“I have to line up for fruits, Rickie,” Lexi tells me. (Yup, she calls me Rickie now. It took some time to get used to, but now it feels quite right.) “Can we please split up? You and Diego can go get the milk and cheese. This way, we’ll actually get to finish before Christmas.”
I laugh. She hands me a list, and Diego and I make our way to the dairy section. Diego keeps sneaking random stuff into our cart, and I’d turn around to see a huge bag of mint candy, a can of macadamia nuts, or a six-pack of beer. “You’re not helping,” I snap. “Cut it out.” And his standard pre-schooler’s reply, as he returns the unnecessary items to the shelves, is “Let me go look for scissors.” I roll my eyes at him and shove the list to his chest. “Those are the only things we need,” I tell him. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Okay, okay,” he says. “You’re the boss.”
I punch him on the arm as hard as I can, and our shopping cart swerves and crashes straight into someone else’s. “Sorry,” we both say at the same time.
“No problem,” a familiar voice says. We both look up. Jaime is grinning at us, looking startled but pleased to see us. I shoot Diego a deadly look that says, Ikaw kasi eh, and he shrugs and says, “What? YOU punched me.”
I haven’t seen Jaime since that night in Katipunan. He looks different—even better, I guess. His hair is a bit shorter, and he seems to have grown taller. On his head is a yellow baseball cap I helped him pick out when we went shopping months ago, while we were still dating. He holds a list twice as long as mine, but he doesn’t look tired or stressed at all. In fact, he looks happy, the way he should be.
“Hi,” I say, smiling. Diego asks, “What’s up?”
“I’m almost done,” he says, gesturing towards his overflowing shopping cart. “Man, if I knew the crowd would be this crazy, I wouldn’t have promised my mom I’d do this.”
“Yeah, well at least you’re finished,” I say. “We’re not even halfway through.”
“That sucks,” he says. “So, how are you guys? I haven’t seen you in a while.” I wonder if he misses me, because now that I am over him enough, I can admit that sometimes, yes, I do miss him. I think missing someone you liked in the past is normal, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your present. I think anybody who says they don’t miss their exes and pseudo-exes at all is a big fat liar.
“Great,” I reply. Oh, what the hell, it’s Christmas. On Christmas, you tell the truth, that guy with the placards in Love Actually wrote. So I continue, “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” he replies. He looks at both me and Diego when he says this. And then, maybe because we’re already being so honest here, his gaze travels back and forth between me and Diego, and he asks, “So, the two of you... Are you...?”
“Oh,” I say, blushing. “No, no, no.”
“No,” Diego repeats. “No, no.”
Jaime laughs. “Oh-kayyy, guys. One ‘no’ would have been enough.”
Diego and I look at each other sheepishly. Jaime notices the sudden awkward tension, and laughs again. “Well, I better get going,” he says. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say. The warmth in my voice and the smile on my lips come as a surprise to me, and I realize I’m actually happy that Jaime seems happy. Standing in the middle of a crowded supermarket, watching him walk away after months of not seeing him or talking to him, I silently wish him well. And I mean it.
“Merry Christmas,” Diego echoes. He puts an arm around my shoulders and asks cautiously, “Are you okay?”
“I am,” I say, knowing that this is the whole truth and nothing but. “Come on, let’s get all this shopping done.”
A few hours later, Diego and I sit under the Christmas tree in my living room, wrapping presents. My gift for him—a new lomo camera and rolls of film—is stashed beneath the couch. I smile in anticipation of the look on his face when he opens it. He’s been wanting to get into lomography for months, but has never had the chance to. I bought a camera for myself, too, so we can try out this new hobby together. I can’t wait.
Present number one is for Bryan: a black shirt with hot pink print that says “I’m With the Band,” except the word “band” has been crossed out and replaced with “The Hot Frontman.” It’s slightly baduy, but Bryan will definitely see the humor in it, and will wear it with pride. I make a mental note to ask him to take a photo beside Gabriel when he wears it for the first time.
Present number two is for Anna: a set of brightly-colored pajama tops and bottoms she can mix and match. Lately, I’ve been scolding her for becoming too complacent with Miguel, too lazy to dress nicely and fix herself up for him when he comes over to visit her on weekday mornings. Granted, Miguel has seen her in her rattiest clothes many times before and doesn’t seem to mind her looking like she just rolled out of bed, but I remind her it’s still important to look good, even if she and Miguel have known each other forever. My gift actually strikes a compromise: she can roll out of bed and still look decent. She’d probably complain that I am being too shallow and superficial again, but I’m sure she’ll thank me afterwards.
Present number three is for Chrissy: a recipe book of authentic Indian dishes. Her dad, a chef in a restaurant, has been teaching her his special cooking techniques, and she’s been slaving away in the kitchen during her free time and making us her guinea pigs. The way to stay in a man’s heart is through his stomach, and I was able to fish from Nathan that he is a big fan of Indian cuisine. I figure he’ll fall even deeper in love with Chrissy if she can whip up his favorite dishes. Someday, when she becomes a world-famous chef, she’ll remember her friend Rickie, who has supported her from the very beginning of her culinary career.
