by Ariel Tachna
“I suppose it does, at that.”
DECEMBER 23 was hot the way only Christmas in Houston could be. Carlos got dressed and checked to make sure he had the envelopes with the Christmas bonuses for his team. He’d made a tradition of visiting them and their families the day before Christmas Eve so that he wouldn’t intrude on their family time during the holidays, but would get to see them nonetheless. They’d learned not to invite him over on Christmas Day—he always had an excuse ready just in case—but this was his Christmas, his family time.
He visited Santiago and his family first because with their young son, they were always up early and rarely up late.
“Carlos, good to see you,” Isabella, Santiago’s wife, said when she opened the door. “Santi is in the kitchen with the baby. Come in.”
He followed her through the modest house to the kitchen. Christmas carols played on the radio as Santiago tried to convince nine-month-old Luis to eat whatever green mush was in the bowl.
“Hi, boss,” Santiago said when Carlos laughed at the sight. “Merry Christmas. You’re just in time for breakfast.”
“Merry Christmas, Santiago,” Carlos replied. “And I ate breakfast already, but I’ll have a cup of coffee with you.”
“Oh, none of that.” Isabella shook her spatula at him. “You’ll have huevos rancheros with us like you do every year. And then you’ll hold the baby and spend an hour or two with us.”
“Diego is expecting me at twelve,” Carlos warned her.
“Then that gives us almost three hours until you have to leave.” She put a cup of coffee on the table. “Sit. You can drink your coffee while I finish making breakfast.”
Carlos took the seat she indicated—never let it be said he was anything less than henpecked by his crew’s wives—and made faces at the baby.
“Stop it,” Santiago said. “You’re distracting him.”
“It’s my job.” Carlos stuck his fingers in his ears and waggled them to make Luis laugh.
“Then you feed him.” Santiago shoved the bowl and spoon into Carlos’s hands and stood back with his arms crossed. Carlos grinned up at him and settled in to feed Luis. Some things were like riding a bike. Once you learned them, you never forgot. Carlos had practiced on his fair share of younger cousins when he still lived at home in Mexico. He could give Santiago a break now.
When the bowl was empty, he handed it back to Santiago.
“I hate you,” Santiago said. “How did you get him to eat that? He hates green beans.”
“Talent,” Carlos replied with a teasing grin.
“Eat,” Isabella interrupted, setting two plates on the table. “It’s no good when it’s cold.”
Carlos dug into the salsa-covered eggs and moaned softly at the taste. He missed his mother’s cooking. “Thank you,” he said to Isabella. “You always know how to make me feel at home.”
After he’d eaten, he took Luis so Isabella could eat, then sat with them in the living room, enjoying being a part of their family for a few hours. When it was finally time to leave, he pulled out the envelope with Santiago’s name on it. “It’s never as much as you deserve, but hopefully this will help make Christmas a little extra special this year.”
Santiago stuck the envelope in his pocket without opening it. “It will. We have something for you too.”
Isabella handed him a plastic bag. “They’re frozen, so if you keep them in a cooler, they’ll be fine while you visit everyone else today. I put a few extras in for you to share with your neighbor. Santiago told me about them. I wish we could do more.”
Carlos knew how long it took to make tamales, and he could tell from the weight of the bag that she’d put in more than just “a few” extras. He didn’t know how Ned and Sonia felt about tamales, but he’d offer to share them when he took the bag of toys from Joseph over tomorrow. “You didn’t have to do anything.”
“Of course we did,” Isabella said. “We may not be rich, but we have enough to share with someone who has less than we do. You’ve seen to that, even before whatever was in that envelope. Tell them Feliz Navidad from us.”
“I will,” Carlos promised. He accepted a hug from Isabella, tickled Luis until he giggled, and shook Santiago’s hand. “Thank you,” he said again as he left.
He stored the tamales in the cooler he’d brought because he knew how the day would go—or rather he’d expected a bag of tamales because Isabella always gave him one—and headed to Diego’s house next.
