The Holiday Switch

by Tif Marcelo

  But he’s got me. I can’t take off until I know, for sure, what kind of information he has about my blog. I also can’t leave him with a bad impression that he can take to Ms. Velasco.

  “Now that we got the sparkler bit out of the way.” Teddy half laughs, though his expression has tightened.

  Guilt settles in. “Teddy, I didn’t mean…Well, I did…but I wish I hadn’t said it.”

  “It’s okay.” He gestures to the food. “Be my guest.”

  “I’m not hungry.” And yet, my tummy grumbles so loud that the table vibrates. It’s the bacon. Me and bacon are like icing to sugar cookies: there’s no such thing as too much.

  “Sure? I can’t finish all of this, and consider it a thanks for bringing my phone to me this morning. And for putting up with my sparkler attitude at work.”

  My tummy growls again, overshadowing my embarrassment. Reluctantly, I take a piece of bacon and place it onto my plate.

  “Look. My feelings aren’t hurt, Lila. I know I haven’t been, I dunno, excited about working shifts with you. There’s just a lot going on right now.”

  I nod, taking a bite. His honesty endears me to him a smidge, enough that I relax into my seat.

  “Wanna try a marshmallow?” he says after he takes a bite of a sausage link. He pushes the plate toward me, and then he grabs a marshmallow, skewered by a short stick, examines it, and slides it off the stick with his teeth.

  I do the same. It is an interesting combination of sweet and savory and a crunchy outer shell with gooey insides.

  “The verdict? Recommend?”

  “Actually, it’s not so bad,” I say, licking my bottom lip.

  “It might be a little too greasy for me.” He sips his drink.

  In my periphery, the servers gather in a group and stand shoulder to shoulder. When the jukebox track changes to Wham’s “Last Christmas,” they sing along and do a coordinated dance.

  Teddy shakes his head. “Holly is…”

  “Don’t say weird,” I warn, my hackles rising.

  “You don’t think it’s odd that this entire city is holidayed out because of one movie?”

  “No. Doesn’t every place have its quirks? Besides, I live and work here, and so do you, at least for now. It’s not such a bad thing, to be around people who lean into the holiday cheer.”

  He makes a noise.

  “Was that…was that a grumble? Are you a Scrooge? Is this your shack?” I tease.

  “Har-har.”

  I can’t help but smile into my pancakes.

  * * *

  We eat in surprisingly companionable silence sprinkled with small talk. I am famished; perhaps my defensiveness walking into Scrooge’s was due to basic morning grumpiness. It was thoughtful of Teddy to order enough food for two, and with no other side comments about my phone, I decide that Teddy doesn’t know much more than he’s revealed.

  Once I’ve taken the edge off my hunger, his words about my missed texts catch up belatedly.

  “So…do you have any ideas on what my dad should get for my mom for Christmas?”

  He takes another sip of his drink. “Last year my dad gave my mom a mother’s necklace. It had a charm of my birthstone. She loved it.”

  The idea’s a good one—Jubilee’s Jewels down the street displayed a similar necklace. “I like that, but my parents make it a thing where they set a low budget for their gifts. It’s supposed to, quote, ‘spark their gifting creativity.’ Those are my mom’s words. Last year, they capped it at five dollars, and she got him stationery so he could write letters to her. My mom loves getting handwritten notes, and I guess she missed it.” The memory makes me smile. Their gift challenge began the year Dad’s business closed. It was an especially lean year, and somehow they didn’t make a big deal of it.

  It might have been one of our best Christmases ever.

  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that you don’t miss an opportunity to make a point.” His lips curl into an honest-to-goodness grin.

  It’s a dare, so I challenge him. “Do you mean when I’m right?”

  “Exactly.” Teddy pauses, like he’s come to an idea. “So how would you rate Scrooge’s Shack? Five stars or four?” He forks a piece of pancake and examines it.

