CHAPTER 60: CHRISTMAS EVE

Christmas Eve. One Serendra, Unit 18-B.

By late afternoon, the condo felt alive.

Boxes were stacked near the living room wall—one tall carton marked "TREE," two flatter boxes of lights, and several bags of ornaments Angela had picked. The balcony curtains were drawn back, letting the sunset wash the room in orange. Bonifacio Global City’s skyline glowed outside like it was dressed up for the night too.

"Brother, can we start?" Angela bounced on her toes, already tugging at the tape on the big box.

Timothy smiled. "Go ahead. I’ll help you lift it out."

Evelyn poked her head out from the kitchen, a wooden spoon in hand. "Careful with the floor, ha. And don’t block the hallway. I still need to pass with the plates."

The kitchen smelled like a real feast—garlic and onions sizzling, a hint of peanut sauce from the kare-kare, and something sweet from the leche flan cooling on the counter. Pots clinked, oil crackled, and the oven hummed. It was busy, but it felt warm. It felt like home.

Timothy cut the tape and opened the tree box. Together, he and Angela pulled out the segments: base, middle, and top. He screwed the stand on and set it in the corner between the window and the TV, then lifted the bottom section into place. Angela fluffed the branches with both hands, determined, face scrunching with focus.

"It looks real," she said, stepping back. "Like the ones in the mall."

"Wait until the lights are on," Timothy replied.

They slotted the second and third segments. The seven-foot tree stood tall now, bare but full. Angela circled it once, nodding like a tiny judge. Approval granted.

Timothy opened the light string box and tested them first. Soft warm bulbs blinked to life.

"Okay," he said. "Lights first. Start from the bottom, wrap evenly. I’ll go around with you."

They worked slowly, moving in rhythm—Angela passing the strand, Timothy looping it across branches, checking spacing. Every few minutes Angela stepped back, squinted, and pointed. "A little more there." He adjusted without complaint.

From the kitchen, Evelyn called out, "Tim! Taste this."

He walked over and dipped a spoon into the simmering kare-kare. Rich, nutty, and soft from the oxtail and tripe.

"How is it?" she asked, eyes searching his face.

"Perfect," he said honestly. "Just like always."

Evelyn’s shoulders loosened. "Good. I’ll fry the chicken next. You two keep going."

Back at the tree, Angela had opened the ornament bags and lined everything up on the sofa: red and gold balls, ribbon swirls, tiny bells, and a silver star still in its box.

"Rules," Timothy said, half-teasing. "No three reds in a row."

Angela grinned. "Copy."

They started hanging. Angela took the lower branches while Timothy handled the upper half. Every so often, she stretched on tiptoe and he steadied her, hand light on her shoulder. He tied the long ribbon in wide curls, letting it drape like a simple cascade. The tree filled up slowly, evenly, until it looked balanced.

"The star," Angela said at last, lifting the small box like treasure. "Can I?"

Timothy nodded and lifted her. She reached up and set the silver star gently on the top spike. The lights caught it, and it shimmered.

He set her down. They stood together in quiet for a second, just looking.

"It’s beautiful," Angela whispered.

"Yeah," he said. "It is."

He clicked off the ceiling lights. The room fell into the tree’s glow, soft, golden, calm. The reflection of the lights showed in the window glass, doubling the shine. Angela clasped her hands, smiling to herself, then hurried to plug in the second strand along the window rail.

Evelyn came out with an apron on, hair tied back. She stopped when she saw the tree. For a heartbeat she didn’t speak.

"Ma?" Timothy asked.

Evelyn blinked and smiled, eyes getting wet. "I... it’s beautiful," she said, voice small. "We never had one like this." She wiped the corner of her eye quickly and laughed at herself. "Ay, I’m getting sentimental. Okay, okay—go set the table. We’ll eat after midnight, but we can put the plates out now."

They moved together. Timothy laid out plates and cutlery; Angela folded paper napkins into little triangles; Evelyn carried out a tray of fresh lumpiang shanghai to cool. The dining table looked ready: a big bowl for spaghetti, a spot reserved for fried chicken, a platter for kare-kare and bagoong, a plate for ham, and space for the leche flan.

