
GENRE/CATEGORY: CONTEMPORARY FICTION
**It’s our second anniversary! Look below this post for a surprise!**
How does one make a true apology?
This is a reread of Holiday by the Lake, which I first read about five years ago. I don’t do very many rereads, because there are so many new books on my list to tackle. But this season begged for a second chance.
The first time I read it, I focused on the romance and the gorgeous setting. I remember being swept up by the author’s descriptions of the town and its people. But this time, what jumped out at me was how the characters interacted—how they fought and apologized. At how real and sincere they were when they did so. Not to spoil it, but these characters were tough on each other, both in the past and in the present, and I wondered—would that friendship have held up in real life?
In a lifetime, a person can have a spectrum of friendships. Some lifelong, and others, not so much. Some remain lighthearted throughout, and some run deep from the jump. There are the friendships you make by choice, and some made by happenstance. Many of these friendships tend to fizzle out. Even though it’s a romance, Holiday by the Lake is about two people who have to decide if all their struggles are worth their friendship.
In all ways, it’s about a second-chance relationship, my most favorite trope!
Do I recommend this book the second time around? Absolutely. Not only does it have a happily-ever-after—and was adapted into one of the best movies of all time—but it’s a reminder that we have to try to apologize when we do something wrong.
Pros: Twin timelines are so fun! Just when you have a question about what happened in the past, it jumps backward in time.
Cons: If you watched the movie first, then it will be hard to separate the movie from the book.
Recommended for: Everyone
Rating: 5 stars
***
Happy second anniversary to us! Tinsel and Tropes started with me wanting to spread the word about books I love. I decided that my identity would be anonymous because I wanted to protect my and my family’s privacy. Over time, I liked the fact that this blog was less about me and more about the books I read.
But here’s the thing: If you read the posts carefully, this blog really is most definitely about me. In the last two years, this has been like my diary, even if I hadn’t realized it at the time.
So, my name is Lila. I’m the book blogger behind Tinsel and Tropes. While I won’t get much more personal than that, I am ready to admit that this blog means so much to me, and I no longer want to keep it a secret. And I want to celebrate it by giving away a special holiday book box to one reader! Below is a pic—feast your eyes on these five-star reads!
To enter, please leave me a message with the title of your favorite holiday book! I’ll announce the winner January 4th at 5pm EST. International okay.
Thank you, loyal readers, for hanging in there, and for reading this blog even if I didn’t give it the credit—or give myself the credit—that it deserves.
MONDAY, JANUARY 3
The long hand on the grandfather clock clicks to the twelve, and the bell chimes nine times.
I pace and cross my arms over my chest. And despite the crackling fireplace and the warm sweater I’m wearing, I’m feeling cold and unsettled.
Yesterday ended better than it started. Martina Flowers from BookGalley was cheerful and encouraging, and we talked about Holly and my blog, and what I wanted to get out of the internship.
I love books, and I want to know if I can do something with that, I said.
And: Yes, I think I’m now ready to go public as the Tinsel and Tropes author.
Then, after my half-hour-long interview, I hid back in my bedroom and finished Holiday by the Lake and untangled all my thoughts on my blog.
No more secrets.
But right now, my mind’s not on that.
Teddy’s competition starts in one hour.
I can picture his face, etched in worry. And I wonder who will be there in the crowd to watch him. Did he tell Ms. Velasco about the competition? Did he and his parents make up?
I’ve got you too.
I meant those words, and it feels wrong for me to be here, at home, instead of there, cheering him on. Even at our family’s lowest point, when we thought Dad’s business might be gone forever, when they were living in fear from the doxing, I knew, no matter what, my family was there for one another. It’s why these last couple of days have been so hard—being at odds with my parents makes me feel like I’ve lost a part of myself.
My phone buzzes, and I fumble it out of my pocket. Among the dozens of comment notifications from Tinsel and Tropes left by supportive and encouraging readers, there’s an email from BookGalley. Yesterday, Martina informed me that status updates would be emailed soon, though I didn’t expect it this early.
“ ‘Dear Lila,’ ” I read aloud. “ ‘Thank you for your application. After consideration, you will advance to the next round of interviews.’ ”
I clutch the phone against my chest. I made the next round.
My first inclination is to text Teddy. But I know we can’t fix things over text. Because I need to apologize too. I need to own up to my part.
But there are two other people who I need to tell ASAP.
So I make a pot of coffee while running through the facts in my head. With the phone in my back pocket, I enter my parents’ room with two steaming cups, where Mom is perched on the bed and Dad is walking out of their en suite bath. I set the coffee down at each of my parent’s side tables.
Then I sit down at the foot of the bed, and I hand Mom my phone.
