Thalia freezes on the spot, a nervous energy radiating from her as she feels sheens of sweat materializing on the tip of her nose. It's over. There's no escape route; she resigns herself to giving Miguel what he wants.

"What exactly did I do that night?" she asks, her fingers quivering and her palms clammy, as Miguel switches off the engine, signaling a desire to stay a little longer.

"Well, in no particular order," he begins, counting off on his fingers, punctuating each point with refined yet expressive hand gestures. "One, you called me out for pronouncing your name wrong. That it's Ta-li-ya, and not Tal-ya, which I apologized for. Second, you called me a jackass..." Miguel meets her confused gaze. "...And third, you vomited on my clothes."

Thalia's pale face turns into different shades of red, embarrassment and horror dripping through her features. "I'm so sorry! I don't know what to say, but I have no excuse." She bows her head, squeezes her eyes shut, and pleads, "Please... Please don't fire me."

Miguel jerks his head away and exhales, "Fire you? You really think I'm a terrible person, don't you? I haven't considered letting you go because of it. I'm only curious why you seem to hate me."

Thalia considers his words and feels guilt crashing onto her. Miguel, in truth, hasn't been awful to her at all – she is merely projecting her insecurities, her frustrations.

"I'm sorry I ruined your clothes. Please let me make it up to you. I'll wash them or I can pay you back."

"I don't care about that."

"Then... I'm sorry I called you a jackass. I really don't know what came over me. And I'm sorry if I made you feel that way." Thalia chews her bottom lip, and without the option to lie, she confesses, "To be honest, you're right. I'm uncomfortable around you."

The honest answer, surprisingly, pleases Miguel. He'd rather deal with it head on instead of beating around the bush. "And why is that? What have I done wrong?"

"Can I take you up on your earlier offer? That I can pretend you're not the boss' son so I can say what I wanna say?"

"Sure," Miguel nods, prepared to hear the criticism. It's not that he's a rock without feelings, but he won't get along with Thalia if he actually did something offensive to her. He's not a mind reader–he has to hear it to know.

Thalia, preparing to express her thoughts, unlocks her phone and activates the voice recorder. "Say it. Say that you won't fire me."

Miguel chuckles and does as he's told. Consequently, Thalia, turning to her side to face him, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing a glistening snowflake earring.

"To start off, as a first-generation immigrant from the Philippines, born and raised there, it annoys me to hear you speak as if you couldn't care less about your heritage. Your tone and choice of words just rub me the wrong way. It's kinda weird because Canada prides itself as being multicultural, so you should try to know, or at bare minimum, not look down on your roots."

"That's not—"

Thalia raises a palm. "I'm not done."

Miguel clamps his lips together obediently.

"I'm a breadwinner. I left my previous job as a researcher, a job aligned with my passion, because I had to support my family. It's a grind, for sure, but the love I have for them keeps me hustling. That's what gets me through the tough days. Gotta give 'em a shot at a better life, you know?" she says. "So when you talk as if family ties don't matter, it's probably because you have your parents next to you. You've never actually lost them.

"Anyway, I know I shouldn't blame you, Miguel. It's not your fault that you didn't grow up in the same environment. You've forged a different identity. But when you diss our culture, our beliefs, I mean, Joshua and I's... You make me cringe."

Miguel blinks a couple of times, unable to fully digest everything that just came out of Thalia's mouth. "What?"

"As I said, it's not your fault. It's just... You were born with privilege in this country, so you won't ever understand what I'm going through."

Miguel is at loss for words, narrowing his eyes. He certainly did not expect that. "Wow. I feel... Very attacked."

"See? This is why you shouldn't have asked," Thalia retorts, tapping her phone. "We have an agreement. You can't fire me over this." She unlocks the car door. "Are we done?"

"No, no, wait a second. You can't just explode on me and leave it at that."

Thalia sighs, "What else do you want to hear from me? I've absolved you from it. I said it's not your fault. And I'm sorry. Truly. You're just not my cup of tea because we're different, so let's go back to how we were. Forget what happened that night."

Miguel massages his nose bridge, intrigued by Thalia's blunt honesty. Despite the potential for offense, he finds her perspective fascinating.

"You also said that you were an academic achiever," Miguel says, changing the subject, making Thalia squirm.

"You were definitely not supposed to hear that part," she admits. "I'm just frustrated. Obviously. This is all a me problem. So, can I please go–?"

"Is stocking shelves so bad?"

Her reply is swift and composed. "It isn't. I know people have to do it."

"And you don't see yourself among those people?" Miguel probes further.

"Miguel, I believe what we're doing now is essential and deserves respect. But it's not a career path I want for my entire life," she argues. "Unfortunately, right now, I don't have a choice. And please, stop speaking as if you don't hold some judgment against me."

"I don't," Miguel defends. "I help out at the store, remember? I handle sales, manage inventory. I'm not completely unfamiliar with the job."

Thalia concedes, "Fair point. Sorry. I guess I'm just too blinded by my bias against you."

Feeling the cold seeping in through the windows, Miguel starts the engine and switches on the heater once more.

"Is there anything else?" Thalia probes, glancing at her watch. It's time to call her mother. She's probably waiting.

"One more thing," Miguel murmurs. "Why did you say you're leaving?"

"Leaving?" she reiterates, taken aback.

"You said you're getting kicked out of Canada."

