by Tif Marcelo
I’m doubting my words and my sentences. Was Teddy just placating me when he said I was a good writer? How many of my posts has he read?
I shake my head, the angel taking root on my shoulder, knocking the devil off. TnT is my passion. The blog has been around longer than I’ve known Teddy, and will be around after he leaves.
I press down on the button decisively just as my door slams open.
“I’m ready to shop,” Irene demands, and lifts a torn piece of notebook paper. “I’ve got a list.”
“Why did you wait until the last minute—” I shut my laptop and do a double take. Irene has on an over-the-shoulder teal sweatshirt, frayed around the neckline. But one fact keeps me from telling her that she looks utterly cute today. “Is that my shirt?”
“What, this old thing? It was in my closet.”
“It was probably in your closet because you put it there.”
“It would help if you actually did your laundry so that you could fold it and put it into your own closet.”
“Are you stalking my dirty laundry?”
“Nope.” She spins and heads down the hallway, her ponytail swinging from side to side. “I’m stalking your clean laundry.”
I growl under my breath but scan my room. It is a mess today. Clothes are strewn every which way. A stack of mail—solicitations from colleges, some in thick envelopes—wait for me on my bedside dresser.
All evidence that I haven’t had much free time. I had my shift this morning with Teddy, and this afternoon I’m doing some last-minute Christmas shopping with Irene. Tonight is a Mission: Holly night with Carm and KC.
I don’t work on Christmas Eve or Christmas day, and now that I no longer have training shifts with Teddy, my workdays are as sparse as the bare tree limbs of the oak tree outside my window.
A notification beeps in—it’s a comment on my blog. Santa with a View again: Secrets aren’t such a bad thing.
It’s followed by a link to the BookGalley internship.
My heart speeds up. Who is this person?
Another notification, this time a text from Teddy.
Teddy: Nice post
Lila: Are you trolling me?
Teddy: I don’t even like to read blogs.
This isn’t true. He picked his last book through a blogger recommendation.
Lila: Right…
Teddy: Bloggers tend to navel gaze.
Lila: Sort of like how climbers are only worried about their climb.
Teddy: There’s nowhere to go but up.
Lila: So that makes you…?
Teddy: Focused. Determined.
Lila: Self-centered.
Teddy: Ha. And bloggers are?
I think about it.
Lila: Thoughtful, introspective.
Teddy: Equally self-centered.
Lila: Blogs are supposed to be self-centered.
They’re my words.
Teddy: Just like climbers are supposed to be focused on their own climb
I growl, and yet, under all that, my body hums from the energy of our text banter. Is it silly to admit that I’m going to miss our in real-life banter now that we’re no longer working together?
Teddy: Anyway, that’s not why I’m texting.
Lila: ?
Teddy: Can you cover my shift tonight?
I need to climb
I laugh. Still, I’m grateful, even if I already have plans.
Lila: I’m busy tonight
Sledding at Wonderhill, and we already bought tickets
“Ate!” Irene yells now, at the top of her lungs. “Please!”
I grab my wallet from my desk and stuff my phone in my back pocket.
As I slip into the driver’s seat of my car, Irene’s lips curl into a grin. “What’s up with you?”
“What?” Breathless from the cold, I blow into my gloved hands and then turn on the ignition.
“You’re so happy.”
My eyes dart upward to the rearview mirror. Sure enough, I have a grin on my face.
* * *
Teddy: So when you blog a review, how do you decide when something is a half-star? Stars don’t exist in halves, do they?
I’m staring at Teddy’s next jab. We have been sparring over text for the last three hours, all through Christmas shopping. I’ve just walked into the house, Irene at my heels with bags of presents. Pulling off my beanie, I scatter beads of water on the floor. “We’re home!” I scream down the hallway at the twins and my mother, wherever they are. Then I lob my next text comment.
Lila: How bored are you that you’re thinking about my blogging instead of your climbing?
Teddy: Actually climbing > blogging
Lila: Intellect > Brawn
“Ate! Help?”
I look behind me—Irene’s stuck in the doorway. I’d shut the door on her, so engrossed in my texts. I double back to open it. With her puffy jacket, hat pulled over her eyes, and two bags in each hand, she could pass for a taller Randy, Ralphie’s little brother in A Christmas Story.
Once she’s inside, I inch up her beanie to expose her eyeballs.
“Thanks a lot.” She’s glaring at me as if I haven’t given her the time of her life. I was pretty much a cabdriver with all the stores I took her to. It’s actually quite impressive that she saved enough money to buy presents.
Resourceful, that one.
“You’ve been glued to your phone all afternoon.” She hefts the bags onto the kitchen table, grunting.
