"I'll carry those," Tienne said, gathering the plastic bags that crinkled in the chilly night air. She picked up the round tin container of cookies--which nearly slipped out of her mittens--and shook it beside her ear. "Are they the same from last year?"

"A different flavour. They didn't have the same ones."

"Hug? I missed you."

I was afraid to crush her willowy frame, but she hugged me with more strength than a few months ago. My sister's hugs never failed to make me feel right at home. Her butterfly clips glittered under the Christmas lights like a good omen.

It was freezing in the driveway, but magical all the same. Purple Christmas lights wound around the bare branches of the front lawn's tree. No doubt Kimmy had fun with those; Mom and Dad wouldn't climb a ladder to string them along the roof in a million years. A thick blanket of snow covered the lawn like a sculpted ice cream sandwich, but without bread, only the filling.

Tienne was glowing when we parted. "I didn't believe you at first when you said you were dating someone, but I think I can see it now."

"How so?"

She joined her mittens together in a square and squinted at me. "You're handsome without trying."

I rolled my eyes. Tienne had a romantic phase and not for the first time, I wondered if she ever grew out of it. I cracked my knuckles. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"I have your back," she responded, pumping her fists. "You're way calmer nowadays. And I need you to set an example so not everyone in my family is going the academic route! It gets boring after you list the same jobs over and over again."

"Em không lần?" Mom called from the front porch. We hurriedly made our way around the slick sidewalk and into the house. She helped me carry my stuff to the living room, all while complaining of my lack of proper winterwear. "Aiya, no wonder you have acne. You're not taking care of yourself."

"Acne has nothing to do with cold weather, Mama. Want me to help in the kitchen?"

"I'll let you cook on the weekend. I found this new recipe on youtube, you know that đẹp trai? He slow-cooks the chicken breast on a bed of tofu and mixes in egg to soften the meat. You're staying for the entire break so I have plenty of time to teach you," she said.

I nodded; I would have to write down that recipe later. "Where's Baba?"

"Out buying dessert at the Vietnamese bakery." Glancing at my guitar, she said, "When are you going to look for a real job?"

For my parents, formal education and an academic job ruled the hierarchy of life stages. That included dating. If I couldn't show that I could manage my career, there'd be no way to convince them that I could hold a relationship with Nora. "I'm getting somewhere."

My mom's face softened. "Your music is good. But the arts is so subjective. So hard to get in because they don't hire people who look like us."

Did she want me to pursue music or not? She had put me in as many music-related things as possible, made parodies of songs to help me study for tests, and always listened to me go on about artists she never heard of without. She liked music almost as much as I did.

I knew her logic stemmed from wanting me to get a better job than what my mom and dad had left to choose when they immigrated to San Francisco, then here. But hearing the possible obstacles hardened my resolve. My parents had an odd way of showing their support, but I wouldn't have been able to pursue music this far without them.

"But, you get higher education, and there are employers who will want you," she continued. "That is why I am getting an engineering degree. It is never too late."

The LED downlights sharpened my mom's silhouette, but as she came closer, I noticed the beginnings of wrinkles that traced her round cheeks. She pinched my nose between her fingers. It was the only direct affection she'd ever show, physical or otherwise. So many emotions swelled up inside me that I missed what she said. "...You have another song this year?"

"Always," I replied. Our family had quitted trying to give each other materialistic gifts, since they would all accumulate in some corner of the closet, or contribute to diabetes--the latter that our parents definitely didn't need. Instead, Tienne and Kimmy haggled with our mom over control in the kitchen ("Sit down and let us do the rest!"), our parents gave us glossy red envelopes filled with money, and I sang.

I wondered what Monty would think of his present. He'd gone off the grid after exams, but I snooped around our shared apartment to see which video games he didn't own yet. It was terrifying that I couldn't. My next go-to option was making a song. 8-bit music, drums, heavy bass and the sort were the easiest for him to follow, but my incorporation skills of other instruments were rudimentary and I didn't want to give him a low-quality song. But after a completely functional, run-if-you-smell-socializing conversation with Joachim on Instagram, I picked an indie game and hoped the game reviews lived up to Monty's standards.

"Let's go to the kitchen," Tienne said, sliding to the kitchen with her sock-covered feet. Mom gave me one last look before she followed Tienne with the soft slapping of rubber slippers against the floor. The smell of oyster sauce, turmeric and fried spring rolls wafted to the hallway.

