“No, I don’t want to do that to you on Christmas Eve with your family?—”
“Georgia, believe me when I say this—I am the only person on this planet who truly understands what it feels like to be overwhelmed by the Flores’s. Remember why I am the way I am?” I say, gesturing towards myself. “It’s okay to take breaks. I’ve been taking breaks from them for thirty-eight years.”
“But I don’t need breaks from them. I love them, Oliver, they’re great… It’s just today…”
“So let’s just take breaks today, then. How about you just squeeze right here—” pointing to the inside of my bicep, “when you want to step away?”
Georgia remains silent, just looking at me.
I note the brilliant blue of her eyes under the moon, her perfect mouth, her wild hair stuffed under a beanie. I feel a pang in my heart, in that moment, for how beautiful she is. How perfectly flawed. How lucky I am, whata gift it is, on this Noche Buena, to be able to love her.Because that’s what this is, I think. This chaotic hurricane of woman has swept into my life, leaving destruction in her wake. Fun, spontaneity. I never realized how much it was missing.
She seems to read something in my face, and hers softens. We simultaneously take a step forward. I cup a hand under her jaw, wind the other through her hair, and tilt her head up for a kiss. Her lips are cold but perfect, her tongue meeting mine stroke for stroke. And through this kiss—in my softness and with gentleness—I try to convey my feelings.
We break apart naturally, and I kiss her top lip, then bottom lip, giving her the little nip I know she loves.
Her face is ethereal. Then she squeezes the inside of my bicep. Five times. Hard. “I’m giving you the signal, Oliver. Can we go take a break? A sex break? In your car?” she grins.There you are.
“Let’s go in for a few hours, and maybe I’ll let you give me road head on the drive back.”
“Deal.”
THIRTY-THREE
Georgia
It’s a different madness,this second time seeing Oliver’s family. When we walk in, I’m still passed around in a steady stream of hugs and cheek kisses, but Oliver’s immediate family is more subdued tonight. Tight squeezes and huge grins, rather than verbal assaults and gymnastics.
They don’t leave me alone, though. They’re always there, a silent yet steady presence, and I see where Oliver gets that side of him from. Plates of food are still thrust into my hand, and there is contact, so much physical contact. Ben and Jill wrap me in enormous hugs. Paloma or Maya or sometimes both, are always in my lap, or draped against my back, playing with my hair. I always find Gloria, Izzy, Tala seated close to me on a couch, the sides of our thighs pressed together, one of them squeezing my hand. Oliver is a permanent smiling sentry somewhere nearby.
It’s perfect. It’s what I need, and I wonder how they know.
The White Elephant gift exchange begins after dinner, and the room buzzes with the chaotic energy of fifty people, all vying for the most coveted presents. Laughter and shoutingfills the air as gifts are unwrapped and promptly stolen, each swap met with groans and cheers. The pile of gifts in the center of the room dwindles quickly, replaced by a growing collection of bizarre and hilarious items that have already changed hands multiple times. A brightly colored toilet seat cover, a can of Spam, a hideous Christmas sweater with blinking lights, and an inexplicably large jar of kimchi are among the hotly contested treasures, each swap ratcheting up the excitement.
People strategize and plot, whispering to their neighbors and eyeing the remaining unopened gifts. One tito in a Santa hat cackles as he nabs a giant inflatable unicorn from an unsuspecting teenager, only to have it swiped moments later by his own mother. Meanwhile, a hot (though not as hot as Oliver) tattooed cousin triumphantly clutches a pair of fuzzy llama slippers, only to have them whisked away by his three-year-old daughter, whose tiny feet most certainly won’t fit in them for several more years. The room is a whirlwind of movement and merriment, until finally, the last gift, an air fryer, is stolen, and the game is over.
Oliver and I stand in a side room to exchange our own presents. He gives me three. I unwrap the first, and it’s a neon pink planner slash journal, decorated on the front with a glitter unicorn, fit for a twelve-year-old, or for me. The second is a fresh pack of shimmer gel pens to write with. The last is a giant sticker pad, filled with romance book related holographic stickers.
“Get organized with pizazz,” he tells me, and I squeal and give him a huge smack on the lips.
He opens mine, and it’s a portable, cube-like label maker, one that fits in the palm of your hand. It connects via Bluetooth to a phone, allowing you to log onto its app and design labels using a massive library of fonts, templates, and symbols.You send your label to the cube, and voila, it prints. He looks at the contraption with so much awe and love and disbelief that I need to snap him out of it.
“This is… the greatest Christmas gift I’ve ever received in my entire life,” he tells me, with what may be a tear in his eye.
I watch as Oliver’s cousins and titas belt out impressive (like, shockingly so) renditions of Whitney Houston on the plastic, light up microphone connected wirelessly to the television, where lyrics scroll in a constant stream.
“What’s with all the karaoke?” I ask Tala, who is currently squished against my right side on the couch.
She looks at me incredulously. “I told you. It’s like the national sport of the Philippines.”
“I thought it was line dancing,” I answer.
“Both,” she replies nonchalantly.
I just about die when Oliver takes the microphone. The first few notes of a familiar Christmas song plays.
“I… don’t want a lot for Christmas…. There is just one thing I need…” he sings into the microphone, looking directly at me, eyes shining and sparkling, confident and proud yet extremely off key.
The crowd goes wild. No, the crowd goes apeshit, a room full of over fifty people crammed onto couches and armchairs, seated all over the floor, clapping their hands and screaming. I’m laughing so hard I’m crying, and his beautiful voice is soon drowned out by his relatives singing along.