Thalia grunts audibly this time around, pressing both her fists against her cheeks. Of all people, why must Miguel learn every private detail about her?

"God, this mouth. I won't touch alcohol ever again..." she castigates herself, earning a chuckle from the man next to her. "My work permit is expiring in about six months."

Miguel motions forward, causing Thalia to back off in surprise. "You're taking steps to address that, right?"

"Well, I am... exploring options. Maybe applying as a skilled worker, I don't know. Hiring a consultant is pricey," Thalia says, attempting to sound nonchalant, though the impending stress of her uncertain immigration status lingers. "Or I'll marry."

When Miguel doesn't answer, Thalia seizes the chance. She exits the car and lightly knocks on the window, which Miguel obligingly rolls down.

"I'm sorry again. For everything," Thalia utters. "I swear I'll be civil with you. And tomorrow, I'll be back as your regular employee."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Huh?"

"That part where you said you'll marry."

A hollow laughter escapes Thalia. "That's really the part you focused on? Mm, maybe," she admits, tapping the roof of the car. "Drive safe. Good night."

******

Store operations persist, with retail stores and restaurants maintaining their open doors except for the rare closure on Christmas Day and New Year's Day. In the supposed period of relaxation in anticipation for these events, not everyone has the luxury of time off. Workers like Thalia find themselves clocking in.

True to her promise, Thalia no longer avoids Miguel. Instead, she actively goes out of her way to greet him, conditioning herself to embrace their differences. Live and let live. Agree to disagree. After all, they don't have to be friends.

He will always be her boss.

It's not the same for Miguel, however, because he senses that she is merely trying to be polite. What she said to him—what she thought of him—has struck a nerve, driving him to do some self-reflection. Her critique resonates in his head like a broken record, and he misses a day of posting new content in his channel. In lieu, he posts a short one with some holiday greetings and a vague excuse that he's been busy. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Approaching midnight on the 24th of December, Miguel rocks his feet while seated on the leather sofa of their living room, watching the Christmas lights dance through various colors. Beneath the twinkling lights lie presents, likely mostly chocolates from his parents' friends.

The aroma of baked lasagna and pork liempo intensifies Miguel's hunger, and his thoughts drift back to Thalia, wondering what she'll have for her noche buena.

By herself.

"I'll go upstairs for a little bit. Your Papa and I will be down at exactly 12," Sheila announces.

"Okay," he answers. Once she's gone, he hastily goes to the kitchen, scrambling to find some Tupperwares, and fills them with their holiday feast.

******

Thalia returns to her apartment at 8 PM following the mass. She prepares her dinner, a plate of roasted chicken and some rice and buko pandan, leaving a little for when the clock hits 12 AM.

She succumbs to a well-deserved sleep until an unexpected interruption at 11:00 PM. There's a missed call from Miguel.

Thalia texts him instead, dismissing the likelihood of him stealing her number from the staff contact list.

Thalia: What is it? Why'd you call?

He calls her immediately. Rolling her eyes, she picks up and utters a casual: "What?"

"I'm downstairs. What's your apartment number?" Miguel's voice crackles through the phone.

Her dizziness vanishes as she slips her slippers on. "What? Why? How did you get past the front door—?"

"Apartment number?" he insists.

"302. Why are you here?"

And then he hangs up without replying. Perplexed by his sudden appearance, Thalia waits at the front door. Miguel really does whatever he wants.

Miguel tosses two neatly packaged food containers to Thalia the moment she swings open the door.

"We have too much for three people," he says, grinning, quite pleased with himself.

Thalia, raising an eyebrow, counters, "You think I don't have food?"

Miguel lets out an exasperated groan. "Why can't you just say thank you?"

"You didn't have to. But thanks." She smiles, her soft laughter filling the doorway.

"There. That's all you need to say," he mutters. "I'll head out now."

Curious, Thalia questions, "Why did you come?"

"What? Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I know... You're celebrating alone."

She has been feeling a bit down; it's true. Her mother and Aly celebrated Christmas eve ahead of time due to time zone differences, and this morning, Aly and her mother were already embroiled in another argument.

So much for the holiday season. Ever since Thalia left, the two haven't been getting along. They are too much alike—both stubborn and headstrong.

"Do you want me to like you?"

Miguel involuntarily twitches back. "What? No. I want you to un-dislike me. There's a difference."

Thalia looks at Miguel, recognizing the soft blush across his cheeks. "What's the difference?"

He awkwardly fumbles through his pockets, uncertain where to hide his hands that have started to quiver. "It's not great knowing I've offended or hurt someone. It makes me uncomfortable, too."

"I told you it's not your fault—"

"But still," Miguel interjects. "Just... Merry Christmas. Bye."

He doesn't wait for Thalia's response. He isn't ready for any unpredictability, and she is exactly that. Thalia embodies unpredictability in its entirety.

Thalia observes Miguel descending the stairs, his thick black hair swaying playfully as he hops down with the carefree energy of a child. When the echo of his footsteps dissipates, she retreats to her apartment, delicately putting the Tupperwares on her weathered dining table.

"Merry Christmas," she whispers wistfully, her voice carrying a newfound peace that wasn't there before.

There's a lift in her spirits, a delicate shift sparked by Miguel's unanticipated visit, like a small ember igniting in the midst of her holiday solitude.

******

A/N: I wrote this chapter during the holidays (2023) and I gotta say it just gave me the feels!

Thanks for reading!