3 #2
An image of the seven-year-old version of Robbie, when we were friends, comes to mind. “Actually, Robbie came up with Butt Crack Santa,” I say, picturing him clutching the jar as his glasses fogged up. “He was so horrified the crack would offend my folks, so he offered to replace it.”
“Music Boy, again?” Juliet muses as she hands me a tissue from a red-bowed box on the coffee table.
After eight years apart, it is odd that Robbie has popped back into my world so completely. “It’s unavoidable. We have history that’s all.”
She bites her lip and I know that’s Juliet holding back her words. I’m relieved when her smile returns. “Speaking of Music Boy and history.” Juliet nods toward the TV, her eyes on the karaoke machine sitting nearby.
“Your mom told me that Libby and Ryan were battling it out when you left this morning. Looks like you might have competition for your reigning title.”
“They can have it.” My face reddens. “You know I haven’t sung since high school.”
Not since senior year and the Battle of the Bands competition.
“Sure. Keep denying yourself.” Juliet pinches my elbow. “One day you’re going to sing in front of people again.”
I purse my lips. Doubt it.
“No way! Is it karaoke time?” As if on cue, my big brother Manny bursts into the room, removing his beanie and running a hand through his wavy dark hair.
The smile that never leaves his face is even brighter.
His wife Charity cheers as she slips in after him carrying baby Leah.
Her petite figure is swallowed by her large blue ombre puffer coat.
She’s followed by my nephews Riley and David in matching red sweaters.
Their curly dark hair bounces as the two of them run straight by without a word toward the basement, where the Nintendo is set up.
“You mean Die Hard time,” I say. I grab the remote and open the Netflix app, distracting him with his favorite Christmas movie. Manny grins. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Other family members fuss in the hallway, greeting each other and removing coats and shoes.
“Mimi!” Mom announces as she hustles through the front door.
In her white puffer coat, she looks every bit the triumphant hero as she holds up a red Christmas stocking with a large green letter L.
“Good news. I found an extra Christmas stocking for your date. You said his name was Lloyd or Luke, I can’t remember,” she admits.
My stomach churns as she gazes at the sock like she’s admiring my artwork I used to give her as Christmas presents when I was a kid.
She always said I was talented even though my toilet-paper-tube sheep would be missing an eye, or my gingerbread house looked more shack than house. Singing was my preferred art form.
I don’t remember ever mentioning my ex’s name to her.
My palms feel damp like I’m leaking nerves.
As she shows Tita the stocking, my mom looks absolutely radiant, her dark hair styled in a chic bob and brown cheeks glowing from the cold outside.
This is not surprising for a woman who, up until I was fifteen, had people assuming she was my sister.
Of course, since she was the matriarch of our home, I never had any issues with seeing her as the head of our household while Dad worked long hours at the hospital.
If there was one woman whose approval I craved, it was my mom, who’s always held me and my siblings to a high standard.
Which is why the news about her adding a Christmas sock for my ex is a hard blow.
The thought of admitting to her that he’s not coming is unthinkable.
“What do you think, Marygrace?” Mom grandly walks over to the fireplace and hangs up the L Christmas stocking over the mantel between my jewel-toned sock and Juliet’s nutcracker one. “I think it looks great!”
I swallow. All I can do is nod stiffly.
“But there’s more!” With a flourish, Mom pulls a small object out of her pocket. My heart warms. It’s a little graduation cap ornament with the year printed on it. She attaches the ornament to my stocking. “A master’s degree and a new boyfriend, Mimi. Congratulations, anak!”
The room bursts into cheers. I survey the rest of the family milling about our kitchen island, and the joy on their faces reminds me of their standing ovations at my Christmas concerts. Even Manny does his loud whistle thing.
Mom beams. “We are so proud of you for graduating your master’s program, Mimi. We’ll have a special toast for you and your date at tomorrow’s Noche Buena dinner. I only wish your father were here.”
I wipe a tear from my eye. I wish the same.
I give her a quick hug, forcing myself to smile even as I make panicked eyes at Juliet over Mom’s shoulder. Now I definitely can’t tell her my date cancelled.
When the rest of the adults return to the kitchen, I wiggle back between Juliet and Lisa on the couch, wishing I could just sink into it and disappear.
“Now I have to find a date with a letter L name,” I mutter to Juliet as I point at Mom’s new Christmas stocking. “I need to be on my A game at the party. I’m so glad you’ll be my wingwoman tonight.”
“Actually, Mimi…” she says.
I groan. I know that regretful tone of hers. She’s going to bail on me.
I glare at Juliet. “I thought you were coming with?” I suck in a deep breath as our moms return to the room with toothy grins and hot mugs of tea.
They find a seat on the sectional. Mom settles in an armchair near the fireplace.
When Lisa clears her throat, I know something’s up.
My body quivers with a mix of joy, anxiety, and shock all at once.
She’s about to drop something big. I can feel it.
Juliet reaches for my hand. “Marygrace, I wanted to tell you at the bookstore, but it didn’t seem like a good time.” She pulls out the Once Upon a Shelf tote from earlier today. I hold my breath as she pulls out two books.
I gasp seeing the titles: 100,000+ Baby Names and What to Expect When You’re Expecting.