The Holiday Switch(30)
I crawl out of bed, careful to avoid treading on Irene, who had another one of her vivid dreams. She can’t fall back asleep after she wakes up from one, and at least once a month she drags her blanket and pillow next to me, first on the bed when we were much younger and smaller, and now on the floor.
Today is the last half day before school ends for winter break. I cannot wait to be able to sleep in.
I pad into the kitchen, where I turn on lights and turn off the exhaust vent light—it’s our night-light for anyone who wanders into the kitchen—and make my oatmeal, start the coffee, and bring out cups for my parents, an automatic thing. It’s one of those lessons they taught us: bring out yours, bring out others’ too. Mom should be walking into the house soon from her night shift, and Dad’s probably in the shower.
Sure enough, moments later, Mom pushes open the back door. The cold wafts in with her bright smile. “Iha. How sweet!” she says as she kicks off her clogs. After hanging her coat, she steps into the laundry room to get into her robe, which she keeps right at the entrance, and washes her hands so she doesn’t bring in germs from the hospital.
“And timely.” Dad enters, smelling like his cologne, and kisses me on the forehead. His chin is smooth, unlike at the end of the day, when his five-o’clock shadow is as rough as pine tree needles. He’s wearing his That’s A Wrap polo, with a name tag lanyard blinged out with pins.
“You’re tired.” Mom’s turn to kiss me, this time on the cheek. She examines me like I’m one of her patients. “You’re working too hard. What time did you come home last night?”
“The Aguilers didn’t get back from their date until eleven. So I didn’t come home until almost midnight, and I couldn’t sleep until about one.”
Mr. and Mrs. Aguiler are what you call the young couple type. They have three kids under the age of five—Micah, Dustin, and Penelope—who I babysit about every two weeks. When the two go out, it’s not just for a quiet dinner—they party like they’d been caged animals in a zoo. They come home sweaty and red-faced, and the PDA is over the top and embarrassing. Who wants to see the people you work for nuzzle into one another? (Not me!) It’s so different from how my parents are, who are chaste in public and even around us kids.
They love their privacy in all forms.
“Thought I heard you typing on your computer late last night,” Dad says pointedly. He’s a light sleeper.
I grit my teeth and brace myself for the next question.
Mom holds her coffee cup to her lips. “I hope you didn’t spend all that time online. I don’t like it when you…what do they call it? Doomscroll?”
“I wasn’t doomscrolling, Mom, and no, I wasn’t online.”
Because technically I was working on my blog post offline before I cut and pasted it to the dashboard.
“We know you’re eighteen, but—”
“Mom. Please.” We’ve had this conversation countless times before, and it’s only seven in the morning.
“Psht. Don’t talk back to your mother.” Dad takes a sip of his coffee with a grin.
It’s the role we play. Mom lays down the law, and Dad pretends to back her up, when he’s really just trying to stay out of trouble himself.
I mumble, “I’m sorry.” Because I am sorry that I got caught. Also, by apologizing, she’ll drop the subject. When I’m working my normal hours at the Inn, I can reliably write up my blog posts at the gift shop. But now my schedule’s a mess with Teddy’s training plugged in haphazardly. So, my room has to be it.
Thinking about Teddy reminds me of his weird request, that we should get together to talk. Whatever that means.
I feel a gentle pressure against my ear. Mom is pulling at my bedhead strands of hair and tucking them back. “I’m sorry. It’s just that we worry. It doesn’t mean we don’t trust you. It’s because I want to protect you. And online…it’s messy out there.”
“Mom, I think I’ve been online longer than you.”
“I know.” Her gaze darts up to Dad, then back to my face. “But it doesn’t make it less impactful. I know it’s not all bad. There’s good in it for sure, but I worry that if you get lost in it, well…just be mindful of your choices about what to share and when. Privacy is still very important.”
She doesn’t have to say the rest. I don’t want her to, because what we both know, and what Dad knows better than anyone, is that, for our family, the internet has brought more bad than good.
But my blog is different. First of all, it’s anonymous, and secondly, it’s so small that no one even knows it exists. And my blog gives me a way to express my emotions, even if it’s simply my thoughts around a book.
Still, I don’t argue because there’s no point. Eventually, Mom yawns and heads upstairs to rouse the rest of the family.
Dad grabs his coat. “I’m off.” He gives me another kiss on the forehead. “Good luck with finals today. Are you working tonight?”
“No. It’s a Mission: Holly night.”
“Good. You need a break.” He takes a few steps and slaps his flat cap on his head. “By the way, thanks for your idea on a mom’s necklace. I ended up finding an alternative.”