  It’s a strange question, but his tone is sincere. “A five. I’ve eaten here since they opened, at least five years ago. I’ve never had bad food, not once.”

  “How about the customer service?”

  “Definitely a five. Did you see how fast my powdered sugar showed up?” I peer at him. “Why, are you putting up a review somewhere?”

  “Nope. Just wondering.”

  “Okay?” I scoop another helping onto my plate. With the jukebox in a lull, the brief dead air is deafening. “Next subject. What’s your major at Syracuse?” When he shoots me a questioning look, I add, “Ms. Velasco told me.”

  “Ah.” He nods. “Business.”

  “Do you like the school?”

  He shrugs. “It’s all core classes right now, so I’m coasting.”

  “Mmm.”

  “What’s mmm for?”

  “Nothing, just that you’re so…” I wave my fork around and try to work out the description in my head. What’s a good description for Teddy that won’t insult him? “…whatever.”

  “And you are perhaps…”

  “Not that.”

  “Ah.” He forks another pancake from the platter and drops it onto his plate. “You’re a not that who takes powdered sugar on her pancakes instead of syrup.”

  “Which indicates?”

  “That there’s more to your not that.”

  Now I’m lost. “Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?”

  He laughs. “It’s whatever you want it to be, Lila. It’s simply an observation, much like you’ve made about me. Because I can tell, you don’t like me very much.”

  The way he says this spears me with a lightning bolt of guilt. “I…I don’t know why you think that. I haven’t done anything to you.”

  “But you don’t agree with the things I ask or do.”

  “There’s a difference between correction and disapproval,” I say. “And I correct.”

  He chews and laughs. “Nope, you disapprove.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Okay.” He smiles this wide grin that’s both disarming and placating all at once. Because we both know that he’s made his point—there’s no hiding that our personalities aren’t in sync. “So what are you planning to major in? I bet you applied to ten colleges all early action. With the way you follow my tita’s checklists, I bet your life is a spreadsheet.”

  My face heats—am I that transparent? But at the same time, I’m proud of all I accomplished. Organization is, after all, my strong point. “Eight. But I got into my first choice.” I take a sip of my water to clear my thoughts. “Syracuse.”

  He looks up, eyes crinkling, and he beams. He looks almost as happy as when I saw him at the climbing gym. “Nuh-uh.”

  “Yep.” Pride seeps into my tone. “For bio.”

  “Huh.” He sips his soda.

  His reaction is curious, but I go on. “Then hopefully right into medical school.”

  He nods, still sipping.

  “That must be a good drink.”

  “Oh, ah, yeah.” His phone—his actual phone, now that we’ve swapped back—lights up. It takes all of me not to look at what weird new text he received. Then it buzzes a second and then a third time.

  “Do you mind?” He gestures.

  “No, go ahead.”

  He scrolls up and chuckles. Then he glances up for a beat. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I wipe my fingers on my napkin. “Wow, we took
that family platter out.”

  “You’re a good restaurant date.” His eyes widen. “I mean, not a date, but you know.” He clears his throat.

  Is that shyness I detect? Whatever it is, it sends my heart into double time, adding to the emotional whiplash of our roller-coaster conversation.

  Which means I need to get out of here. This is wrong, all these feelings, whatever they are.

  I reach out to grab my phone, but as I do, his hand beats me to it. My hand hovers over his, and though we’re not touching, tingles run up my arm.

  “Wait. Before you go.” His lifts his gaze to me, and I still. Then, slowly he withdraws his hand.

  I clear my throat, my gut now screaming at me. “What’s up?”

  “I wasn’t sure how to bring this up. I’ve been sitting here, thinking that maybe I shouldn’t because chilling with you has been okay, but there’s no way I can’t. Lila, I know. And I know that you know.”

  His words are confusing, to say the least. I frown. “What you just said was a whole lot of I knows, but not much else. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He grabs his soda glass and wipes the condensation with a thumb, his jaw muscle working.

