Ma usually has to drag me to attend Sunday Mass, but I always look forward to the holiday service. With the Christmas lights illuminating the building’s facade, the star lanterns hanging above the altar up front, and the choir singing all the carols, there’s a different kind of… coziness in church this time of the year. Walking inside is close to the feeling I get from one of Pa’s hugs. The Mass is completely packed, but we manage to snag the last empty pew in the back. Whenever someone tries taking Pa’s seat, I block them and say I’m saving it for someone.
“Nika, you should’ve let him sit there,” Ma says when I shoo away another man who tries sitting in Pa’s place without asking.
“I’m saving the seat,” I repeat myself.
Achi narrows her eyes. “For who?”
“The Holy Spirit,” I deadpan.
Pa chuckles when the rest of the family groans at my joke. Technically, my fatherisa holy spirit.
Then Pa points to the front. “Isn’t that Kayla?”
I follow his gaze and see Kayla, Auntie Grace, and Uncle Walter seated on the other side of the church. Then I notice the family right beside them.
!!!I quickly message Kayla.Dani met your parents????
Kayla replies after the first reading.Ma invited her to sit with us when Dani introduced herself as student council president
Of course she did.
Pa nudges me when I’m in the middle of texting. “Hey, no phones during Mass.
“You won’t be able to learn from Father Melvin’s homily,” he adds.
Weird. I never really thought of Pa as super religious. Ma was the one who enforced weekly Mass for our family, and I assumed he went along with the routine for her. There were even moments growing up when I’d catch Pa dozing off during the Mass readings.
The priest continues his homily and I notice Pa leaning forward in his seat, wearing the same expression of full concentration he used to have when he’d analyze piano pieces. I’ve been half listening, but I catch the priest say stuff about how we’re never alone even when we feel like we’ve lost our way.
I open my mouth to tell Pa something when I feel Achi’s eyes on me too. So instead I type on the Notes app on my phone.
do you believe in god more when you’re a ghost?
His eyes smile when he reads the question. “Ghosts need to find their way too.”
We stand when it’s time for the Lord’s Prayer and Pa clasps his hand around mine. While the rest of the church begins to sing “Our Father…,” Pa leans closer. “It’s hard not to believe a god exists when I get to spend my favorite holiday again with my family.”
I feel Pa squeeze my hand and I try to ignore the heat rising in my throat when I imagine what next Christmas will look like. The thought still lingers in my head when I line up for Communion and go back to the pew and kneel next to my sister.
Attending Catholic school means I already have go-to requests when I talk to God.
Dear God, can you help me get the lead in our next musical? Dear God, can you find a way to cancel tomorrow’s exam? Dear God, can you talk to Ma so she forgets about Dr. Derrick?
But I only have one request for this Christmas. I bow my head closer to my clasped hands and repeat my question over and over in my head to make sure my prayer reaches heaven.
Dear God, can you let Pa stay?
The choir ends the service with Christmas hymns and Pa looks like he’s having the best time out of everyone in the building. But his rocking to “Joy to the World” gets cut off when Achi says we have to rush back home to finish our noche buena prep.
Every single year, Ma and Achi make enough food to feed an entire barangay—which, I guess, is the goal. We usually spend Christmas Eve delivering pastries to Auntie Baby, Auntie Grace, people at the bakery, the staff at the condo, and Pa’s former coworkers from the warehouse business.
“Are these for the Christmas party?” Pa asks when I help Achi arrange the spread of kakanin on our kitchen table.
I check that Ma and Achi are busy in the kitchen before I tell Pa that there’s no Christmas party this year. Our place used to be so full with friends and family every Christmas Eve. I don’t have the heart to tell Pa that we haven’t thrown a party since he passed.
“Bibingka, Nika! We need more bibingka!” Achi yells out to me while I’m still trying to pack the pichi-pichi and the other rice cakes together.
Ma then enters the kitchen and tells us we can pack one less pastry box. “Just got off the phone with Baby. She said Francis can’t make it for Christmas.”
