My December Darling: A Holiday Novella

I curse with frustration as I reread the opening sentence for my maid of honor speech. At this rate, I’ll never have a speech written in time for Gabriela’s wedding, and I will have no one to blame but myself and my inability to express myself.

A new text from my sister only adds to the growing sense of panic building inside me.

She attaches a photo of an unopened Galactic Command Base LEGO set. To say I’m shocked he purchased it is an understatement, especially after the conversation we had while making the gingerbread houses.

I never told him this, but I’ve wanted to build that one ever since LEGO announced the addition to their collection. Whenever my sister mentioned wanting to buy it for me, I told her that I wasn’t interested, which was partially true, but not the whole truth.

I wasn’t interested because I didn’t have anyone to build it with.

Knowing Gabriela, she would say it didn’t matter. That I could build the set myself, but she is in a happy relationship and doesn’t understand my struggle. How a hobby I didn’t mind doing on my own became a reminder of not having anyone to enjoy it with, and I partially have social media to blame for ruining that activity for me.

I could only handle seeing so many videos of people building LEGOs with their significant others before I started associating my favorite hobby with crippling loneliness. Not to mention every time I visited the store, there was always one person in line buying a LEGO bouquet to build, which only made the feeling worse.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

A lot of things, none of which I plan on sharing with you, I tell myself before typing out a reply.

Cute? Consider me surprised by that comment after our last conversation.

I blow out a breath while writing out another message.

The dots appear and disappear twice before her next text pops up.

I frown as I read her message twice.

He used to tell me that his hands were too big, and his attention span too short for a hobby like that, so why the sudden change of heart?

My mom calls my name from the kitchen, so I tuck my phone into my pocket and head toward the Christmas music playing down the hall. My smile widens as the singer croons about mi burrito sabanero, and it expands to its limit as I check out the messy counters covered with supplies and ingredients for my grandma’s coquito recipe.

Both of my parents hang out by the stove, with my mom holding out a spoon for my dad to taste-test her latest batch of coquito.

Mami looks over her shoulder. “Oh good. You’re awake.”

My dad glances at me from across the kitchen. “You woke up just in time.”

“What’s up?”

“Can you hold the bottles for me while I pour?” he asks while my mom continues stirring the coquito mix in the pot.

My throat tightens as I nod. Empty glass bottles are lined up in a perfect row on the counter, with the one closest to the edge already set up with a funnel.

Mami leans forward to smell the mixture. “Está casi listo.”

“Huele a los que hacía mi mamá.” Dad’s eyes twinkle as he kisses Mami’s cheek.

The music. The coquito. The request to help my parents with a task that they always do together, reminding me of what I could have too—if I ever found the right person, that is.

The holidays always have a way of making people like me feel lonelier than usual, especially when we’re constantly being bombarded with holiday movies, TV commercials, and endless books waxing on about love, family, and the meaning of Christmas.

Do you expect to meet someone special with the amount of traveling you do? It’s hard enough to get into a routine, let alone fall in love. But when I think of permanently staying somewhere, I get cold feet. None of the places I’ve worked at felt quite right, but Lake Wisteria isn’t an option either if I want to meet someone special. After all, I tried that with Aiden and look where it got me.

I turn toward the counter, shut my eyes, and take a deep breath. The smells remind me of years spent running around the kitchen with Gabriela, tugging on our parents’ clothes while they worked in tandem to complete as many coquito orders as possible before Christmastime. My grandma had been selling the spiked holiday drinks long before we were born, so my parents have her operation down to a science.

A recipe card on the counter catches my eye, and with a shaky hand, I reach for it. The Martinez family’s coquito recipe is written in my grandma’s recognizable chicken scratch, along with her famous shake it before you taste it advice, which she wrote on every customer’s thank you card.

My entire chest aches as I trace over the words in her familiar scrawl. She was a constant boisterous presence in our home after she moved to Lake Wisteria to live with us, and the holidays always make me miss her a little extra.

“Cata?” Mami asks from behind me.

I take a deep, cleansing breath. “¿Qué?”

“¿Estás bien?”

“Si.” I carefully place the recipe card back on the counter facedown, so I no longer have to look at it, and get to work.

My mom might sense something is off, but thankfully, she doesn’t ask about it.

Then why do you feel so heavy whenever you think about her not pushing to make sure you’re okay?

Sometimes, I wish my mom would try a little harder with me, but instead, she always gives up at the first sign of adversity. With Gabriela, she bends over backward to be everything my sister needs and more, but when it comes to me, she seemed to have given up years ago, and in many ways, I did too.

“Gracias, mi hija.” My dad releases me from his crushing hug before exiting the kitchen, leaving me all alone with my mom.

I wipe down the counter while she places a label on the final coquito bottle. The silence isn’t awkward, but I find it stifling, and I’m desperate to escape back to my bedroom as quickly as possible.

“Cata?” my mom asks.

“¿Si?”

“Thank you for helping us today. Your dad’s mom…” Mom struggles with the word. “She would have been so proud to see you helping us out. You know how much she loved making coquito for the town.”