It’s no use pretending I haven’t been. “It’s work.”
My phone beeps, and my heart leaps. What is up with me? Am I in such need of company and friends that I look forward to verbally sparring (either in text or in real life) with my ex-nemesis? But I grab my phone anyway and read the text. Still Teddy.
Teddy: So if you had a recommendation for the first holiday book to pick up, what would it be?
I snigger. Yeah, right, he’s interested.
Lila: Quit teasing
Teddy: No. I swear.
“Work. Suuure, Ate.” Irene shrugs out of her outer layers and lets them all drop on the floor. It’s my absolute biggest pet peeve. Because who ends up picking up after her? Me.
“You can’t just leave your stuff here, Irene.”
Mom walks in—she’s already in her scrubs, and she’s fiddling with one of her teddy bear earrings. “Hi, girls.” She kisses Irene on the forehead—my little sister scuttles away, of course—and does the same to me.
I glance at the clock. “It’s only five.”
“Honey, I’m going in a little early. The evening shift’s short-staffed. Can you take the twins to a birthday party?”
“I have sledding with Carm. What time?”
Mom pulls a frown. “Six-thirty. I already RSVP’d and they will be so disappointed if they can’t go. And Dad’s working late since it’s crunch time at the shop. I would want you to stay at the party too. You know how rowdy your brothers get sometimes.”
“Um…okay,” I say as I scoop up our clutter so Mom can maneuver her way through the kitchen. There’s no real choice here. With both parents working, I have to step up.
But Carm’s not going to like it. Our tickets are for 8:30 p.m. I send a new text message:
Lila: Gotta play big sis tonight and take twins to a birthday party. I can meet you at WH? Party is at 630, so I should still be able to make it after.
Carm: :(
/> Can you really make it?
I put my backward planning to work, and wince.
Lila: It will be tight, but I think I can.
While I wait for a response—and the mere fact that the text bubbles haven’t appeared means that Carm is ticked—I ask, “Where’s the party at, Mom?”
“Oh geez, honestly I’m not sure.” Mom fills up tiny plastic containers with leftover food for her lunch break, which loosely means at about two in the morning. “Something about a climbing gym?”
“Climb Holly?” My heart thrums.
“Yep, that’s it.”
And as if I manifest him, a text buzzes in from Teddy:
No recommendation from a book blogger? You’re not doing your job.
Lila: Don’t you have work to do?
Teddy: Work? What’s work?
Dots show on his side of the screen.
Teddy: Actually yes, I’m working. I’ll be here awhile.
Which means he won’t be at Climb Holly when I’m there for the party.
“Lila?” Mom is at the door, jacket on, with her purse and lunch bag at the ready. “Everything good?”
“Yep. Taken care of.”
But a small part of me is disappointed that Teddy won’t be there.
An hour and twenty-five minutes later, in Climb Holly’s parking lot, Grant yells from the backseat, “Hurry, hurry, Ate Lila. We’re going to be late!”
“We should have left earlier,” Graham fusses. “They probably already have their gear on. We’re never going to get to climb.”
“Shhh. I can’t focus.” I scan the parking lot for an empty space. It is a jungle of vehicles, of cars trailing after pedestrians to grab their spots. While there are more spaces down the long road to the gym, the packed snow is a bear to trudge through.
“There’s one!” Graham yells. His arm is like an arrow that appears next to my head. I swivel my car into the space, but there’s a compact car in the tiny slot.
“Sh—” I begin, but press my lips together. The last thing I need is for one of my brothers to let it slip that I cursed.
We left much later than expected. I started on a Christmas romance that I couldn’t set down and lost track of time. Now there’s no easy parking.
“How many people did your friend invite?” I grumble.
“The whole class,” they say in unison.
“Geez.” I round the parking lot once more. “It’s not looking good, guys. We might have to park a little farther down.”
“That’s okay, we have boots!”
My seat jolts forward as Grant stomps against the back of my chair.
In the distance, the taillights of a car flash. I speed up just in time; another car had rolled into the parking lot. With my brothers cheering in my ear, I slide into the space.
As we climb out of the car and I sling my backpack onto my shoulder, I say, “Hey, listen up. There are rules.”
Both grumble, but I ignore it. The first thing one learns in babysitting is that rules and boundaries must be clear. And unlike a certain person I know, I actually believe that rules create a more ordered life.
Quit thinking about him.
And yet, I do, especially now that I’m back on his turf.
“I’m going to try and find a table inside to do my homework.” I cringe at the lie. What I plan to do is write a draft of my next blog post, since I’m just a few chapters away from finishing this Christmas romance.
“Homework? But there’s no school until January!” Graham says.