Diego’s kids came running out of the house the minute he pulled up to the sidewalk. “Uncle Carlos! Uncle Carlos!”
Carlos parked and pulled out the bag of gifts he had stashed behind the seat. He hadn’t taken two steps onto the grass before he had four pairs of arms wrapped around his legs. “If you make me fall over, I won’t give you your presents,” he threatened.
The kids all looked up at him with scared eyes, then burst out laughing when he bent down to tickle them.
“Jimena, Gabriela, Elena, Tomás, come inside.”
Jimena and Tomás grabbed Carlos’s hand and pulled him toward the door. “Hello, Juana,” Carlos said over the children’s heads. “Feliz Navidad.”
“The same to you, Carlos. You shouldn’t let the children swarm you like that.”
“You know I don’t mind. It reminds me of home.”
“Your sisters aren’t that size anymore.” Juana leaned in and kissed his cheek.
“No, but they were when I left.”
“Come see our tree, Uncle Carlos,” Gabriela said, drawing his attention. Carlos followed her into the little house and grinned at the sight of the Christmas tree. It was nearly as round as it was tall, and the kids had covered it in handmade ornaments, all the school art projects of four children under the age of eight.
“It’s wonderful,” he said. “Show me the new ones this year.”
He spent the next thirty minutes listening attentively as each child in turn pointed out their contributions to the tree, some from this year, some from previous years.
“Everyone wash up. It’s almost lunchtime.” Diego walked into the living room from the kitchen.
“Yes, Papi,” the children chorused.
“Feliz Navidad,” Carlos said to Diego.
“Feliz Navidad. I hope you’re hungry. Juana has been cooking all week.”
Carlos groaned. “Isabella already stuffed me with huevos rancheros. We really need to plan this better next year. Everyone all in one house for the day so we can split the cooking responsibilities and I don’t gain ten pounds.”
“It’s Christmas. Everyone gains ten pounds.”
Carlos laughed at Diego’s frank words. “Okay, so I don’t eat until I’m sick. It’s a waste of everyone’s good cooking.”
“You brought a cooler, right? You know Juana will want to send leftovers home with you for Christmas Day. I still don’t know why you won’t come spend the day with us.”
“Because that’s your family time, and I don’t want to impose.” Carlos had this conversation with Diego every year. This year, though, Carlos had hopes for better plans for Christmas Day.
“It wouldn’t be an imposition.”
“Carlos, Diego, come sit down.”
Carlos took his seat at the table between Tomás and Jimena and clapped along with everyone else when Juana put a huge bowl of pozole on the table. At least he could serve a smaller bowl of soup for himself without looking ungrateful for Juana’s delicious cooking. He was sure she had a container of it already packed for him to take home, and probably some bacalao as well from the smells coming from the oven.
Now if she’d made buñuelos, his Christmas dinner would be complete.
After they finished eating, they moved back to the living room so the kids could open the presents Carlos had brought. They weren’t much—the newest Warriors book for Gabriela, a Magic Tree House book for Jimena, Ricky Ricotta for Tomás, and a My Little Pony book for Elena. The excitement on their faces was worth every minute he’d spent at
Barnes & Noble trying to figure out what to buy for them.
“We have something for you too,” Gabriela said. “Well, for your neighbor really. Papi told us about her, about how she got sick. We each picked something out for her.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Carlos had known his crew and their families were kind, generous people, but he hadn’t expected this kind of outpouring of support for someone they didn’t even know. It humbled him and reminded him of what Christmas was supposed to be about. The lights, the decorations, the consumerism that paid their bills in the winter wasn’t Christmas, but the bag of messily wrapped gifts with hand-drawn gift wrap that Gabriela handed him, the bag of tamales in his cooler, the toys Melissa had outgrown and was offering to someone less fortunate than herself… that’s what it was so easy to lose sight of.
