28
Robbie looks perfect in a red plaid top and green khakis, just like he wore at the festival. Lips upturned into his dreamy, dimpled smile. I glance at everyone in disbelief before focusing back on Robbie. My heart has started to pound too fast, and I feel slightly ill.
“What are you doing here?” I ask with trepidation.
“I didn’t like how last night ended,” he says. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Oh.” After all the reboots, I almost forgot about our fight last night at the Evening Star. It feels like a million years ago for me, but I can tell from the regret on his face how fresh it is. “Thank you.”
“To make it up to you, I wanted to give you this.” He lifts the bouquet, and I gasp when I see that the flowers are inside the Butt Crack Santa jar. “I heard you broke something?”
My face, no, my whole body warms as my family chuckles approvingly. They can’t resist a corny joke. I gawk at the jar. “But how did you repair it so quickly?”
Robbie places it on the kitchen island and flips it around. I gasp seeing there’s no crack.
He grins. “I’ve had this replacement for years now,” he explains. “I bought another one after I noticed the first one had a crack, but you and your dad seemed to enjoy the butt crack joke so much I figured I’d just let you roll with the original.”
“You’ve kept this tacky cookie jar this whole time?” I ask, unsure of where my eyes should go—to him or to the jar. “Why?”
He leans against the counter and folds his arms over his chest. “My hoarding tendencies don’t impress you?”
“Of course they do.” I smile. But it’s more than that, now that I know the truth about his feelings for me, and how long he’s had them.
I’ve always had a thing for you. It’s like fate.
I swallow. “Thank you for bringing the replacement cookie jar,” I say. “It was really kind of you.”
I trace the new jar, where the crack used to be. I miss the imperfection, but also appreciate the newer version. Things can change, but they can also stay the same. Fortunately, my family has the good sense to give us space, and they leave the kitchen.
My stomach flips as I look at Robbie. Just hours ago (for me, at least) he was engaged to another woman. He has no idea how many versions of us I’ve lived through—how I’ve fallen for him. To him, we met just yesterday after eight long years since our fight when I told him to leave me alone.
And now that we’re here, my belly twists with fear and uncertainty.
Robbie clears his throat first. “I’m not just here about the cookie jar.” He hesitates. “I owe you an apology for more than just last night.”
I bite my lip and nod. “That day all those years ago during the Battle of the Bands. I was wrong. And I’m sorry for pushing you. And then for not having the courage to reach back out. I let our friendship die, and I should never have done that.”
I feel his words solidly in my chest.
“It’s not an excuse,” he continues, “but I was so sure I was helping that day. When you stopped singing after you started dating Dale, I panicked. I thought if I could get you back onstage, everything would be okay.” His voice drops.
“I didn’t realize I was forcing you to do something you didn’t want to do. ”
“All I heard,” I say softly, “was that you didn’t believe in me.”
His gaze holds mine—steady, unguarded. “You have a beautiful voice and soul, Marygrace. I wish everyone could hear you sing. I believed in you so much it scared me,” he says.
“I just didn’t know how to be there for you without trying to fix things.
And when I saw you yesterday”—he runs a hand through his hair—“I wanted to fix things again, Marygrace. I just couldn’t let another eight years go by without saying I’m sorry. ”
My eyes tear up. “I’m sorry, too,” I blurt. “I blamed you for my fear of singing. But the truth is—I stopped doing what I wanted. I thought love meant sacrificing yourself for someone else. Like you said, I was a relationship chameleon.”
He tilts his head. “I said that?”
“No.” Not in this timeline anyway. I revise quickly. “Sorry, um, someone else did.”
He nods. The gentle, encouraging look in his eyes reminds me how he used to always be my safe space. I continue. “But unlike all my boyfriends, you always wanted me to be me. I should have seen how much that meant. How much you meant to me. Still do.”
“You mean so much to me, too,” he says.
His eyes widen as I step forward and put my hand in his. “I missed you, RoMo,” I say.
Slowly, gently he places his free hand on my face. “I missed you, too, MGS.” I relish the warmth of his touch.
“Tita Marygrace!” Ryan pops his head in. “We need the kitchen back for Noche Buena.”
