25
Here she is!”
After breakfast, Juliet sweeps into the living room holding baby Kristy nestled in her arms and dressed in a My First Christmas onesie that’s so sweet, it could cause Leo’s worst nightmare: cavities.
I jump from where I’ve been sitting on the couch snuggling with Libby and reading her a story. Leo follows from where he’s been helping Ryan put together his Christmas Eve gift of a Lego dinosaur.
We all coo at the baby’s outfit, complete with tiny embroidered candy cane feet.
Little Kristy lifts her chin and blinks up at me with the same dark, joyful eyes and soft curls as her mom. My whole chest swells.
“Juliet,” I whisper, reaching out eagerly to my cousin. “She’s perfect.”
“I know.” My cousin beams. The moment Kristy’s in my arms, I cry with delight as she gives me a gummy, easy smile like she’s known me forever. Joy fills my body, warm and uncomplicated.
Leo steps beside me, draping a hand on my back. “Someday that’ll be us,” he says with a grin. “I can’t wait. Can you imagine how fun it will be to have kids, Marybells?”
My stomach is in knots, but I force myself to nod. I think I want kids, but not now. And not with him.
“You’re always saying how cute your clients are at your speech therapist job,” he says. “Wouldn’t it be great to have kids of your own? And then you wouldn’t need to put in so many hours at the clinic.”
My eyes go wide. I have the job of my dreams, but he’s already trying to take it away from me?
“Or not…” he says, reading my face.
“I’m not ready to give up my career for kids,” I say. If I’ve learned one thing in these time loops, it’s that I will make my decisions about my life. No one else.
“Sorry—” he begins, looking crestfallen.
But not even Kristy can rekindle the joy in my heart right now.
“You okay?” Juliet asks with a pointed softness, her brows lifting, her gaze flicking between me and Leo.
I force a smile that I know she can see right through. “Yes, my stomach is just feeling funny.”
“Can I get you something?” Leo asks. “A Pepto or—”
“No,” I say, a little too forcefully. Then I clear my throat. “No, sorry, I just need a little time to myself.”
And with that, I gently hand Kristy back to her mother, and then I’m on autopilot as my feet take me to the one place that used to be my source of escape.
The door to my old room opens with a tiny, familiar creak.
I inhale oak furniture, worn books, and the soft linen scent of Mom’s favorite laundry detergent.
Warm afternoon light filters through blue curtains, just like it did on countless afternoons when I would lock myself up in here with a notebook full of song lyrics.
The space is of course different now, absent my stuff and filled with my brother’s kids’ backpacks and scattered toys. A red holiday tutu is draped over the desk chair, a superhero hoodie tossed onto a cream rug.
I sink onto my old bed, which is now covered in my mom’s holiday plaid comforter. I chuckle. Even the mattress dips just the way I remember.
I fold my legs beneath myself and stare around the room. This is where I used to stew over crushes, agonize over auditions, and dream about the life I wanted. All that time, how did I miss Robbie’s feelings for me?
I’ve always had a thing for you, he said.
And worse, how did I miss my own feelings for him?
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
“Mimi? Are you in there?” Mom’s voice echoes through the door.
“Yeah,” I call, tucking my knees to my chest, feeling like a teenager all over again.
Mom fills the doorway in a green gingerbread house sweatshirt. She’s not a large person by any stretch, but I’ve always thought of her as larger than life. At least, she’s had a huge impact on mine.
She steps inside, taking in the room with the same fondness I had. I scoot over, making space for her on the comforter. She pats my knee. “Thought I might find you up here,” she says quietly. “When you disappeared as a child, this is where I’d find you.”
I swallow. “Still is, I guess.”
Mom gives me a gentle, knowing smile. “How are you, anak? Is everything okay?” she asks softly. “I thought you’d be happier this year.”
My lips quiver and the dam holding up my emotions is dangerously close to breaking. The time loops, my exes, Robbie. How can I explain it all to my mom?
Quiet fills the room and Mom rubs my arm. It was always like this. She was comfortable to wait in silence, inviting me to share my feelings. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know where to start.
“Mom.” I clear my throat, my fingers tracing absently on the comforter. “How did you know Dad was the one?”
She pauses, then chuckles softly. “Ah… your dad.” She shakes her head fondly. “I don’t know there was a single moment. We met and we just… were.”
She shrugs, like it’s that easy.