Around four, Carlos started making noise about leaving. The kids protested, but he hugged them each in turn. “I told Mr. Joseph, Miss Domiki, and Melissa that I’d have dinner with them. I’ll come visit again later and you can show me everything you got for Christmas.”
“Here,” Juana said when he’d finished with the kids. “Something for your Christmas dinner. I put in enough for you to share with your neighbors. I hope the little girl gets well soon.”
Carlos hadn’t asked Ned about how much more treatment Sonia had. It probably depended on how well she responded to it. “Thank you. It wouldn’t be Christmas without your pozole and bacalao.”
“Feliz Navidad, patrón,” Diego said as Carlos headed toward the door.
“Same to you, Diego.” He handed Diego the envelope with his bonus in it. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Come by on the twenty-sixth. The kids will want to show you their presents.”
“I’ll try,” Carlos said.
He stowed the food from Juana in his cooler and the bag of gifts from the kids behind his seat and headed toward Joseph’s house. He only hoped Domiki didn’t have an early dinner planned because he was already stuffed, and he didn’t want to miss out on her greens and corn bread.
Joseph’s apartment complex was nicer than Carlos’s, although it wasn’t fancy, by any means. Domiki had been promoted last year to assistant manager at the Kohl’s where she worked, and that had allowed them to move into a nicer place. Carlos had worried Joseph wouldn’t want to keep working with him, but Joseph was as invested in his business now as Carlos was.
Domiki answered the door when Carlos knocked and enveloped him in a perfumed hug. She looked as put-together as always. He’d teased Joseph more than once about what a looker like Domiki was doing with a bum like him. Joseph shook his head every time and assured Carlos he didn’t deserve his goddess of a wife, but he’d happily spend his life trying to be worthy.
“Merry Christmas, Carlos.”
“Merry Christmas, Domiki. Is that ham I smell?”
“You know it is. That’s what we always have on Christmas.”
“But it’s not Christmas yet,” he joked.
“Christmas starts with your visit and goes through New Year’s Eve. Don’t you know that by now?”
He followed her into the living room, where Joseph and Melissa were working on a puzzle, their faces set with concentration.
“She insists she can do the big puzzles with him now,” Domiki explained. “I’m pretty sure he does most of the work, but she won’t let him do it without her.”
“It’s a wonderful family tradition.”
“It is. You should go help.”
Carlos pulled up a chair and sat next to Melissa. “Can I help too?”
“Sure, Uncle Carlos. See? We’re doing a big one this year. It has 500 pieces!”
“Are you sure you can handle that?” Carlos asked. “That’s an awfully big puzzle for a little girl.”
“I’ll be seven in January. I’m not that little.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. That’s an awfully big puzzle for a big girl.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Joseph muttered as he continued sorting through the pieces and handing likely looking ones to Melissa.
Carlos just laughed and joined them.
Domiki eventually called them for dinner, and Carlos ate until he couldn’t swallow another bite.
“Is it time for presents now?” Melissa asked.
“You’ve been very patient,” Domiki said. “Go get what you have for Uncle Carlos.”
“No, no,” Carlos protested even as Melissa scampered into the other room. “I’m supposed to bring the presents, not get them. Besides you already gave me that bag of toys for Sonia. I don’t need anything for me.”
“You don’t get to decide that for us,” Joseph said as Melissa came back in pulling a big trash bag.
“They’re clothes that don’t fit me anymore, plus a few new things I helped Momma pick out. We had to guess on sizes, but we put a gift receipt with them, so if they’re the wrong size, you can exchange them,” Melissa explained. “And I got a puzzle for her too, but don’t tell her what it is. It’s a surprise.”
“I won’t,” Carlos said.
“I’ll put those by the door while you open your present,” Domiki said.
Carlos handed Melissa her package and sat back to watch her reaction. “The Boxcar Children! We’re going to read that at school. Now I have a copy of my own. Thank you, Uncle Carlos.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, catching her as she threw herself into his arms.
