Constanza

The morning light stretches across the small upstairs room, settling in soft shapes against the pale walls. Constanza blinks slowly, listening to the low creak of footsteps below and the muffled sound of her nieces laughing.

Alfie is asleep in the other bed, tangled in his blanket with one arm thrown across his face. Their room is one of four upstairs in the timeshare her parents rented for the week near Clarinda and Brenan’s townhouse. This way everyone could stay together for the holidays. In a couple of days, everyone will be heading to Brenan’s parents’ house to have Christmas dinner before the long drive back to West Brook the day after. 

Constanza reaches for her phone on the nightstand. She felt relieved that she’d blocked Mel that night after the fight; at least now she didn’t have to worry about waking up to apology messages that would only make her stomach turn. Constanza had blocked her on every platform the night of the fight, deleting every trace she could find. Instead, there’s one message waiting at the top of her screen.

David: Good morning ☀️ Been thinking about you.

It’s only been three weeks since their lunch in November, not long after Thanksgiving break. That day had felt easy in a way most things hadn’t lately. Since then, they’d talked more — small check-ins between finals, quick messages late at night. But under every word sat the memory of Dorian’s voice, the warning she can’t forget.

She figured he must not have told David what he saw that night. If he had, there wouldn’t be texts like this waiting for her every morning.

She types back, Good morning. I was thinking about you too 🥰
The reply sends, and a small warmth spreads through her chest. It feels good to be wanted, even if guilt comes with it.

 ***

Downstairs, the smell of Café Yaucono fills the air. Her mother hums along to the old bolero playing from her phone while Clarinda’s husband, Brenan, sets a platter of Pasteles next to a bowl of Arroz Con Gandules.

Her father greets her with a nod. "Morning, dolcezza"

“Morning,” she answers, rubbing her eyes.

The table is already crowded when she sits. Her mother slides a plate in front of her, then nods toward her phone resting beside it. “So, who’s David?”

Constanza’s fork pauses above her plate. “What?”

Her mother laughs softly. “Don’t act surprised. I’ve seen his name pop up on your screen every day since we picked you up from school.”

Constanza cuts into the pastel. “He’s just a friend. We studied together for finals.”

Her mother smiles into her cup. Her look says she doesn’t believe it, but she doesn’t push. Constanza takes a bite, trying to avoid eye contact.

***

By afternoon, the house has settled into a slower rhythm. The twins are napping upstairs, Abuela is simmering sauce in the kitchen, and her parents are in the living room watching Regalo di Natale, a tradition they repeat every December before putting on Parenti serpenti the next day.

Constanza slips out onto the porch with her phone. The cold catches her breath, but the silence feels better than the crowded warmth inside. She scrolls to David’s name and presses call before she can talk herself out of it.

He picks up almost instantly.

“Hey,” he says as soon as he answers. His voice sounds softer than she remembered. “I was just about to call you.”

“I beat you to it,” she says.

He laughs quietly. “Guess so. What are you up to?”

“Nothing much. It was a nice slow day today. My sister and I will start wrapping gifts later.”

“Oh, really? Anything for me?” he jokingly asks.

“Maybe. . .” she replied playfully, knowing she hadn’t gotten him anything.

They talk about how strange it feels to be home again, about the book he started reading over break, and about his dad pushing him to plan everything every single thing for next semester. His voice has that careful steadiness he uses when trying to sound fine. .

Still, she can feel it, the effort beneath their words. He’s warmer now, more open than before, but there’s a stiffness there too, something rehearsed. She hears it in herself as well. The pauses last too long. The laughter sounds practiced. She tells herself that maybe this is how it’s supposed to be, two people finding their way toward something steady. She wants to look forward to something light, something easy, something that feels like the start of better things.

Then he asks, “Would you want to go to a New Year’s party with me?”

Her pulse jumps. “I’d love to,” she says quickly. “I’ll be back home the day after Christmas.”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details once I get them.”

They stay on the phone longer than planned, until laughter filters through from inside, reminding her to hang up.

When the call ends, she stares at her reflection in the black screen. For the first time in a while, she lets herself believe the feeling might last.

***

Night settles in softly. The sweet tune of Abuela’s humming floats down the stairs as she puts the twins to bed. The faint scent of cinnamon, roasted meat, and pine fills the air as their mother cleans the kitchen. 

The sound of wrapping paper crinkling mixes with the muffled songs of an old holiday playlist as Constanza and Clarinda sit cross-legged on the floor surrounded by rolls of wrapping paper and curls of ribbon. Alfie lounges on the couch scrolling through his phone while Brenan talks quietly with their father near the kitchen. The lights from the tree blink in a slow rhythm across the room.

Clarinda glances up after a moment. “You seem quiet tonight. Something on your mind?”

Constanza sighs. “Just thinking.”

Clarinda’s tone softens. “About. . . someone?”

“Maybe.” She pressed tape along the edge of the box and stared at it for a moment. “I don’t really know what love’s supposed to feel like. I’m trying to figure out if I’d even recognize it if it happened.”

Clarinda leans back, thinking. “You’re still young. You’re supposed to be figuring it out. Love isn’t something you understand all at once; it’s something you learn piece by piece. It shouldn’t make you feel like you have to earn it or prove it’s real. It should make you feel calm inside, even when nothing else is.”

Constanza listens quietly.

Clarinda ties another bow. “And when it’s right, you won’t have to ask anyone to tell you. You’ll just know. The thing about the right person is, you don’t have to talk yourself into it. You don’t have to guess if it’s real. You just feel it.” She finishes off the bow and places the gift to the side.

Constanza nods, a small, thoughtful sound escaping her.

Then, more brightly, Clarinda gestures toward the window at the falling snow. “It’s the most wonderful time of the year, you know. Being surrounded by a family who actually loves you, that’s the most important love of your life. People tend to forget that part.”

Right on cue, “Feliz Navidad”  by José Feliciano starts playing from her mother’s phone in the kitchen. Clarinda grins and starts singing along, loud and off-key. Constanza can’t help but laugh and join in. Their mother’s voice picks up the next verse, cheerful and bold, until all three of them are singing together. For the first time all day, the heaviness in Constanza’s chest lightens.

Later, in bed, she types a message to Amara.
Miss you. Can’t wait to see you after Christmas. We need a long catch-up.

A few seconds later, her phone vibrates.

Amara: Miss you more.🩷 I can’t wait either. It’s been way too long.

Constanza smiles faintly. She sets her phone back on the charger, exhales, and lets go of the thoughts she’s been carrying. The guilt over Mel, the uncertainty about David, and the quiet fear that she’s building something that isn’t meant to be.

For tonight, she lets herself believe that everything is falling into place.

Because that’s what the pretending season is for, to make it feel like everything’s okay, even when it isn’t.