My mom appears behind him, already smiling at Robbie. “You’re staying for dinner,” she says, like it’s not a question.
“You never did let me finish yesterday when you invited me to dinner.” Robbie says, a mischievous look in his eye, “I would have said yes.”
My heart opens like the flowers in his bouquet.
“Then say yes.”
He turns to my mother. “My folks are done for the night—they’ve started bingeing episodes of The Office—so I’d love to stick around here for dinner.” He breaks into a huge grin. “Plus, everything smells masarap.”
I beam. It does smell delicious!
My mom lights up like a firecracker. She grabs Robbie by the arms and motions him into the dining room.
I follow right behind, only to stop in my tracks as soon as I see the rest of my family seated around the table.
After reliving multiple Christmas Eves, finally, I’ve made it to Noche Buena dinner. And with the exact right guy.
“This looks amazing, Mrs. S,” Robbie says. And he’s not wrong.
The dining table glows underneath the room’s crystal chandelier.
At the center is a glittering rainbow parol-inspired centerpiece and a golden, glistening lechon next to a heaping platter of pancit canton, a noodle dish that symbolizes long life, and bowls of steaming chicken adobo and beef kaldereta, their savory aromas mingling in the air.
And the traditional, red waxed queso de bola—cheese ball—sits on a cheeseboard waiting to be paired with wine, which sits on the table for the numerous toasts to come.
“This is better than anything I’ve seen in the city,” he adds. My mom blushes, a proud look in her eyes. She motions him to a chair. “I’ve got an extra plate all set up for you,” she says, “Ten Lords A-Leaping!”
“I weirdly know what that means.” He laughs, catching my eye. The brightness in his look sparks a fire in my chest.
Maybe my future has love in it, after all.
“Who’s got dibs on the first song?” Wit Wit asks after dinner.
We’ve all piled into the living room. The twinkling rainbow lights wink from the Christmas tree, the smell of cinnamon and apple from Mom’s candle fills the room, and the gas fireplace is roaring.
But the real magic for tonight’s entertainment is happening in the corner, where Manny has set up the karaoke machine.
The energy shifts as everyone looks around for the first contestant.
I step forward. “This was my idea, so I think I should go first,” I declare.
Robbie beams at me, and I catch Mom and Juliet clapping silently.
I turn to Robbie standing next to the karaoke machine and smile. “I’ll sing lead.”
His eyes crinkle with recognition. “And I’ll always be your backup,” he says, finishing our childhood phrase.
I stare at him for a beat, wondering if he remembers the song we were singing when we coined that phrase.
It takes a moment, but soon his eyes pop when he realizes what I mean. “Oh! Do you want to sing that one?”
“Cue it,” I practically shout as Robbie enthusiastically punches the code for the song.
My chest swells because my bestie knows exactly what song I’m thinking of. And now, call it an inside joke, but I hope Madam Lunas enjoys me finally belting this song in all its glory rather than being forced to wake up to it over and over. It feels like a triumph. Like I’ve finally won.
My family applauds my choice as the song title flashes on the screen.
“I love ‘Last Christmas,’” Robbie says. “Do you know George wrote it in like an hour?”
“That’s amazing. I can’t even write my grocery list in an hour.” I giggle.
Robbie steps next to me and sparks of energy thrum up and down my body as my shoulder brushes against his arm. I make sure to close the gap between us, holding the mic up so we can both sing.
My stomach does a flippy thing that I have a hard time ignoring as Robbie smiles down at me, looking absolutely stunning. His eyes glow, and his face is washed in a golden light from of the fireplace.
“You ready?” he asks. And it takes me a second to register he’s talking about singing.
I raise my mic, singing the first line of “Last Christmas” in response. Robbie leans forward and sings the next line.
My family cheers even louder. “The glee duo is back,” Manny announces.
“Watch out, RayWit,” Juliet teases my sister and her husband, who currently hold the Silva family karaoke high score.
As the lyrics to “Last Christmas” scroll across the screen, I’m ready to pour my soul into it.