Timothy slipped into his room for a moment and came back with two neat boxes hidden behind his back: one slim and white; the other orange with a ribbon. He placed them quietly under the tree, side by side.

Angela noticed. "Brother, what’s that?"

"Gifts," he said lightly. "Open later."

She pouted playfully but let it go. She went back to arranging forks.

Evening settled in. The condo filled with the sound of small things—pan lids, timers, Angela humming a carol off-key. Outside, BGC’s streets glowed with moving taillights and the slow build of Christmas Eve traffic. The hours thinned. Nine o’clock. Ten. Eleven.

They sat on the sofa for a while, half watching a cheesy Christmas movie. Angela dozed on Timothy’s shoulder for ten minutes, then popped back up when Evelyn called from the kitchen that the last batch of chicken was done. The table was complete now.

Evelyn took off her apron and smoothed her simple blouse. "It’s almost twelve," she said. "Let’s take a picture by the tree."

They stood in front of the glow, Evelyn in the middle, an arm around each child; Angela with a peace sign up; Timothy with a small, real smile. They took a few shots, then a timer photo on the TV console that caught all three laughing at nothing in particular.

And then the clock on the oven beeped midnight.

"Merry Christmas," Evelyn said, pulling both of them in. Her voice shook just a little.

"Merry Christmas, Mom," Timothy replied, hugging her back. "Merry Christmas, Angela."

"Merry Christmas!" Angela chirped, bouncing away. "Gifts! Gifts!"

Timothy nodded toward the tree. "Okay. You first."

Angela skidded on her socks to the two boxes. She looked between them, eyes shining, then picked the slim white one with the quiet Apple logo. She tugged the ribbon free, slid the lid off—and froze.

"What... is this...?" She looked up, stunned.

"Open it," Timothy said, trying not to smile too wide.

Angela lifted the phone carefully out of its cradle. "Phone?" The words came out in a whisper. "For me?"

Timothy nodded once. "It’s yours."

Angela’s mouth fell open. For a second she couldn’t speak. Then she launched forward and hugged him so hard the box almost fell. "Thank you! Thank you, brother! I’ll take care of it, I promise, I swear!"

"Use it to call me anytime," he said, steadying her. "And for school. We’ll set it up later."

Evelyn watched, hand over her chest, a soft smile on her face. Timothy gestured at the orange box with the ribbon.

"Mom. Yours."

Evelyn blinked. "Ay, I have one too?" She picked it up gingerly, like it might be too much. She tugged the ribbon loose and opened the lid.

Inside lay a simple, elegant bag—smooth leather, classic shape, the kind that would last forever.

Evelyn’s fingers hovered, then touched it with gentle care. "Tim... this is... so pretty."

"It suits you," Timothy said. "You don’t have to use it today. But it’s yours. For church, for anywhere."

Evelyn shook her head lightly, overwhelmed. "You shouldn’t have, this looks expensive."

"It’s just a bag," he replied gently. "Don’t worry about the price."

She didn’t know the brand. She didn’t need to. What mattered was the look on her face, surprise melting into happiness, relief, something like pride.

"Thank you, Tim," she said, voice soft. "I’ll take care of it."

Angela was already peeking at the camera, holding her phone box like a trophy. "Picture with gifts!"

They posed again, laughing.

When they were done, Evelyn glanced around. "Where is yours, Tim?"

He shrugged, honest. "I don’t need one. This is enough."

Evelyn hesitated, then reached behind the TV cabinet and pulled out a small paper bag. "I have something for you," she said, almost shy. "It’s not much."

Timothy took the bag and opened it. Inside was a simple watch, brown strap, plain face, no brand he recognized.

He looked at her. She watched him closely, worried he might brush it off.

"It’s perfect," he said, and meant it. He slid the watch onto his wrist and tightened the buckle. "I’ll wear it every day."

Evelyn exhaled and smiled, the kind that shows the years behind it. "Good. So you won’t forget the time when you’re too busy."

Angela giggled. "Brother, now you can’t be late."

"Never," he promised.

They sat down to eat.