Page 87 of Pining for You

“Come on,” I say. “This was definitely magic!”

“No, Strudel,” she says, and then when she looks at me over Hugo’s head, there’s something new in her eyes that makes my breath hitch. “This was all you.”

25

December 24 (Christmas Eve)

The Christmas tree is lit again when I open my eyes, but the digital clock on the side table is blinking from last night’s power outage. The trusty analog version on the wall reads 5:33 a.m. By bakery standards, this is sleeping in. But based on the plans we finally managed to sort out for our escape, I’m awake ahead of schedule.

When we first returned from Wade’s, we had to face the facts about getting home to Ripton. Tía felt like it’d be risky to rely on the MTA and the Metro-North to be running and on time the morning after the storm. Once we ruled out the idea of a cab or car service (which, with the holiday and surge pricing, Diya projected would cost “approximately nine million dollars”), we stared at one another.

“So basically, we need a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,” Izaac said.

I bit my lip and looked back into the living room, where Hugo was playing with his truck collection. He was pushing his ambulance past a fire truck, causing a traffic jam for a tractor trailer and a pickup truck with a miniature snowplow.

And it hit me.

“No,” I said. “What we need is a plow.”

Diya turned to me.

“You know I’m right,” I said before she could speak. “We’ve got to plan ahead. Avoid potential future pain. Open up to possibilities.”

Cash and Izaac looked thoroughly confused, but she just gave me a knowing smile and nodded.

Despite it being nearly midnight, it took seconds for Seichi to respond.

Hell yes!

He couldn’t have been more thrilled to be part of a rescue mission (and I suspect to be a hero for Diya) and promised to pick us up by six fifteen a.m. That meant we should have time to get back, regroup, and still report to Cooper by nine. Which means this adventure will be ending soon.

For now, though, everything is still. There’s light streaming through the windows in the front door, and it’s the kind of quiet that only comes with snow.

Diya is across from me. We’re head to feet on a couch in the Diaz family living room, and she appears to still be asleep. Cash and Izaac are too, smashed together on a love seat adjacent to us.

I pull out my camera to look back at the most recent footage for proof that all of it was real.

The rest of the night after trivia was the impromptu holiday party of my dreams. I watch back the Oreo tasting flights (classic, red cream, and peppermint bark), then us taking turns playing Super Smash Bros. and Audra explaining the origins of Nintendo to us. She’s so passionate about making games like this that bring people together. The community organizer in Izaac couldn’t argue with that logic. Carlos was clearly hanging on every word too, and we were all giggling at the googly eyes they were making at each other—Izaac included.

It was such a perfect, unforgettable group celebration—the kind of big queer found family scene I’ve always wanted to create in one of my Christmas movies, only it was real. There are more gaps in the footage as the night goes on. I filmed a lot of it, but also tried to stay present, because looking around the room at those people—the ones I’ve loved for so long, and the ones I just met but already felt so much for—what I wanted most of all was to hold on to the night, the moment, the feeling, not only on-screen but in my heart.

I shot the last bit of footage when I was sitting on a piano bench, watching Hugo and Cash have at it in a Super Smash Bros. battle royale. In it, Eve finally takes a break from hosting duty and approaches me.

“This seat free, Strudel?” she asks, and the screen goes black, because that’s when I shut off the camera. But even without the recording, I’ll never forget the way she looked at me.

Ever since we’d left the bar, Eve had seemed lighter to me. So much more joyful and free than at any time since we met. Like for the first time, she wasn’t carrying the weight not only of her own pain and future, but of her brother’s, too. And suddenly she was opening up to me even more.

She told me what she knew about Hugo and selective mutism, and how important it is for him to feel safe and secure in order to begin speaking again.

“It’s so great that he felt that way tonight,” I said.

“Well, your special abilities go beyond picking good presents. You make people feel safe,” she said. “He and I both got a chance to experience that gift tonight.”

I could feel the fire in my cheeks, but I forced myself not to look away. “Well, comfort and joy are important elements of Christmas,” I said.

As we watched everyone else eat, drink, and be merry, Eve stayed on that old piano bench by my side. She steadily got closer to me in ways that would go unnoticed by anyone around us, but were unmistakable to me. When she leaned forward to grip the edge of the bench, her hand landed over mine. At first she apologized, like it was an accident. But when she readjusted, the edge of her hand still met mine. A few minutes later, she took a deep breath and stretched, and her thigh pressed against mine. Each time there was contact, the sparkles flared.

But somehow, I was still at ease enough with Eve to talk about other things too (like how Eve has never seen Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, and why she needs to see Home Alone 2: Lost in New York). I’d have talked to her all night, had the power not gone out. After that, she got up to help Tía and Carlos distribute candles, and then we all sat around by flickering flames and listened as Tía told stories about her early days in the neighborhood, about Carlos starting up the taco truck, then the tree lot.