The Holiday Switch(69)

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 going 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?