“I can’t wait to show my friends. They’ll be so jealous.”
“You’re welcome. And Merry Christmas.”
CARLOS LUGGED the cooler up the steps to his apartment. He’d have to make a second trip for the gifts for Sonia, but he wanted to get the food in the refrigerator first. Then he had to find Ned and talk to him about how he wanted to give everything to Sonia. Carlos knew a thing or two about pride and didn’t want to step on Ned’s if he could help it.
“That’s quite the load you’ve got there,” Ned said from the top of the stairs. “Do you need a hand?”
“Hey, Ned,” Carlos said, surprised to see Ned there. “I was just thinking about you. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” He grabbed one of the cooler’s handles and helped Carlos get it to his apartment. “What you got in there?”
“Christmas dinner. My family is all in Mexico, but I always visit my crew and their families a few days before Christmas, and they always send me home with leftovers. They sent a little more than usual this year.”
“You got big plans?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Carlos dug in his pocket for his keys. “I was hoping you and Sonia might have Christmas dinner with me. I mentioned Sonia to one of the guys I work with, and the next thing you know, they all decided to send things for her too.”
“We hadn’t really made any plans.” Carlos could hear the dejection in Ned’s voice. He only hoped that worked for him, not against him, with the rest of his news. “We’d be glad to have dinner with you.”
“There’s more,” Carlos said. “I have a couple of bags of toys and clothes and some other things for Sonia too, but I figured you might want to give those to her instead of having them come from me. She’s still young enough to believe in Santa Claus.”
Ned blinked a couple of times. Carlos looked away to give him a bit of privacy as he got his emotions back under control. “Thank you. I couldn’t figure out what I was going to tell her about why Santa didn’t bring much this year. I could only afford a couple of gifts.”
“Most of it’s down in my truck still, although I have one bag of toys up here because Joseph gave it to me earlier this week.” Carlos got the apartment door open so they could stow the cooler. “If you give me a hand, I think we can make it in one trip. We can hide it in my apartment for now, and you can pick it up tomorrow night after she goes to bed if you want.”
“That works,” Ned said in a choked voice.
They walked back out to Carlos’s truck. Carlos gave him the bag of wrapped
gifts from Diego’s kids and grabbed the bag of clothes from Melissa himself.
“This is too much,” Ned protested as they walked back upstairs.
“It’s mostly hand-me-downs,” Carlos said. “Things Melissa has outgrown or doesn’t play with anymore. And the bag you have is one gift from each kid at Diego’s house. Nobody gave more than they could afford.”
“They don’t even know us.” Ned followed Carlos back into his apartment and set the bags down in the corner Carlos indicated. He added the bags he was carrying as well. It made quite a little pile of goodies.
“No, but they’re good people who know a bit of what it’s like to struggle to make ends meet. We’ve got enough customers now that things are better, but we’ve all been where you are. Let us help you now. For Sonia’s sake, if nothing else.”
“That’s a low blow,” Ned said, but he smiled.
“They all have kids. They know what it’s like.”
“Sonia usually goes to bed around eight, but with it being Christmas Eve tomorrow, she’ll probably stay up later than usual from sheer excitement.”
“Call me when she’s asleep and I’ll bring everything over,” Carlos suggested. He rattled off his cell number.
“Hold on, let me write that down.”
Carlos found a piece of paper and wrote his number on it. If he hoped Ned would keep it past Christmas day, that was nobody’s problem but his own.
“I should go. She’s asleep, but I don’t like to leave her for long.” Ned sounded reluctant, though Carlos couldn’t fathom why.
“Of course. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Ned hesitated again, then reached out and squeezed Carlos’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
CARLOS’S PHONE rang at nine thirty on Christmas Eve. He flipped the TV to mute and picked up the phone.
“Hi, Carlos. It’s Ned.”