My mom’s rare praise makes my throat feel thick with emotion. “You’re welcome.”

She stares down at the tile floor before looking up. “I know things were a bit tense last week, but I’m happy you came home for the holidays.”

“You are?”

She looks surprised by my own shock. “Of course.”

“Oh.”

She leans back against the countertop. “I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye on things, but you’re still my daughter.”

“Doesn’t always feel that way,” I say honestly.

Her brows pinch together. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“No. Explain what you meant by that.”

I motion to the space between us. “I know you prefer Gabriela over me.”

Her eyes widen. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s obvious that you wish I were different⁠—”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to. I can just tell.”

A flush crawls up her neck. “How?”

“You act like everything I do annoys you.”

“Me? I feel like I’m the one who always annoys you.”

I blink twice. “What?”

“You’ve been pulling away from me for a while, and I don’t know how to deal with it. It makes me feel like I failed you somehow. My mom”—she looks around the kitchen before her eyes land on the recipe card on the counter—“wasn’t like your dad’s mom. She wasn’t good at talking about her feelings or giving me space to express myself.” My mom’s throat tightens with her swallow. “With your father, I’ve learned how to communicate over the years, but with you…I just don’t know how.” Her head drops forward.

My heart sinks into my chest. “Mami.”

She looks up with glistening eyes. “I swore I wouldn’t be like my mother. She wasn’t very present in my life, so I promised to be the opposite, and I know that can come off as…”

“Suffocating,” I answer honestly.

She glances away. “Yes.”

“Overbearing.”

“I guess so.”

“Like I’m always disappointing you, even when I’m trying my best?”

She sniffles. “I’m sorry my actions made you feel that way.”

I reach over the counter and grab her hand. “I know you tried in your own way.”

She shakes her head. “But it wasn’t good enough.”

“It’s not that it wasn’t good, but it isn’t what I need.” Her face pales, so I scramble to express myself better. “At least not now. I want to feel like I can count on you to lift me up.” Rather than tear me down.

“Tell me what else you need.”

“Honestly?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“I just want to feel like you see me. Like you appreciate who I am and all my differences because I’m never going to be like you and Gabriela, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel left out.”

She gives my hand a squeeze. “Perdón, mi mijita. I…I can try. I’m not going to get it right the first time, or the second, but I’m hoping I can do better for you.”

My mom and I may not agree on many things, but today, I feel more connected with her than ever.

It takes us a few minutes to collect ourselves, but once we do, I let her go and search for one of our favorite holiday songs on my phone.

My mom and I both finish cleaning up the kitchen while music plays from the portable speaker until one song in particular sparks an idea.

“Speaking of Abuela, you know what she would’ve loved?” I ask.

My mom stops sweeping the floor to look up at me. “¿Qué?”

“Una parranda.”

“How’s the speech going?”

I jolt at the sound of my sister’s voice behind me before slamming my notebook shut. “What are you doing here?”

“Mami wanted to go over a few wedding things, so I stopped by after work.”

“Oh.” I turn my office chair around to face her. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I also thought it would also be a good time to apologize.”

“To Mom? For what?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “To you.” She drags my vanity stool across the room and takes a seat in front of me.

“But you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Just let me get this out.”

“Okay.” I seal my mouth shut.

“I overreacted the other day and let my fears get the worst of me.”

I resist the urge to interrupt her.

“When everything went down between you, Aiden, and me, I felt like I gained a boyfriend but lost my sister.”

I hold my hand out, and she places hers on top of mine before locking our fingers together.

She continues, “When I saw you and Luke hitting it off, at first, I was excited because I’ve always wanted you two to get along, but then reality sunk in, and I got worried about what could happen if you two really hit it off. If you get what I mean.”

“I do, but I’m the last thing you should be worrying about.”

“You’re not a thing. You’re my sister, and I care about your happiness, which is why I’m saying sorry.”

“I appreciate the thought but⁠—”

“But nothing. If our roles were reversed, you wouldn’t want me to be unhappy, right?”

“Of course not, but this isn’t the same⁠—”

She interrupts me again. “Yes it is. Your happiness is equally as important as mine.”

“I am happy.” I emphasize.

She hits me with a look that makes me feel like she doesn’t entirely believe what I’m saying. “Does it make you happy to know that Luke bought the Galactic Command Base solely because he wanted to build it with you?”

My eyes widen.

“Or does it make you happy to hear that he talked to me about how he is interested in you?” She asks when I don’t answer.

My heart misses a beat.

“That look right there is why you shouldn’t stay away from Luke because of my irrational fears.”

“They’re not irrational.” Especially not when I have the same ones.

“You’re both adults who can handle your own shit, and you owe it to yourself to at least give him a shot, right? Even if it leads to nothing but awkward silence whenever you two hang out with us.”

“Are you supposed to be convincing me to give him a chance or reminding me why I should stay away from him?

She laughs. “I’m only giving you the worst-case scenario while hoping for the best.”

“And what’s the best?”

She shoots me a smile. “That’s up to you to decide.”