  In the silence I wonder: How does one get a jaw muscle? Does he do jaw exercises when he tones his shoulders and back muscles? Was that something he built up slowly at the climbing gym?

  “Are you listening?” Teddy’s eyebrows are raised.

  “No.” Shaking my head, I try again. “I mean, I don’t get it. You’re going to have to give me a little bit more to go on.”

  He sighs. “You aren’t sly, Santos. I saw you and your friends at the climbing gym. Spying.”

  Tiny microbeads of sweat build up at my temples. “What climbing gym?”

  His eyeballs roll back for a beat. “The one you went to last night.”

  “Mmm.” I tap my chin to distract myself. Because distraction is the key while I try to sort out my alibi. “Last night? Nope. Not me.”

  He sighs. “The three of you were hard to miss.”

  “Still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “So we’re going to pretend. All right.” He sits up. “Look, you can’t tell anyone that I was there. Not a soul, especially not Tita Lou.”

  Interesting.

  Here’s the thing about being a big sister. I can see through the fluff and slight panic. Teddy is desperate, which means that there’s something to tell. And seeing him stress is vindication.

  Then again, why would I care?

  I reel back my thoughts to square one. “For the record, I was not spying.”

  “Lila…okay, fine.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But don’t tell Tita Lou. Please.”

  My tummy flip-flops at his distress. I might be big-sister bossy, but I’m not mean. “Fine, fine, I won’t.”

  “Thank you.” He exhales.

  “But can I ask why?”

  “I’d rather you not. It’s complicated.” He avoids my eyes.

  “All right.” I don’t push it. As far as I’m concerned, we’re even. The switch is complete. Time to move on.

  He breathes out a sigh. “God, I was getting myself ready. I thought I was going to need to bring out the big guns.”

  “The big guns?” Warning bells sound off in my head. “Wait…When you said ‘I know’…”

  Teddy changes positions, leaning back and steepling his fingers. His previously working jaw muscle relaxes into a mischievous grin.

  My heart speeds up in turn. “Teddy?”

  “I was just going to say…I’m glad that I didn’t have to resort to bringing up your anonymous blog to convince you to keep my secret quiet.”

  It’s a plot twist that brings me to the edge of my seat, and I accidentally nudge the table. Water sloshes out of my cup. “I…I don’t—”

  Teddy raises a hand, and he’s smiling—the gall of him. “Before you deny it, I have my own sleuthing skills, and it was easy enough to find you, Ms. Tinsel and Tropes. I thought I’d read enough book blogs, but you…God, you have hundreds of posts. I didn’t realize there were so many holiday books. How many do you read a week?”

  My shock at being caught runs headlong into my pride. I shake my head. “It’s not important. And I’m not sure why you’re bringing my blog into it, because I don’t even care about your so-called secret. Why does it matter if people know? It’s climbing. It’s a sport.”

  “It’s not just a sport. It is the perfect combination of being free and also taking control.” The way he talks about it brings a light to his face, so unlike what he shows at the Inn. But his expression crashes down with his next words. “But all that matters is that you stay quiet. You don’t spill my secret, and I won’t spill yours. Got it?”

  Teddy isn’t asking me now; he’s telling me. The leftover taste of that fried marshmallow goes sour. I slide my phone into my back pocket and retrieve my wallet. I throw down a ten on the table with an obnoxious flourish. “Whatever. Like I care. Got it.”

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 21

  It’s complicated.

  Teddy’s words echo in my mind as I enter the gift shop’s back doors and head right into the break room, to the set of lockers for part-time staff. Today is my and Teddy’s second training day together, and after yesterday’s disastrous meal at Scrooge’s, I’m dreading seeing him.

  And when I open my usual locker, it’s already in use. A sweatshirt is balled up on the bottom, and atop is a key ring with at least five carabiners. Obviously Teddy’s things.

  “Really?” I grumble. It’s not enough that he blackmailed me?

  “Lila.” KC walks in with a surprised look on his face. “You’re working today?”

