The Tori Trilogy (19 page)

It ripples down her back in perfect, thick, shiny waves that reach her waist. When she moves her head, it cascades past her shoulders like a silken drape. Her pretty features and little-girl cuteness make it clear that one day, Joy Salinas will be a knockout. But instead of feeling jealous, I feel proud of my cousin.

She blushes at all the compliments. “Oh, Tori....”

Suddenly, the door to my room bursts open, and Bella flies in, looking beautiful herself in a short silver-gray dress, black leggings, black boots, and chunky silver jewelry. “Oh, my gosh!” she exclaims. “You guys are, like,
so
cute! Do you want a little makeup?”

“Makeup?”
we gasp together.

“You know Mom doesn't let me wear makeup,” Joy says to her sister.

“My mom doesn't, either,” I admit grudgingly. “Unless it's stage makeup.”

“Oh, well,” replies Bella with an easy shrug. “It's Christmas, right? They can't get mad tonight. Besides, I won't
overdo
it.”

So Joy and I sit side by side on my bed, allowing Bella to accent our eyes with (
very
light) shadow, sweep blusher up our cheekbones, dust us with body shimmer, and gloss our lips. When she's finished, she leads the way to my dresser mirror.

We gasp at our reflections. “I look at least eleven!” I cry, feeling super-sophisticated.

“At least,”
Bella agrees.

“Wow,” is all Joy says. She tucks her hair behind her ears, turns this way and that, and beams at herself.

Then we both hug Bella.

She laughs. “Very festive, you guys. Now, let's go. The rest of the family will be here any minute.”

Feeling a familiar thrill of Christmas-Eve anticipation, I follow my cousins downstairs.

The whole house is perfect. The outdoor Christmas lights make our yard come alive, the electric candlesticks in all the front windows flicker invitingly, the Christmas tree and lighted decorations inside spread a cozy cheer throughout the rooms, and a blazing fire dances merrily over fresh, fragrant pine logs in the fireplace.

I wander toward the dining room, aglow in the soft light of dozens of candles. The long table is spread with a holly-green linen cloth, a miniature Christmas tree serves as a centerpiece, and bone china plates and polished silverware stand ready on the old-fashioned sideboard next to a large crystal bowl of sparkling punch. Holiday music floats through the air, which is full of the fragrance of Christmas.

Tonight, I decide, is not a time to focus on my troubles. Tonight is, instead, a time to be happy. I square my shoulders and smile big, letting the spirit of the holidays fill me to overflowing.

And then the doorbell rings.

Chapter Eight

As it turns out, Abuelita and Abuelito, with Auntie Crista's family in tow, pull into our driveway a split-second behind Auntie Luz, Uncle Gabe, and the girls. It's a big, happy Salinas family reunion as we fill up the entryway, greeting one another with hugs and kisses and shouts of “Merry Christmas!” and
“Feliz Navidad!”

Even though I just saw Auntie Crista a month ago, she makes a fuss over me, which I enjoy. “Tori!” she exclaims, grabbing me up in a hug.
“Corazón,
don't tell me you've grown since I saw you Thanksgiving!” The oldest Salinas sibling after Dad, Auntie Crista has short, pixie-cut black hair, and an edgy, urban style. According to my grandparents, she took voice lessons most of her growing-up years, and worked quite a few gigs in college.

Her outspoken style and strong personality contrast her sharply from sweet Auntie Luz, but Auntie Crista is a lot of fun in her own way, and I love her. “I don't
think
I grew,” I tell her now. “Maybe it's the makeup that makes me look older?”

“Makeup!
Ay de mi
(My goodness),
Victoria!”
Auntie Crista laughs. “So Susan is letting you wear it now? Good for her!”

“Susan is
what?”
Mom repeats, pushing into our huddle to greet Auntie Crista for herself.

“Letting Tori wear makeup,” says Auntie Crista straightforwardly. “She looks darling!”

“I don't let her wear makeup.” Mom glances at me, then does a double-take. “Tori, you've got on eye shadow!”

“And body shimmer and blusher and lip gloss,” I add proudly.

Auntie Crista tosses back her head and laughs.

“Joy's wearing makeup, too,” I tell Mom. “Bella said you and Aunt Leilani wouldn't mind because it's Christmas!”

“You said
what,
Isabella?” exclaims Aunt Leilani, amusement tingeing her voice.

