Re: Quicklog, Marvel: the Martin-Argüelleses
They weren't going to eat while they were in the living room, and not while they were tracking back and forth the small space to open presents. Cris would never be able to find all the crumbs. So the tray, wrapped, was placed in the (off) oven to be enjoyed afterward. Pastelitos de guayaba were treats his own mamá would've made, if they were where they were supposed to be. But, she wasn't here, and though he was sure Elena's were store-bought, the holidays brought enough homesickness that he just hoped they were bought from the little place down the street, not in Elena's new Brooklyn.—He came back into the room when Teresa scooted off to find his phone for him (she'd just been using it to play some game with too many sound effects), and his arms crossed automatically. He caught the snag of Elena's eyes on the hat, but only responded to her mention of something in the car.
"After," was all he managed before the little girl was back and climbing on top of him when he sat. He smiled at her and helped her unlock the phone so she could take pictures. He jerked his chin in the direction of the tree. "She got you something."
In a generic box, wrapped in festive paper, with a single spout of a red bow in the corner, was a t-shirt for Elena, from her daughter. White, long-sleeved, with a handmade (ha) Rudolph painted on the chest, it waited to be opened.
"She said you had to go first," Cris smiled, proud of Teresa's generosity, her willingness to be patient on the one day of the year when most kids couldn't remember the meaning of the word. He kissed the back of her head, long, black hair brushing his nose when he managed to push Olaf's face out of the way. He put a hand on the hood to keep it from smacking him again, while Teresa chanted: "Go, go, go!"