On the way to the living room, I stopped by the small altar dedicated to the god of luck, Thần Tài. The statue was dressed in red and gold robes. He had a white beard and a money bag. Mom had placed a fresh vase of flowers, two tangerines, and a lit stick of incense as offerings. A sliver of smoke drifted upwards, tackling my nose with the comforting scent. Placing my palms together, I muttered a quick prayer for the winter break to be the break I needed.

In the living room, the TV screen was playing a thriller drama on low volume. On the TV's mantle were an assortment of pictures of me and my siblings in San Francisco. It'd been a pretty cool place, with a high Asian ethnic population, sparkly mica sidewalks and a history steeped in all genres of music--jazz, punk and rock.

Ten-year-old me had just about cried a river when we moved to Kingston for better work opportunities. You couldn't just rip up my roots and expect me to adjust well. In hindsight it made sense. My parents had been chasing every fleeting glimmer of a better life for us. But how could you trust a life-changing choice when it only confirmed that the world was so unpredictable?

"Salutations, Tai," said Kimmy, stretching the word like she always did. She pouted as I grabbed a pillow and used it to push her legs off the leather couch to make room for myself. What a space-hogger. Scrolling through her phone, she said, "Dinner's almost ready. When's Nora coming again?"

"Shh," I hissed, "I haven't told Mom or Dad yet. She's coming on the 29th."

She rolled her eyes. "They won't care about her being white, chill. They didn't kill me when I dated white guys. Don't get your hopes up though. They'll still drive you crazy with questions."

"I know the process," I groaned.

"Don't look so glum! Seriously, I'm shocked Mom hasn't picked up on it at all. Like, you literally called me ten times more often just 'cause you're freaking out over little stuff."

"It's not little stuff."

"Kim Ly, đến đây! Tại sao em không rửa sạch cái nồi?"

An avalanche of clattering plates followed, drilling holes into my eardrums. This was why I didn't like cooking with more than one person in the kitchen.

"Oops. Coming!" Kimmy got up from the couch and tied her thick hair into a ponytail. "I know you'd be a nervous wreck so I prepped a script upstairs; it's in my bedroom. Practice it. And don't touch my jewelry stuff."

The noise from the kitchen made my head throb, so I escaped up the staircase to the second floor. I passed my old room that was now used by Tienne. I passed Quan Âm's altar mounted to the wall, her serene gaze looking down on me as she poured water from her vase and held a willow branch in the other. I reminded myself to pray more often; I considered myself a practising Buddhist, but such habits vanished when I suddenly didn't have others doing the same thing to give me a visual reminder.

In Kimmy's bedroom, I found the script. It was addressed in what should be considerate language, where you validate the other person's opinions before inserting your own. Kimmy had shedded her high-school phase of acting and theatre after finding her calling as a nurse, but on her off days Kimmy exercised it like a muscle. She had helped me with university interviews too. It was crazy how applicable certain life skills could be.

Moving to where I'd sleep for the break, I ran back down the stairs to grab my stuff and hauled it all into my older brother's bedroom. It was nondescript. Liam had taken most of his things to where he worked in Ottawa. Trophies for taekwondo, old school supplies and clothes that didn't fit him anymore were the only remnants of my brother that stayed.

"How are you so optimistic that things will go well?" Nora wore her resting face. I was still getting used to Nora's particular gestures and expressions, so I wasn't sure what she was really thinking inside.

"Because you planned everything carefully." She wanted to recreate a Scottish Christmas dinner for her dad, and she had invited her friend, Hannah, to help out. "I can't imagine your dad hating it."

"It's not hating it that's the problem." Nora adjusted the buttons on her blazer. "I don't know. What am I supposed to expect at a Christmas dinner? I've gotten used to not doing these family things at all. Past ones were so forced like a theatrical production. What if I'm acting just like my mother in an attempt to recreate some family bonding?"

Thinking about it gave me a headache. I could sympathize with her situation, but because I'd never gone through a parents' divorce, I couldn't "put myself in her shoes," so to speak. "You're trying your best, and that's the most that anyone can do. As long as you and your dad make your feelings clear, you don't have to worry about sending the wrong message, right? Like with my brother, what's frustrating is that he rarely tells my parents anything—even less than me or my sisters. So that's a sore spot for us. But for you, it's a chance to start things over! Winter break is the best time to bond because neither of you have excuses to be busy. I'm not going to say 'I know it'll turn out fine,' because I don't, but there's a high likelihood it will."