“Come on, Mom,” Bella wheedles. “They look adorable, don't you think?”

“It
is
Christmas,” sighs Aunt Leilani. She looks at Mom.

“It
is
Christmas,” Mom repeats, letting me know we're off the hook.

I high-five Joy, who giggles.

“What is this, a conspiracy?” Uncle Javi asks, leaning down to drop a playful kiss on top of Joy's hair. “Don't you dare grow up as fast as your sister,
angelita.”
He cuts his eyes toward Bella.

“Oh, Daddy!” Bella cries, pulling Uncle Javi's arm around her shoulders. “I'll
always
be your little girl.”

“You got it,
bellísima
(beautiful). Your old man wouldn't have it any other way.”

“I want makeup, too!” Gina declares, her dark eyes pleading with Auntie Luz. “Mom, can I ask Bella to--”

My aunt won't let her finish. “You heard them,
amor
(love),” she replies. “It
is
Christmas!”

“Yes!” cheers Gina, hopping up and down.

Bella takes her by the arm. “Come on,” she says. “We'll put it on upstairs.”

I love the happiness in the air, the chatter of my family and the smells of good food and the sights and sounds of Christmas. Uncle Kevin, who's always seemed just a
teeny
bit out of place in our huggy, kissy family, greets me in his reserved way. He's a nice guy, but of all my uncles, I feel that I know him least well.

He's got faded sandy hair with fingers of gray stretching upward from his temples, and he's
always
wearing sweaters, the big, bulky knit kind with pictures of elk and things on them that went out of style before I was born. Uncle Kevin and Auntie Crista are a classic case of “opposites attract.”

As for their sons, my cousins Michael and Jeff are seventeen-year-old identical twins, medium-height with brown hair and an olive complexion similar to that of my brothers' and mine. Michael is the jock, his hair kept short, his arms taught with muscles. He plays at least three high-school sports and hopes to get to college on a football scholarship. Jeff is the musician, the serious one. He wears his hair in a longish, angular cut that sweeps below his eyes, and plays piano and guitar in some weird indie band started by one of his friends.

In greeting, Michael picks me up with a loud war whoop and thumps me on the back. “Merry Christmas, Cuz!” he hollers. Very typical.

Jeff shakes the hair out of his eyes and gives me a loose one-sided hug. Also very typical. Then they both head off with Nate, Ben, and Joey to talk about whatever it is that guys talk about when they're together.

Abuelita slips an arm across my back.
“Feliz Noche Buena, nieta preciosa
(Merry Christmas Eve, precious granddaughter),” she says. “Come to the kitchen and see what I have prepared.” She leads me down the short hall to the kitchen, where she sets a covered casserole dish on the counter and removes the lid.

I peek inside, delighted to find
papas a la huancaina,
a traditional Peruvian side dish consisting of boiled, sliced potatoes covered in a thick, spicy cheese sauce and garnished by fat purple olives and slivers of hardboiled egg. Except for the olives and eggs, I'm a big fan, and my grandmother knows it.

“Oh,
gracias,
Abuelita!” I cry, throwing my arms around her. “I was hoping you'd bring it!”

She smiles. “I have brought tamales, empanadas, and beet salad, as well.”

My mouth falls open. “That's a lot of food!”

From behind us, Abuelito laughs. “There is more,” he announces, settling Abuelita's stainless steel chocolate pot on the kitchen table next to a bulging paper grocery bag.
“Chocolate caliente, panettone, y bomboncitos del
Perú
(Hot chocolate,
panettone,
and candies from Peru).”

“Oh!” I exclaim, pushing past him to view the contents of the bag. “Did our relatives in Lima send us candy again?”

“Sí
(Yes)
, Victoria.
”
My grandfather's face creases with a smile.

I happily discover a long tin of gourmet Peruvian truffles, a box of Peruvian candy bars known as Princesa, and a package of my all-time favorite Peruvian cookies, Doña Pepa, which taste like chocolate-covered graham crackers rolled in sprinkles. “Can I put these with the Christmas cookies?” I ask excitedly.

My grandparents laugh. “Of course, my Tori,” says Abuelita.

I hug myself. “Oh, Abuelita, Abuelito!” I cry. “Don't you just
love
Christmas Eve?”

