39

Underneath The Tree - Kelly Clarkson

The quiet hum of the heater was the only sound in the apartment as I stood at the window, watching the snow drift slowly onto the sidewalk. The lights strung across the porch twinkled gently, reflecting off the fresh layer of white outside. It felt peaceful, finally. Like the calm I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath for.

Kamala was curled up on the couch behind me, barefoot, her knees tucked under one of my grandmother's old Christmas quilts. She'd been with me since the morning, but neither of us said much. We didn't have to. The warmth between us had returned—tentative and slow, but present. And that meant everything.

Still, something about being back in my childhood home for the holidays made me feel like a girl again. Like a girl trying to explain herself, to be understood. I didn't want to mess it up.

"You okay?" Kamala's voice was soft.

I turned and nodded. "Just... taking it in."

She smiled, that same sleepy smile she always gave me when she was relaxed, when she wasn't wearing her professor mask. "Come sit."

I crossed the room, sliding in beside her. She shifted her blanket and pulled it over my lap, pressing a gentle kiss to my shoulder.

It was only the second day of winter break, but it felt like we had time again. Real time. No classes. No pressure. Just us.

Kamala had driven in last night after her last faculty meeting, and this morning, she brought flowers for my mom, helped decorate the gingerbread cookies, and even let my baby cousin braid two crooked twists into her hair. And now, she was here, like she belonged. Because she did.

The scent of cinnamon and coquito drifted in from the kitchen, and I could hear my mom humming along to the holiday playlist she'd been playing since 9 a.m.

"You ready to head over?" I asked, checking the time. It was almost five. Dinner would start soon.

Kamala took my hand. "Yeah. But I'm nervous."

"Why?"

"I think your dad still wants to kill me."

I let out a laugh. "He doesn't. He likes you. That's why he gives you such a hard time."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling it?"

I kissed her cheek. "It'll be fine. I'll protect you."

She rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders eased. "Deal."

⸻

The house smelled like home the second we walked in—sofrito, roast pork, cinnamon, and love. Always love. My little cousins ran past us in matching pajamas, yelling something about Santa, and my aunt yelled back at them to calm down before they broke the damn tree.

"Mariah!" my mother called from the dining room. "You're late!"

I pulled Kamala behind me as I stepped into the kitchen. "We're literally on time."

She gave Kamala a warm hug before swatting my shoulder with her towel. "You're lucky I love you."

"You are very lucky," Kamala added with a wink, and my mom snorted before pulling a tray of pasteles out of the oven.

"Your dad's outside with the domino table," she said. "He's already talking shit."

"I'm not surprised."

We moved through the house—Kamala greeting my cousins, hugging my aunts, helping my niece open her toy makeup kit and letting her paint her nails bright pink while my uncle raised an eyebrow and said something about her being a good sport.

I watched her from across the living room as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her hair tied back, smiling like she was a hundred miles away from the classroom, from expectations, from the weight she usually carried. She laughed at my tío's corny jokes, danced when my aunt played Elvis Crespo, and offered to help my mom refill the punch.

I'd never seen her so at ease with my world.

It made me feel safe. Like maybe, for once, I wasn't trying to hold two lives in balance. Like I was just... me. And she was here. Not as some secret. But as my person.

⸻

Later that night, after the flan had been served and the domino table finally taken down, I found myself alone in the kitchen rinsing plates. My dad stepped beside me, handing me another one.

"She's a good one," he said, not looking at me.

"I know."

"She makes you happy?"

"She makes me... whole."

He nodded slowly. "Good. That's all I needed to know."

And just like that, the years of fear I'd built around that conversation melted. My shoulders dropped, and I blinked back the sting in my eyes.

"Thanks, Papi."

He reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "You're my daughter. I don't care who you love. I just want them to love you back."

⸻

By the time Kamala and I got back to my apartment, it was close to midnight. The snow had started again—light and soft, like glitter falling from the sky.

I tossed my boots off and dropped my coat near the door.

Kamala was quiet for a second, brushing her fingers against the edge of the counter before turning to me.

"Thank you... for letting me be part of that."

I stepped closer. "You are part of it."

She smiled gently, looking down before reaching for my hand. "I never thought I'd have this. I always assumed that... the life I chose meant I'd be alone. At least in this way."

"Well... you're not alone."

She nodded, emotion flickering in her eyes. "Neither are you."

And for the first time in what felt like months, we didn't kiss out of apology, or desperation, or fear. We kissed like people who were choosing each other. Like people who wanted forever.

⸻

That night, we made cocoa in silence. Shared the same blanket. Fell asleep with the fireplace app still flickering on the TV.

And in the morning, I woke up with her arms wrapped around me. No tension. No silence. No lies.

Just love.

And it felt like a new beginning.

Even if it was snowing outside._________

Don't be mad.But this book is coming to an end 😭😭 I'll try to make the best out of the next chapters 💔