“It all started at the Filipino festival downtown,” she continues. “I was trying to get halo-halo because it was ninety degrees and I thought I might melt. And your dad—this handsome, polite boy—stepped in line behind me.”
“Handsome?” I tease.
“Oh, don’t act surprised. Your father was—how do you kids say—a ‘thirst trap’?
” Mom nudges me and I roll my eyes. “Anyway, after maybe five, ten minutes, we fell into talking about our favorite Filipino dishes. Before I knew it, we were talking about everything. School, family, music, what we wanted to do with our lives. He was very easy to speak with.”
I smile, remembering. “Dad always called it the ‘hello-hello’ story.”
“Of course he did.” Mom chuckles. “He said that his favorite dessert halo-halo was the thing he needed to give him the courage to say hello to the girl he wanted to marry.”
Our laughter fades into a softer silence. I squeeze Mom’s hand, feeling the empty places in the house where Dad would’ve been, cracking a joke, telling that story for the hundredth time.
“He loved this time of year,” Mom says quietly. “The Noche Buena dinner, everyone together, the cooking, the laughter…”
My throat tightens. “I miss him.”
“I do, too,” Mom whispers. “Every day. But talking about him like this helps.”
For a moment, we just sit, leaning into each other.
“So, you fell in love because Dad was easy to talk to?” I ask, turning to her.
Mom’s smile widens in a way that’s both knowing and wistful.
“It wasn’t one-sided, anak. I loved listening to him, too.
I wanted to know his thoughts about big decisions and even small ones like what type of toilet paper to get.
” She laughs softly. “Even when we argued, I never wanted anyone but him.”
I pick at a loose thread on the comforter. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course,” Mom says.
“You stopped working when you had us kids,” I say, thinking about every iteration of myself that’s given everything up for the man I’m with. “Did you never feel like you were giving up a part of yourself to be with Dad?”
“No.” Mom shakes her head gently. “We both gave things up. That’s what partnership is.
I stayed home because that made sense for us at the time.
If I’d gone back to work, he would have taken on more at home.
But it was a balance. You should find someone who balances with you, inspires you, lifts you up.
Not someone who expects you to be their idealized version. ”
I brush the tears from my cheeks. Balance. Someone who lifts me up. I only have to think about singing with Robbie onstage at the tree lighting to know that’s what he would do for me. That’s what he’s always done for me.
Mom touches my knee. “If you don’t love Leo—really love him—you should do something about it now. It’s not fair to yourself… and it’s not fair to him. I think he’s wonderful, but I don’t want you settling for someone just so you’re not alone. I want you to be happy, Mimi. Always.”
A shout echoes from downstairs—it’s Tita Pinky telling her the oven is preheated. Mom and I exhale at the same time.
“I need to go or dinner won’t be ready tonight,” she says. She smiles ruefully and stands. “Think about what I said, okay? Maybe talk to your heart a little… sometimes happiness is all about perspective.”
When the door closes behind her, the room settles back into silence.
I frown, thinking over her last words to me.
Didn’t Madam Lunas mention something about changing my perspective?
I let out a shaky breath and lean back, staring at the ceiling, head racing and heart pounding with everything Mom and I discussed. Talk to my heart a little, she said.
My gaze drifts to my old bookcase. Something sticks out from the bottom—a faded journal I haven’t opened in years. My heart leaps; at this moment, it’s calling me. I walk over to the journal and flip it open.
Inside is the handwritten title: MGS + RoMo Music
As I flip through the pages, tears form in my eyes again as I see the lyrics—messy, hopeful, and scribbled in different pens. The handwriting getting more legible over the years.
I stop at the song “This Christmas.” The song Robbie wanted me to sing at the tree lighting. I smile as I trace my fingers over the words.
My heart aches at the sincerity, and then my body tingles with excitement. I wasn’t ready to sing this song with Robbie at the Christmas festival—and I wasn’t ready to finish it then, either. But now, staring at this piece of paper in front of me, I think I know exactly what I want the song to say.
A tiny laugh slips out of me. Happiness has been in front of me this entire time.
Robbie’s the one guy who has been there in all my futures, who has consoled me, laughed with me, cared for me.
Of all the men in my life, Robbie is the only person who I can be myself with—after all, he was there in each scenario.
Not only does he care for me, but he was always encouraging me to be me.
Madam Lunas said the love of my life was someone I had history with, and there is no other way to describe what I have with Robbie.
She also said it was up to me to pick the love of my life.