The Holiday Switch(38)
Lila: Right…
Teddy: Bloggers tend to navel gaze.
Lila: Sort of like how climbers are only worried about their climb.
Teddy: There’s nowhere to go but up.
Lila: So that makes you…?
Teddy: Focused. Determined.
Lila: Self-centered.
Teddy: Ha. And bloggers are?
I think about it.
Lila: Thoughtful, introspective.
Teddy: Equally self-centered.
Lila: Blogs are supposed to be self-centered.
They’re my words.
Teddy: Just like climbers are supposed to be focused on their own climb
I growl, and yet, under all that, my body hums from the energy of our text banter. Is it silly to admit that I’m going to miss our in real-life banter now that we’re no longer working together?
Teddy: Anyway, that’s not why I’m texting.
Lila: ?
Teddy: Can you cover my shift tonight?
I need to climb
I laugh. Still, I’m grateful, even if I already have plans.
Lila: I’m busy tonight Sledding at Wonderhill, and we already bought tickets
“Ate!” Irene yells now, at the top of her lungs. “Please!”
I grab my wallet from my desk and stuff my phone in my back pocket.
As I slip into the driver’s seat of my car, Irene’s lips curl into a grin. “What’s up with you?”
“What?” Breathless from the cold, I blow into my gloved hands and then turn on the ignition.
“You’re so happy.”
My eyes dart upward to the rearview mirror. Sure enough, I have a grin on my face.
* * *
Teddy: So when you blog a review, how do you decide when something is a half-star? Stars don’t exist in halves, do they?
I’m staring at Teddy’s next jab. We have been sparring over text for the last three hours, all through Christmas shopping. I’ve just walked into the house, Irene at my heels with bags of presents. Pulling off my beanie, I scatter beads of water on the floor. “We’re home!” I scream down the hallway at the twins and my mother, wherever they are. Then I lob my next text comment.
Lila: How bored are you that you’re thinking about my blogging instead of your climbing?
Teddy: Actually climbing > blogging
Lila: Intellect > Brawn
“Ate! Help?”
I look behind me—Irene’s stuck in the doorway. I’d shut the door on her, so engrossed in my texts. I double back to open it. With her puffy jacket, hat pulled over her eyes, and two bags in each hand, she could pass for a taller Randy, Ralphie’s little brother in A Christmas Story.
Once she’s inside, I inch up her beanie to expose her eyeballs.
“Thanks a lot.” She’s glaring at me as if I haven’t given her the time of her life. I was pretty much a cabdriver with all the stores I took her to. It’s actually quite impressive that she saved enough money to buy presents.
Resourceful, that one.
“You’ve been glued to your phone all afternoon.” She hefts the bags onto the kitchen table, grunting.
It’s no use pretending I haven’t been. “It’s work.”
My phone beeps, and my heart leaps. What is up with me? Am I in such need of company and friends that I look forward to verbally sparring (either in text or in real life) with my ex-nemesis? But I grab my phone anyway and read the text. Still Teddy.
Teddy: So if you had a recommendation for the first holiday book to pick up, what would it be?
I snigger. Yeah, right, he’s interested.
Lila: Quit teasing
Teddy: No. I swear.
“Work. Suuure, Ate.” Irene shrugs out of her outer layers and lets them all drop on the floor. It’s my absolute biggest pet peeve. Because who ends up picking up after her? Me.
“You can’t just leave your stuff here, Irene.”
Mom walks in—she’s already in her scrubs, and she’s fiddling with one of her teddy bear earrings. “Hi, girls.” She kisses Irene on the forehead—my little sister scuttles away, of course—and does the same to me.
I glance at the clock. “It’s only five.”
“Honey, I’m going in a little early. The evening shift’s short-staffed. Can you take the twins to a birthday party?”
“I have sledding with Carm. What time?”
Mom pulls a frown. “Six-thirty. I already RSVP’d and they will be so disappointed if they can’t go. And Dad’s working late since it’s crunch time at the shop. I would want you to stay at the party too. You know how rowdy your brothers get sometimes.”
“Um…okay,” I say as I scoop up our clutter so Mom can maneuver her way through the kitchen. There’s no real choice here. With both parents working, I have to step up.