The Holiday Switch(6)

     Try apple cider doughnuts at Comet’s Cider



     Make an ornament with Mrs. Claus



     Decorate cookies at Yule Be Baking



     Carol while on Holly’s Main Street trolley



     Hot chocolate and chess at the train depot



     Take a picture with Holly’s Santa





Hence, Mission: Holly.

“See this list? We haven’t done a single mission,” she reminds me.

With Carm’s reminder, I deflate. When we made those plans, I didn’t anticipate the senior year crunch, and now everything seems to be coming to a head. I’d rather be saving money than spending it on doing touristy things that we all know are overpriced. “Speaking of Mission: Holly…”

She waves the notion away, her face scrunched up in a frown. “Nope, nope, don’t even! You’re not backing out on me. I will not have you lose your Christmas spirit.”

I backtrack, her disappointment hitting me as hard as my siblings’ when they don’t get their way. “No, I’m not backing out. And I’m not losing my Christmas spirit. Everything just feels like it’s changing so quickly.”

“I mean, because it is? It’s not all bad, though. We’re almost out of here.”

    “You sound like my mom.” I smile, though it doesn’t make me feel better. It’s in the air—change. The dip in the temperature yesterday. Work. College. It’s as if everything has gone from zero to sixty in the last three months.

“TnT is still the same.” She slides a gaze toward the books that are stacked on my desk. One of the perks of running a free library is being able to intercept the books in rotation. “Still racking up the comments. Still reading a million hours a day, which trips me out. Who knew there were so many holiday books? So, not all of it is changing.”

Carm is the only person who knows about my blog. And since I don’t get to talk about it with anyone but her, I fall back into the topic like a pile of soft snow that’s perfect for snow angels. “I want to do something special for my second-year anniversary. There’s been an uptick in traffic. I should really take advantage of that.”

“When is it? Your blogging anniversary, I mean.”

“Second of January.”

Her eyes flash with excitement. “Oooh. You could start social media accounts for your blog. That’s a good way to branch out.”

“Yeah, but won’t people want to know who I am at some point?”

“Maybe it’s time to let everyone know who you are.”

I shake my head. “No. My parents would be furious I kept this from them. Two years I’ve been blogging—I almost feel like it’s too late to say something.”

“It’s never too late. But”—she presses her lips together, and her eyes glint—“I’ll keep thinking. Over our first Mission: Holly excursion.”

And we have circled back to her point. Carm is really good at that.

    “Hey, Lila?”

I look up to my best friend smiling at me. Not the kind of smile that precedes a joke or a sarcastic remark, but a sincere one. “Yeah?”

“I know lots of things are changing. For me too. But we won’t change, okay?”

Relief washes over me. Carm can be so type B; she is my opposite at every given moment, but we balance each other out. It’s why, despite how much it’s going to pain me to pay for tourist attractions, I will do Mission: Holly.

“Okay,” I say.

“Great. Expect a schedule in your inbox by tomorrow.” She grins with all her teeth.

I laugh—I take it back. Carm is type B except when it comes to Mission: Holly.

A knock sounds on my door, and a second later Mom steps in. Catherine Santos is wearing comfy clothing: leggings, fluffy socks, and her red-framed glasses that contrast with her dark brown skin. A reindeer antler headband holds back her shoulder-length black hair. And her hands are hiked up on her hips in a pose as she looks off into the distance with a bemused smile on her face…because she’s wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater on Earth. Sewn-in lights blink red, green, and gold, and fuzzy tinsel trims the sleeves.

I bark out a laugh, and it releases the tension in my chest. Every year she gets a little more extra.

“Whoa.” Carm heads to my mother. “That’s so ugly it’s beautiful.”

My mom beams. “It’s new. I grabbed it at Ye Old Sweater Shop. It was from last year’s stock, and look, since this light’s not turning on”—she lifts her left arm and exposes a dim red bulb—“I got it for fifty percent off.”

    “I love it.” Carm’s touching all the doodads hanging from the sweater. “Don’t you, Lila?”

I approach them to get a better look at the entire ensemble. “Yep. It’s so…you.”

Mom is a pediatric nurse, and she has two sides to her: the serious and the goofy. She can also assess pain levels, and by the way she’s currently looking at me, I can tell she’s trying to determine mine. I was in a mood when I got home from work yesterday, and she got most of yesterday’s interaction with Ms. V and Teddy out of me. “Oh, honey. Still upset about the Inn?”