She stares at it for a beat. Then her eyes get big.
“I made it to the second round. And seeing it, that I made it even this far? It makes me want it more. I want to do this internship, Mom. But even if I don’t get it, I think I can write. I take it back—I know I can write. Not just blog posts, but maybe other things. Maybe essays, maybe short stories, maybe books. It doesn’t mean premed is over and done with, but maybe I can do something in addition to it? I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out. But I hope you can support me.”
My mom is silent, but she reaches for her cup. Then she looks up at me through her lashes, eyes shiny. Tears dot her cheeks.
My mother never cries. She’s hard as nails.
This spurs me into my prepared speech, except my feelings flow out instead. “I know I lied. I’m sorry I lied. I get you’re mad, and if the tables were turned, I would be too. But please know I won’t keep something like this from you ever again.” I take a deep breath. “I knew that g
oing public with the blog would change everything, and it has. But I’m still so proud of it. Writing makes me happy.”
The silence that follows feels like it lasts forever.
“I’m so proud of you.” Mom’s voice breaks at the end of her sentence.
Her words bring me to tears. “Still?”
“Still? Always. Because of who you are: conscientious, thoughtful, sympathetic, empathetic. I’m not mad. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, that I took you for granted. I should have checked in with you more, and asked, and listened. Those blog posts. They said so much, and they were just…lovely.”
“You read them?”
“Every single one. And I don’t want to miss a single post again. I want to be the first to read everything you write. I want to be here whenever you need me too.”
Dad reaches over and clutches Mom’s hand. “Iha, we’re private, but we have reasons for that.”
“Dad.”
“No, let me say what I need to say.” He holds up a hand. “And even though we had our struggles, I don’t want you to live in fear, or in doubt. We want for you to have the life you want, to study the things you love, and to be the person who you need to be. And…we don’t want you to think it’s your job alone to get you where you want to go.”
Mom reaches for my hand. “You are not a burden. Your dreams aren’t burdens either. Dad and I want the honor of figuring this out together, with you. So whenever your financial package posts, whenever it’s time to move you into school, we’ll be with you at every step. So congratulations, Lila. BookGalley would be so lucky to have you.” Mom sets her cup back on her side table and leans in to hug me. Her embrace is solid and comforting, and I sniff into her shoulder until my heartbeat calms. “I hate to cut this short, Iha, but don’t you think we have to go?”
“Go?” I back away. It’s then I realize that both my parents are not in their pajamas, but in jeans. Dad’s wearing a fleece sweater and is grinning ear to ear. “You mean Teddy’s competition?”
“Of course.” She stands. “Lou called us last night and invited us. And we always show up for family.”
“He did prove himself at karaoke,” Dad adds.
Have I already said that my parents are supportive and that Ms. Velasco is the best, ever?
I check my watch. Only forty minutes until his competition begins. “Let’s go.”
* * *
With fifteen minutes left—it’s like herding cats to get the whole family moving in one direction—we hurtle into the Climb Holly parking lot. There’s no free parking spaces, so Dad swings by the front and I jump out with the twins and Irene. We trudge through the wet snow and fly into the building through the metal double doors. The music is concert-loud, but my focus is solely on finding Teddy. My gaze flits over the people near the boulders, at the competitors idling on the mat.
“I don’t see him, Ate.” Grant jumps to try to get a better look.
“Climb on my back, Grant,” Graham says.
“Do you want me to sneak up front?” Irene offers.
Where is he?
The drive here, as short as it was, felt like it took longer than 364 days to next Christmas. I should have been in this gym already. I should already be in the first row. I should have taken his call two days ago and found a way to have our hard conversation before this competition, so he would know that—
“Lila?”
My gaze slides to the direction of the voice in front of me.
Teddy emerges from the crowd, wearing a tank and shorts. His hair is slicked back, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face.
“Teddy.” My body moves toward him; my first instinct is to throw my arms around him, but I stop short. “I…Good luck today.”
“I’m glad you came.” Finally, thankfully, he smiles.
It’s all the permission I need, and I wrap my arms around his torso. “Teddy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told your aunt. I was mad, and shocked—”
“No, it’s me who needs to say sorry. I should have never told Tita Lou about your blog. I was trying to cover up my own secrets, and I rambled on and accidentally let your secret slip instead. But I’m done with secrets. Not between us, not with my aunt or with my parents.”
“Same. Same times a million.” My face aches from smiling so hard.
His hands rest against the nape of my neck, and his expression changes to one of relief. “You’re really here.”
“I promised I would be.”
