The Holiday Switch(43)

The whole table cheers, and even Dad leaps from the table. Mom follows us to the family room with her bowl and takes a corner of the couch. Irene and the twins sit cross-legged next to the tree, as do I.

It doesn’t matter that I’m eighteen. Right now, I might as well be the twins’ age.

“You all know the rule,” Mom explains, as she does every year. Tomorrow morning, we’ll get Santa presents, presents from other families, and the kid presents to one another—or, my and Irene’s presents to everyone else—but these Christmas Eve presents are from Mom and Dad. It keeps it special, keeps it about us.

Each one of us is given a package. One I know about, because we get this every year. We all dig into the wrapper with gusto, and wrapping paper flies everywhere.

    “This is exactly what I wanted!” Next to me, Irene shrieks and lifts up pajamas printed with bacon and eggs all over.

We’re talking all at once. Graham’s pj’s feature dogs of all breeds. Grant’s have army men. Dad has spectacles printed on his, and Mom’s has nurse’s hats—which she picked out.

These yearly pajamas are a mainstay. And each year, Mom outdoes herself.

These pajamas are footed.

“Your turn, Ate!” Graham yells from the hallway. He’s halfway undressed and peeking around the corner.

“Patience!” I laugh. Under the tissue paper is fuzzy fabric, and when I lift it out of the box, I notice the print.

They’re stethoscopes.

“It’s perfect!” Dad says. “For our future doctor.”

Future doctor.

It’s a statement I’ve made time and again. I even said it earlier this week, to Teddy, when he asked me what I wanted to major in.

But now, for some reason, it feels like a true commitment. Even more than it was to declare it on my applications as my intended major.

“Put them on, Ate,” Irene says, already in her pajamas.

“Oh, okay,” I say, snapping out of it. You’re being dramatic. I hustle to my bedroom to change. The fabric is ultrasoft. Looking in the mirror, I see an overgrown toddler reflected back. Except I’m not. I’m an eighteen-year-old wearing footed pajamas. An eighteen-year-old with a secret I have yet to divulge. And why haven’t I done so?

    All this time, my blog, my writing identity, was just a hobby, something separate. But is it more? And what do I do with it?

My phone buzzes on my desk, interrupting my thoughts. It’s a requirement to leave it at home for Mass, so I check my notifications. There are lots from the blog, some texts, and one message from Teddy.

After seeing him at the climbing gym yesterday, I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind, nor could I erase the memories of him standing so close.

Teddy: So I guess I’m coming over for dinner?





Startled, I text immediately.

Lila: When?





Teddy: Day after Christmas Your parents didn’t say?





No, they hadn’t. Ms. Velasco always comes to our Leftover Christmas party every year on the twenty-sixth. It’s when everyone brings a repurposed leftover to help ease their refrigerator.

But it didn’t dawn on me that Teddy would be coming over too.

“Mom?” I set the phone facedown and rush downstairs. The family is seated in front of the fire, five out of five in their footed pajamas.

“We’ve been waiting for you. Do you like the pajamas?” Mom says.

    Oh, duh. We were still in the middle of presents. “Yes, I’m sorry. I…The zipper got stuck. I love it. Thank you.” I bend down to kiss each of my parents on the cheek. I’ll ask them about the party later.

“Before you all open the rest of our presents…” Dad stands, and despite looking very silly in his footed pajamas, his face is serious. He sticks his hand in the tree and pulls out the box.

My eyes dart between him and Mom. “For me?” she says, as if he doesn’t give her a present every year.

He nods.

She opens Dad’s present, and her face beams when she sees it. “Arturo.” She lifts up the mother’s bracelet, four strands of our birthstones strung into one. “You didn’t stick to the budget we discussed. This is not twenty-five dollars!”

He wraps it around her wrist and gently clasps the ends together. “Sometimes rules are meant to be broken.”

“I love it.” Mom throws her arms around Dad’s neck.

For a moment, they seem to melt into one another. Irene leans toward me and snuggles into my arm, and with that, all my worries are washed away. This is what Christmas is all about. Even when we didn’t have any money for gifts, we never lost this. At our lowest point, who we are as a family remained. The important things don’t change.

“Now it’s the kids’ turn.” Dad pulls gifts from behind the tree. One by one, he hands us a package. Mine is a solid, heavy box.

The mood ramps up, and the four of us dig into the wrapping paper. My siblings squeal. Everyone is yelling, but I can’t tear my eyes away from what’s in front of me.

It’s a brand-new laptop. “Oh my God.”

“You’ve been working with the same laptop for a while, and since you share yours with Irene most days, we thought it was time for a new one to bring to school,” Mom says.