Present number four is for Mom and Dad: a new set of luggage from me and Lexi, for their out-of-town trips. I’ve come to accept their constant traveling instead of always whining about their absence. Besides, they’re always just a phone call or an e-mail away.
Present number five is for Lexi: a lovely brown coat, for when she goes off to France to study next fall. When she first told me she was leaving, I wanted to beg her not to go. I wanted to tell her she couldn’t just jump on a plane and fly away from me, especially now that we’re actually getting along. I wanted to tell her I was worried we’d drift apart all over again, that I needed her to be with me. But I realized what she does with her life is ultimately her decision, and that the only thing I can do is to want what’s best for her, too. “We’ll keep in touch,” she promised me. “Think of all the hotties I’ll be meeting! I can e-mail you photos and you can take your pick, like in a catalog, or an online shopping site.” I laughed. I realized there was nothing for me to be worried about—I am not losing my sister. She will always come back home. She has to; this is where her heart is.
Mom walks into the room and hands me a box of Christmas ornaments. “The tree still looks a bit bare to me,” she says. “Please put these up.”
“I’ll get the ladder,” Diego volunteers. “I can start while you finish wrapping your gifts, Rickie.”
“Thank you, Diego,” Mom says. She turns to me. “I have to buy wine for tomorrow night. Will you two be okay here?”
“Yes, Mom,” I say, getting up to kiss her cheek. Diego does the same. “Bye, Tita,” he says.
Diego and I work in silence, and when I am satisfied with my gifts, I line them up in a row, their shiny wrapper reflecting the light from the tree. This calls for a celebration. “I’ll make us hot chocolate,” I tell Diego, heading for the kitchen.
“Don’t forget the marshmallows,” he reminds me.
I notice a note on the refrigerator door with my name on it. In Lexi’s neat handwriting, it says, “There is a box of double-fudge brownies in the bottom shelf from Stan. You can put them in the microwave for ten seconds, they’re really good when they’re gooey!” I do not know who Stan is—isn’t the new guy supposed to be named Sam? I shake my head, wondering how she does it. Maybe I should ask her for pointers on how to get boys
to like me without acting like a slut? I scribble back, Who is Stan? He better be cute. ;-) So many admiring boys, so little time.
I set down the plate of warm brownies and the two mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows on the dining table. “Your snack’s ready, Your Royal Highness!” I call out to Diego. He yells back, “Let’s finish decorating first. Get your butt in here now.”
I obey, and start hanging up ornaments on the bottom half of the tree. The top half still has bare patches, and I try standing on a stool, but it is old and made of plastic and I don’t think I want to spend the holidays on crutches.
“Hey, quit hogging the ladder,” I tell Diego, who has started whistling a happy tune.
“I’m not hogging anything,” he corrects me cheerfully, reaching down to pull me up. He lets me climb a couple of rungs above him so my head is about an inch higher than his. “Oooh, what does this switch do?” I ask, pressing a button attached to the lights. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” begins playing, and the lights blink in sync with the music.
“Cool,” I say. “Does it change songs? Maybe there’s another button somewhere.” I lean forward to look, and the ladder wobbles. I let out a shriek.
“Whoa,” Diego says, holding on to the wall and grabbing my hand to steady me. When the ladder stops moving, he still doesn’t let go. We look at each other. “Why are you still holding my hand?” I ask.
He smiles. And then he actually stands on tiptoe to kiss me, lightly, on the lips. I feel giddy and dizzy, and I am aware that if this ladder ends up toppling over, we will both have a lot of explaining to do. We continue looking at each other, before he says, “I’m starving.” I laugh and say, “Well, your brownies and hot chocolate are waiting for you, Your Majesty,” and he replies, “Nice work, peasant.”
This moment is the ending. Let’s end it clean, and let’s end it well. Let’s end with this dreamy scene: the two of us on top of a ladder, the music playing softly and slowly, the glow of lights surrounding us. Let’s end by saying that the way I feel for Diego is something I guess I have been feeling for a while now, and that it is strong and scary enough to make me want to run away, but also real and wonderful enough to make me want to stay. Let’s end by saying that this Christmas, anything is possible. Let’s end by saying that on Christmas, you tell the truth. Diego smiles and says, “See? I told you I was in love with you.”
This moment is also the beginning—a brand-new chapter in the life I have only recently learned to live. Let’s begin clean, and let’s begin well. Let’s begin with what really matters.
Let’s begin with this: He jumps down from the ladder and holds his hand out to me. I take it, and take the leap.
About the author
Marla sends hugs out to everyone who wrote her letters, left her comments, and supported the books in this series. She doesn’t need much to be happy—just quiet weekends with her family, people who let her think she’s funny even when she’s not (which is most of the time), and friends who stay up all night with her during intense, slightly-panicked writing sessions. She likes curling up with a David Levithan novel, typing the very last word to a story, and baby-sitting her two little boys, Macu and Cisco. She thinks being Candy Magazine’s Assistant Lifestyle Editor is pretty cool, and loves the fact that she gets paid to watch chick flicks, listen to her fave bands, and stalk her celebrity crushes. Marla is decidedly anti-flings. Not that she’s judging.
Every Girl's Guide to Flings (Every Girls Guide) Page 8