His voice lowers. “I read your blog post this morning. It was so…great. I really like you, Lila. I’m in awe of you. I know we have a lot to talk about. I finished Holiday by the Lake, and what you said about friendship and apologies and forgiveness, it was all so honest. Can we try this again?”
“Do we have to go through the whole train Teddy phase?”
“No, though I wouldn’t mind reliving the first thing on the Mission: Holly list.”
I soak him and this whole moment in. “Who needs a pier anyway?”
“I don’t.” Teddy lifts my chin with a finger and presses a kiss to my lips. Irene clucks and my brothers croon. But I don’t have time to be embarrassed, because I’m too wrapped up in him.
An announcement filters through the speakers, and it catches Teddy’s attention. “I have to head up.”
“Okay, but one more thing. I made it to the second round for the internship selection.”
His face brightens, like the clear blue sky after a snowstorm. “No way.”
“Way!”
He hugs and twirls me, until his friends pull him away. It’s chaos, but he yells back, “There might be some seats up front. Call for me, so I know where you are.”
“You’ve got it. Good luck!”
A beat later, he’s off toward the mat, where he disappears into the crowd.
* * *
It takes cajoling and pleading to squeeze myself and my family through the crowd, but we finally find seats close enough to Teddy. He’s dusting his hands with chalk as he waits his turn.
At the moment, there’s someone else on the boulder, a guy in a red tank. He crawls up the yellow footholds. He extends arms and legs and grips and grunts. Then he pauses with his left hand and left foot in holds. He reaches toward a seemingly out-of-reach hold above him.
His fans cheer and encourage him as he attempts the move. But Red Tank falls short, landing on his feet, and the crowd groans in disappointment.
On the sidelines, Teddy is shaking out his ankle. His expression is serious. I push down all my worry, and instead find my voice.
“Teddy!” I yell.
He doesn’t turn. He’s looking in the other direction, toward someone else calling his name. When I scan the crowd, I find Ms. Velasco waving, and next to her is a man and a woman. I drag my gaze back to Teddy, who’s waving back.
Teddy’s parents. They have to be.
When he faces the boulder once more, I try his name again.
This time, he turns in my direction.
“Right here!” I yell.
He finds me in the crowd, expression grim. I know that he’s thinking about that reach, that switch in hold. I think of the moments when he’s encouraged me. And the one thing he said when I climbed up a wall the first time. I round my hand over my mouth and yell, “I’ve got you!”
Teddy grins. His smile is so big, it spans ear to ear.
Finally, he’s called to the boulder. A beep sounds, and a timer begins. I watch him as he maneuvers the climb with precision. His muscles contort with every move. Next to me, my siblings are screaming, directing, cheering. Dad’s clapping. Mom covers her eyes with a hand.
Teddy arrives at the final hold before he has to catch air. I keep my eyes on him. I can’t blink.
With my hands covering my mouth in a silent wish, I
watch Teddy reach for that hold, and he makes it.
FRIDAY, JANUARY 7
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: tickets to Wonderhill!
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” I grumble and creep to the edge of the snow hill. In full snow gear, I peer over. KC and Seb just made it to the bottom of their run—they’re cracking up trying to climb out of their snow tube. Carm is at the bottom of our run, standing next to Aiden. She’s waving, as if that’s going to encourage me to get on this thing faster.
Teddy hefts the two-person snow tube, and it slams against the snow. “This is going to be epic.”
“What if I just turn around and go back down the stairs? No one will know any better. See?” I point; the four are dragging their snow tubes back to the waiting area.
“I mean, you can do that, but then you’ll miss out on the last thing on your Mission: Holly list.”
“I can live with that.”
His eyebrows lift, and he gives me a knowing look.
I huff out a breath. “No, no, I can’t.”
Teddy offers a hand, and I take it. Though there are layers of fabric between our palms and fingers, I still feel his warmth.
Teddy leaves Holly tomorrow. Though he’s not due back in Syracuse until mid-January, he’ll spend his last week of break in California. Now, armed with a third-place medal from his competition, his next challenge is making peace with his parents. They actually flew in to the Finger Lakes after their phone call on New Year’s Eve, and even though Ms. Velasco and the Riveras still have a lot of stuff to work through, I know they’re going to be all right.
But I’m not worried about us. Syracuse is a short drive from Holly. And I have my own stuff to figure out in the meantime. Like the internship, which hasn’t been announced yet (even though I’m keeping my fingers crossed!), and my major, which I think I’m going to switch to undeclared. We’re still waiting on my financial aid offer (any day now, the school said), but I did sit down with Mom and Dad to work out the cost of my academic year with my merit-based scholarship and the college fund they saved for me. That alone lifted the pressure off my shoulders—they’re on my side, and whatever happens, they’ve got me too.
