Chapter 22
How many dream-come-true scenarios happen in a single lifetime?
I can’t say I ever considered bar trivia and tamales as part of my first kiss script, but miraculously, before we even get to any tough questions, I find myself in a scene I literally have dreamed, at least a million times: a moonlit walk through Christmasified New York, with a girl who makes my heart feel like it’s been plugged into a power outlet and is lighting up a whole block.
And I am all too aware that I’m living one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments.
Also, that it happened without me even doing much of anything.
Before we left the tree lot, we were each given a task to help get to Wade’s on time.
Tía tapped Diya to help her and Hugo store the poinsettias, Cash and Izaac were charged with sprucing up the lot, consolidating the remaining trees to make it look abundant and inviting.
Audra offered to help Carlos break down the truck.
(Apparently she gives Arturo a hand with his food truck side hustle sometimes.) And Carlos gave Eve the duty of heading over to Wade’s to secure our team spot in the trivia battle.
Tía asked her to bring him a tray of tamales while she was at it.
As for me? Well, I somehow pulled the assignment of chaperoning Eve. (“Make sure she doesn’t back out!” Carlos instructed; “Make sure those tamales get to Wade still hot!” Tía added.)
So. Here I am. Somewhere in Brooklyn. Alone with Eve. Nothing but the winter night air and a tray of tamales between us. Every moment has actual potential to be pure swoon. Or… total disaster.
We’ve gone about a block when I start seriously worrying it’s the latter. Eve then glances behind us. Maybe she’s already wishing her way out of this situation. Planning her escape. But then she finally speaks.
“Okay, you do realize Tía is trying to play matchmaker, right?” she asks.
And now I almost fully freeze on the spot while I review the multiple choices for my response:
Hurray, I love that idea!
What? That’s ca-razy! I mean… isn’t it?
Wow, she’s really barking up the wrong tree, huh? Amiright?
I’m about to go with D) None of the Above, and blurt out a charming combination of what / I mean / uh when Eve continues.
“She’s been trying to find a girl for Carlos for ages .”
My blood pressure drops, and I laugh—too hard—to cover up that I thought-slash-hoped she was talking about us, not Carlos and Audra, and that I might get a sense of whether Eve wanted us to be matched.
“I clocked that look the minute Audra walked up. Woman’s got radar for this stuff.” Eve keeps going.
Now that I’m clued in and breathing normally, I perk up. I haven’t even had a chance to discuss the obvious sparks between Carlos and Audra with my friends yet. And if there’s one trope I love, it’s a will-they-won’t-they.
“I mean, she’s not wrong,” I say. “Those vibes were intense .”
“Dude, right? Did you see them at dinner? Like, making googly eyes at each other over the hot sauce? Be careful, it’s hot stuff .” Eve mimics Carlos passing a bottle suavely.
“That was too classic,” I say. “Luckily, Audra is the best, and Carlos seems really great too. So… maybe Tía’s onto something?”
“Yeah,” Eve says. “Carlos is amazing. But I’ll literally kill you if you tell him I said that.” She points a finger at me.
“Wow, death threats? And I didn’t even spill anything on you today,” I say, thinking on my feet for once.
“The night is young, Strudel,” Eve says, carrying the tamale tray in one hand and tossing the end of her scarf around her neck with the other. And I feel a swell of sparkles every time she calls me that.
“So, wait—close your eyes for a second,” she says as we’re about to turn a corner. She shifts the tamales now so she’s expertly holding the tray on one upturned hand like a waitress. Clearly not her first rodeo.
“Okay…,” I say, and do as I’m told. All my other senses are heightened as she takes my hand with her free one and leads me forward a few steps. Her hand is extra toasty from the steamy tin.
“Careful,” she says, then as an explanation, adds, “Ice.”
I barely breathe, as if my life is in her hands. Maybe my heart, too. And then just as abruptly, she says, “Okay, stop,” and then, “Open.”
When I do, I see that she’s led me onto a block that looks like it’s been attacked by a glitter cannon.
There are multicolored lights everywhere—framing doorways and lining awnings, curled around wrought-iron fencings and railings, nets of them draped over bushes and trees—and because of the glistening, wet street, they all reflect off the ground, too.