“Yes, but I’d rather get it done so I don’t have to think about it. Don’t you want to go into Christmas and the New Year knowing that your schedule is clear?”
“No. I just forget about it.” Grant stomps ahead.
Graham throws open the metal door and a roar of noise greets us, interspersed with the occasional shriek. A group of elementary schoolers huddle near the entrance, and by the way my brothers throw themselves in the middle of the group, this must be their class.
I spot a mom with a pointed party hat, chatting up other parents and thumbing her phone. Standard pre-party chat. That must be Mrs. Pruitt, the birthday boy’s mother.
I wait my turn as, one by one, the parents walk past, leaving me as the last (technical) adult with the kids, who have started to crash into one another like the beginnings of a mosh pit.
“Hi. I’m Grant and Graham’s sister.” I point them out. “My mom already signed the waiver, and it should be in the gym’s system.”
“Okay…okay,” Mrs. Pruitt says through gritted teeth. The kids have shed their jackets, and they are swinging them around like nunchucks.
“Um…” I hesitate. I’ve got things to do, but my brothers are in the middle of this faux martial arts performance. So I rush toward them and lay a hand on each of my brother’s shoulders. At the contact, their faces turn up at me.
Being an ate is a big deal. While my friends might not have any real idea what that means, in my family, when my parents aren’t around, I’m in charge. My dad still calls his big sister Ate. And as much as my little brothers have attitude and mess around, when I pull rank, they fall behind like soldiers.
My hands on them mean they should seriously chill out. Which they do.
Just in time, a Climb Holly employee in the company’s yellow polo—and now I’m really, really glad for the Bookworm Inn’s forest green because, wow, yellow is loud—shows up in the middle of the group. The kids turn to her like she’s Santa himself.
“Hi, everyone. Welcome. My name is Sarah and I’m going to be your party planner today.”
I backpedal gingerly, like I’m in the middle of a heist. Two more steps and I’ll be scot-free. Worst-case scenario, if there isn’t a quiet spot inside the gym, I’ll hide out in my car until the party’s over.
When I spin on my heel, I collide with Mrs. Pruitt. Half of her lipstick has been licked dry; she’s frazzled. And her eyes…
“Can you stay?” she says.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I—”
“Please? I bit off more than I can chew. You have a big family. You know how to take care of kids. And you babysit, right?”
“I do. But—”
“Honestly, I didn’t think so many folks would RSVP since it’s so close to Christmas. But they all did. Said yes, I mean.” Her eyes dart at the loud roar of cheers from the kids.
Sarah raises a hand to the group. “All right. Let’s head on to the locker area and we’ll store your coats.”
“You have a party planner,” I remind Mrs. Pruitt.
“She can only do so much. There’s sure to be a rogue kid or two. Please. I’ll pay you. Well.”
Mrs. Pruitt divulges her rate. It’s beyond what I consider fair. But more than that, her face has skewed to the point of desperation.
The sound of my brothers yelping is the thing that breaks my hesitation. If these other kids are all as rambunctious as them, then Mrs. Pruitt and Sarah combined will still be outnumbered.
“Yes, okay,” I concede.
“Great. I’ll sign you in. You’ll need to do a waiver too.”
I heave a breath and follow the group to the locker room. Jumping in right away, I help direct traffic, dole out shoes—who knew they had to rent shoes!—and pile jackets in one area. Then I bring all the gifts to the party room, where the cake is already set up in the middle with balloons around it.
I sign my waiver on the go. Afterward, I help usher the kids to the big rock wall, where there’s a person standing with their back to us. Now I get why they wear yellow—we can see this person from far away, and they stand out from the other climbers. Next to them is a pile of rope.
“I’d like to introduce you to my assistant,” Sarah says.
/> The kids all but rush toward the instructor standing on the elevated thick pad that covers the entire bottom of the area under the wall. Mrs. Pruitt and I trail behind as the assistant turns around.
It’s Teddy.
* * *
What’s he doing here? He’s supposed to be at the Inn.
It makes no sense why I’m nervous, but my first instinct is to hide behind Mrs. Pruitt. Except, she’s shorter than me. So I turn my body toward the exit I should have used ten minutes ago.
In my periphery, Sarah takes her place next to Teddy. “All right, everyone. Let’s go over some rules. Now, I know rules don’t sound like fun but it’s important to keep everyone safe. Everyone must follow them. Got it?” After a collective agreement that rumbles through the group, she says, “Now everyone take a seat.”
Sarah continues. “Go ahead and sit cross-legged. This little briefing is going to take a few minutes. In total, we’re going to be spending three hours together with my assistant Teddy.”
Three hours? Crap. My Wonderhill plans are crumbling.