A faraway look fills my grandmother's eyes. “It is the best night of the year,” she says.

I know Abuelita is remembering celebrations of
Noche Buena
back in Lima. The South American Christmas Eve is a much bigger deal than Christmas Day. Families gather late at night to enjoy elaborate turkey dinners, much like Thanksgiving feasts in the States, with
panettone
and hot chocolate for dessert. At midnight there are champagne toasts, and the color and glitter and crackle of fireworks light the night sky.

Because December in the Southern Hemisphere is the beginning of summer, patio doors are thrown wide, and families rush into courtyards to watch the displays. Afterwards, children open their Christmas presents and go off to bed, leaving the adults to enjoy an all-night party full of dancing and fun. By the time everybody settles down, it is around six o'clock in the morning, so they sleep in late the next day.

I've never spent a Christmas in Lima, but Dad and his siblings did a few times when they were growing up. Although the celebration sounds exciting, I think it would be anticlimactic to wake up on Christmas morning with no stockings to unstuff, no presents to open, and no family to visit. Here in Forest Grove, we have the best of both worlds: a big celebration on Christmas Eve, presents on Christmas morning, and another family gathering at Auntie Luz and Uncle Gabe's on Christmas afternoon.

The only thing that would make this holiday more perfect would be the arrival of Andrew and Stephanie's baby. I tell Abuelita so.

She smoothes my hair, her comforting, grandmotherly way. “Have patience,
Victoria,”
she tells me. “If the baby were here now, Andrew and Stephanie might not be able to spend Christmas Eve with us, and then the whole family would not be together.”

I bite my lip. I hadn't thought of that.

A few minutes later, when my brother and sister-in-law arrive, I feel grateful for once that they aren't at the hospital. I would miss them too much. But still, if the baby had been born Monday, as it was supposed to be, Andrew and Stephanie
might
have been able to come...and bring my new niece with them!

“Why the long face?” Stephanie asks, giving me a hug.

“Long face?” I echo. “Oh, I guess I was just thinking.” I smile at her. “Are you glad you're spending Christmas Eve with us?”

“Of course I'm glad!” She laughs. “As ready as I am for this baby to be born, I'll have to admit, it would be a little gloomy spending Christmas Eve in a sterile hospital room.”

“What are you guys doing tomorrow?” I ask, turning to hug Andrew.

“Spending the day with Steph's family,” he answers. I notice that he and Stephanie exchange a look.

But I don't have time to wonder about it.

Mom calls everyone into the candlelit dining room, where Abuelito says a beautiful blessing, thanking God that the entire Salinas family is able to spend Christmas together. Then we move through a buffet line, filling Mom's best china plates with delicious food. At the end of the line, I ladle punch into a crystal glass, pick up a Christmas-tree-shaped napkin (everyone liked them so much the other night that Mom asked me to origami-fold them again, this time on high-quality, cranberry-red dinner napkins), and find a seat at the table between Gina and Joy.

“How do you like my makeup?” Gina asks, tilting her face to the light. She, too, is wearing Bella's pale-gold eye shadow, sparkly body shimmer, bronze blusher, and frosted-pink lip gloss.

“You look beautiful!” Joy says.

“We
all
look beautiful,” I add. “Bella's a pro.”

Gina smiles meaningfully at me over the top of Joy's head. The gleam in her eyes seems to say, “I
told
you you'd like having houseguests!”

I wink back, letting her know she was right.

After dinner, we relax fireside in the living room. Abuelita serves her hot chocolate with generous, fluffy wedges of
panettone,
and Mom announces that she and Dad and Aunt Leilani have spread the dining-room table with Christmas cookies, brownies, chocolate-dipped pretzels, candied pecans, and Peruvian chocolates. There is a coffee bar set up on the sideboard for the adults, complete with sugar, half-and-half, and two flavors of Christmas creamer.

The atmosphere in our house is the coziest and happiest that I can remember. At one point, Jeff sits at the piano and starts to play Christmas carols from memory. Before long, we've all joined in, singing from the bottom of our hearts. Auntie Crista's strong voice soars above the rest.

We sing “Silent Night” and “Jingle Bells” and “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” and “Joy to the World” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Then Abuelito shouts out, “'Feliz Navidad!'” and breaks into that old Christmas song by José Feliciano. Auntie Crista joins him, harmonizing perfectly.