Between that and the stars in the sky, it suddenly feels like we’re surrounded by sparkles on all sides.
“Woooooow,” I say.
“You like?” Eve asks.
“I love ,” I say.
“Don’t tell anyone I brought you—this is the long way, and Tía would kill me if she found out I was compromising the tamales. But I just knew you’d appreciate it.”
Now that we’re alone again, a memory surfaces—of what it was like to be around Eve yesterday at the farm.
She has another setting—this thoughtful quality that can make you feel like you’re the only person in the world.
And it has such a calming effect on me—like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Some of my nerves begin to fade.
“I really, really appreciate it.”
She gives me another moment to take it in, but when I turn to see her own reaction, she says, “Well, we should keep moving. Trivia waits for no one.”
“Right, of course,” I say, even though I just want to stand there forever with her.
“So, your friends seem chill,” she says as we head back to the main road we turned off.
“They’re the best.” I grin. There are so many stories I want to tell Eve that would prove it, starting with the one about how just this morning at Pag’s, they all came up with the ridiculous plan that led us to this exact moment.
Not that I can ever tell her that. Like, not now, not in ten years, not even in a ’til-death-do-us-part scenario could I admit that this whole thing was about tracking her down.
“Your family seems pretty amazing too,” I say. “And super close.”
“Yeah. I mean, we have to be.” She looks down now. “With my brother especially.”
“So, he doesn’t talk at all?” I ask cautiously.
“Not a word.”
“Ever?”
“Since my parents died,” she says, lifting her head up as if she wants to seem strong right now.
I’ve wondered about Eve’s parents after what she said about her mom in the past tense yesterday, and because it seems like she and Hugo live with Tía and Carlos now.
But the way Eve delivers the information—so matter-of-fact—almost stops me in my tracks.
It seems like the kind of thing you sit someone down for…
I try to play it cool, keep walking, and not change my tone. I don’t want her to regret saying something.
“I know people probably say they’re sorry when you tell them that,” I say after a moment, thinking out loud a little, which is usually scary, but somehow feels okay with her. “But I’m sure that’s not… enough.”
“?’Preciate it, Strudel,” she says a little roughly. “It’s cool. I mean, everybody’s got stuff, right? And I’ll just tell you, so you don’t have to ask. It was Covid. Both of them. Within a month.”
I suck in a breath involuntarily. How many times has she been asked? And when did she decide it was easier just to offer the information?
“Oh, man,” I say, remembering how hard the city was hit by the pandemic.
I consider adding, I can’t imagine . But that isn’t entirely true.
Because I can imagine it, if I really try.
I just don’t want to. It’s too awful. Too big.
Too unfair to lose one parent, let alone two.
And then to lose her brother in a way, on top of it all.
No wonder her belief in Christmas magic has been tested.
So much has been taken from her without her having a say.
“Yeah. And Hugo’s been, like, frozen in time ever since.
He got obsessed with that Muppet version of A Christmas Carol when he was really little, and when he was old enough to understand it was a real book, he begged for a copy.
Made us all take turns reading it to him every night.
And not just Christmas—like alllll year.
It was so annoying.” She laughs at the memory.
“Then he started putting on his own little performances of it every year too—always as Gonzo playing Dickens. He would steal my dad’s sport coats out of his closet, which basically swallowed him, and make us sit on the couch as his audience. ”
“That’s incredible!” I say, imagining the scene—Eve and her family all together.
“My mom and Tía were dope seamstresses. They did alterations and stuff together as a side hustle in the neighborhood. They surprised him with the outfit as a joint gift from both of them, and that special red copy of the book that Christmas—my parents’ last Christmas.” She pauses.
Eve stops in front of a window display. It’s a little gift shop with a still-lit tree in the window—the only light inside the space—surrounded by novelty coffee mugs and key chains and Santa hats. The lights glint off her deep brown eyes.
“He grew out of the original suit years ago, but Tía keeps going, mending some of the old stuff until he’s too big, then making him new pieces from scratch. But one of these days she’s not going to be able to do it anymore…”
Cash comes to mind immediately. Maybe that’s something he could do if they need backup someday. But for now, I search my heart for a more appropriate response.
“Wow,” I say after a beat. “That’s a labor of love.”