Because this song has been running in my head for days, across space and time through alternate universes—and now I’m bringing it back to my real timeline.
To share it with the boy I’ve had the most history with. The best history with.
I try not to laugh as we sway together, our hips bumping to the poppy beat. Both of us instinctively add the same cheesy eighties-style riff to the song. Juliet and Lisa whistle. Someone else sighs like they’re watching the finale of a Hallmark romance.
Our voices blend in a way you don’t expect but that instantly feels right—like bright peppermint and rich chocolate, different but made to go together.
By the time the bridge hits, Robbie and I are not looking at the screen anymore—we’re looking at each other. Singing to each other. It’s like the old days. Our voices weave together like we’ve been doing this for years.
The final chorus lands full and bright. Our harmony rings through the house feeling warm, and hopeful, and maybe a little dangerous as my eyes flick to Robbie’s lips more times than I care to admit.
We are so close it would be easy to press my lips against his. And as his firm hand covers mine as we grip the mic together, my entire body aches imagining those same hands pulling me close so I’m pressed flat against him.
When the last note fades, there’s a beat of silence before the room erupts in applause. But I’m not paying any attention as Robbie’s gaze is locked on mine, our faces just inches apart.
Manny coughs loudly. “We actually have a second microphone.” He holds it up. “You know, if you do another duet.”
Juliet punches his arm.
Robbie finally breaks the stare, pulling away, his laugh shy and face red.
“Still got it,” he whispers.
“So do you,” I whisper back.
The heady look in Robbie’s eyes reminds me of the time we almost kissed at the tree lighting festival. And I’m right there with him. I bite my lip. I have so much to say to Robbie, but not in front of my family.
I reach for his hand. “How about we catch up somewhere more private?”
The walk to the she-shed is brisk as we rush out of the cold.
I settle on the futon and motion for Robbie to sit down beside me. Apart from the desk and futon, there’s not much space in this shed to be far apart anyway. As he sits next to me, the mere inch separating us feels so close yet also so far.
Robbie whistles his appreciation as he studies the walls plastered with motivational posters. He points at one of the kitten ones. “It’s like a Pinterest board came to life in here.” He laughs. “Is this where they send Silva members to solitary confinement?”
“Just the single ones,” I say. “My mom and Wit Wit had this built a couple of years ago as an office space for Wit’s telehealth work and Mom’s space for her arts and crafts.”
His brows dip. “And are you?”
“Am I what? Crafty?”
“Still single?” he clarifies. “I thought you might be seeing someone.”
I frown.
“That guy you were with yesterday?” he prompts.
“Oh no.” I laugh. “He’s a dentist. Can you imagine me, Miss Extra Syrup in My Snickerdoodle Mocha Chip Latte, dating a dentist?”
Then, remembering the shock of seeing him with Audrey in the last cycle, I say, “I should ask you the same thing.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “No one serious for a while… well, ever, if I’m being honest.”
“Never?” I ask, sitting up and scooching closer to him. “Why?”
“I guess I was always waiting for the right person.” His amber eyes are boring into mine and sparks are flying through my chest like I’m onstage again.
“The right person?” I swallow. “I’m sorry about our past, Robbie. How we drifted apart.” I am nearly choking on my feelings. “I can’t believe you were right there in front of me the whole time but I—” I put my head in my hands. “I’m such an ass.”
He chuckles and gently cups my chin with one hand and grabs my hand with his other. I sniffle as his thumb rubs my knuckles, comforting me. “MGS, you can be a pain in the ass,” he teases, “but I can be, too. We can’t control the past. Only the future.”
“I recently came to the same conclusion,” I say, looking up at him with a grin. I squeeze his fingers.
“So what are we going to do about it?” he asks, peering into my eyes.
“This,” I say, and lean forward and press my lips to his.
I can feel him smile as he kisses me back. His hands wrap around my waist, pulling me close. I sigh, appreciating the comfort of his arms and how he tastes like sugar cookies and mint.
Just before I surrender completely, I take a tiny peek and see on Wit Wit’s cat clock that it’s 12:01 a.m. on Christmas Day. I’m spending the holiday with the love of my life. Thank you, Universe.