  “Yeah, it’s my second day with Teddy. His shift started earlier with Ms. Velasco, and I’m taking over to train. But look! He took my locker. Everyone, everyone, everyone knows this is my locker.” But as soon as I say the words, I deflate a little. “Sorry, I know I sound like a brat.”

  “No sweat. I’m off now, so you can take my locker.” KC fiddles with his lock and pulls it open. He grabs his backpack and gives me a side-eye. “Are you okay? I wasn’t sure after your last text.”

  He’s referencing my text update after my breakfast with Teddy yesterday: It went okay. I have my phone.

  “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” I repeat what I told Carm when she followed up yesterday at school. She gave me a hard time about having fried marshmallows without her.

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  I sigh. Explaining everything would just open a can of worms—secret worms—so I regroup. “I am, really, I swear.” I offer a smile.

  “Well.” He winces. “You might find a couple of things amiss out there.”

  “Okay.” I stuff my things in KC’s locker, and his foreboding tone catches up to me. Teddy saw not only me, but also KC and Carm at the climbing gym last night. And now he holds my deepest secret. “Teddy—has he, um, said anything to you?”

  “About what?” An eyebrow lifts.

  The moment is saved by buzzing and KC fishes his phone out. My shoulders drop with relief. This is becoming complicated, all right.

  He beams. “It’s Seb. His flight’s early. I’ve got to head out.”

  “I’m glad he’s coming back for the holidays.”

  “Me too.” A smile melts onto his face. “But anyway, I’ve got to run. Just…” He heads to the doorway. “Just breathe, okay?”

  “Okay?” I half laugh. “Have fun with Seb.”

  “Oh, and…” He points to a new corkboard display on the wall before he disappears around the doorway. “New info.”

  I gaze up at the corkboard, now labeled New Year’s Eve at the Lake. Tacked below it are sheets of paper, all labeled with necessary tasks and assignments. I take a quick pic of them
to review later.

  Also posted is a copy of the flyer that I saw at Scrooge’s that will be used to advertise on our social media. There’s a Post-it stuck in front of it that says, Tickets went on sale this morning, now twenty-five percent full. Detailed schedule will go up soon.

  Whoa. I quickly text my mom: Don’t forget to buy two tickets to New Year’s Eve by the Lake. Filling up quick!

  Mom: Got it!

  Below the flyer is a sign-up list for the employee lottery to determine who’s going to work the event. A pencil hangs on a string next to it, and, no surprise, most of the staff has written their names. I add mine, too, just in case tickets sell out before Mom can snag a couple.

  As I walk out onto the gift shop floor, I imagine myself working the New Year’s Eve event. The shop will be packed like wet snow, with Michael Bublé on full throttle. Then the music will cut out and the iconic Holiday by the Lake theme song will play, and Jonah and Remy will walk in. Remy will recognize me as her all-time fan and sign my program, and I’ll have the thrill of meeting someone who looks like me and who has made it.

  In real life, at the moment, the gift shop has barely a dozen people in it—slower than usual. To my right, Teddy is wiping down the windows with a rag, a sign that he’s following Ms. Velasco’s maintenance checklist. Which is good, because the less I have to speak to him, the better. My goal for today: keep shoving lists and tasks in front of him until our shift is over. The more things to do, the faster time will pass where I have to be in close proximity to Teddy and his threats.

  “Hi, Lila.” Cliff, another part-timer passes me. Against his chest, he’s carrying replica oars for the canoe. He juggles it with precision as he says, “The library looks great. So many people have picked up books.”

  “Um, thanks.” Except, I haven’t done anything to it since the last time I was here.

  Then I remember Teddy, the other day, shelving my books.

  I hustle around the corner. To the spines now arranged by color.

  “Oh. My. God.” My mouth drops open at the sight of the rainbow spines. On my shelves. Of my library.

  Even more: there are six people in front of these shelves, enamored, taking books out to read the back covers. Several have a book or two under their arms.