The more I got to know Nora, the more I saw that she told me the things going on in her life because she wanted to strike up a conversation. How, or about what, I could never be sure. I asked questions like an interviewer because that method generated a sort of predictable pathway of conversation to understand. So I spoke to her about that. Nora did admit that a part of her was fishing for sympathy, but also that she wanted me to know what was going on in her life. "I guess it's a lack of trust that's the problem. But I know I can trust you. So thank you for being in my life, Tai."

--

I couldn't remember a better family Christmas Eve dinner. Mom presented her signature stuffed roast chicken with gravy and cranberry sauce. A bowl of mushrooms served as alternative stuffing. Dad arrived just in time with a tray of Cantonese crispy noodles and chè chuối--both the soft version and the one where they wrapped the bananas in glutinous rice. Kimmy made a smaller raspberry cheesecake this year, along with spring rolls, sticky sweet rice, and raw bell peppers. But as usual, Kimmy liked to change things up, and this year she placed roasted bell pepper with meat and cheese on top of bread. It was a spin on a popular snack Mom had given us when there were leftovers in the fridge. I preferred the bell pepper to be raw and crunchy, and the bread to be toasted. It tasted amazing with cheese.

My family understood how important it was to have my familiar dishes. The chicken, glass noodle stuffing, raw bell peppers, sticky rice and banana dessert were my constants in an unpredictable world. I didn't have to worry about them feeling too soft or slimy or lumpy in my mouth.

We didn't do small talk around the dinner table. We talked about the necessary things; family decisions, a future summer vacation, and the nitty gritty details of our future. I drifted in the background without being noticed nor excluded from the conversation. It turned to Tienne's place of employment after her graduation. Our parents worried that as a social worker, she wouldn't be respected in certain settings. They urged her to make connections, ask around, keep an ear and eye open when sleeping to snatch the sliver of luck she'd miss if she wasn't vigilant. But Tienne did everything in her own way. It was a matter of translating the older generation's perspective into the application of today, cursing them when it didn't work and swearing to never doubt them again when it did.

"Mama, not everyone's a pathological liar," Kimmy said. "It's a miracle you and Baba ended up together. Mama, didn't you tell us you hated Dad because he was a city boy and you were a village girl?"

"He was different," Mom said matter-of-factly. We failed to keep a straight face, and the table erupted into snickers. She waved her chopsticks. "Your Baba couldn't lie if he tried. And I waited for five years before we made up our minds. I am only looking out for you."

Lightness fluttered in the palms of my hands as I cleaned them with a napkin and remembered all the times my parents and I came together stronger after a disagreement. Recalling Kimmy's script, I said, "Mama, Baba....I'm hoping that you understand and trust me on this. I haven't told you before because I wanted to make sure that this was a relationship I wanted to pursue. But I've been dating someone. Her name is Nora. I want to introduce her to you, when she's visiting on the 29th. Is it okay if she stays here for a few hours?"

"A girlfriend?" Dad said skeptically. "Why didn't you tell us before?"

Mom shot a suspecting glance at my sisters, who rolled their eyes. "You two. You knew about this?"

I stammered, "I-I didn't think you'd be okay with it. And it's hard because we don't see each other too often, so I wanted to figure out what my relationship with her meant to me before telling you guys."

What followed was the dreaded interrogation, like Kimmy had warned. Naturally they wanted all the information on Nora. I laughed at one point, which confused everyone until I explained it reminded me of the time they interrogated me about Monty. It was just like my dad to make sure my room mate didn't happen to be a manipulative con artist.

Fortunately for Nora, my dad was impressed that she had reached a manager position at only twenty-six years old, which was two years above me. Shockingly, they didn't say anything about her being Scottish. They asked the most random questions, like if Nora drove a car, or what we did when spending time together.

"So she treats you well?" Mom said.

"Yeah. I met her dad too. We went to Canada's Wonderland for her birthday."

"I thought amusement parks were too noisy," Dad said.

"It wasn't for me that day," I said. Autism fluctuated on a spectrum. That didn't make its effects any less real. A concert was much more preferable to the clinking of metal cutlery at the dinner table, for example--which was why we used wooden cutlery.

I thought I had almost won them over with the argument. As I finished cleaning my plate and picking up the last pieces of sticky rice, I reflected on how the interrogations had lasted a lot more than my sisters. Like they didn't trust me.

"But," Mom said, "you said she doesn't have a car?"

"She carpools. Technically she does have a car but she doesn't like driving," I said.

"Don't you find it strange? If this girl doesn't drive a car despite being a marketing manager, what if she's in debt and she's using you as a friend with benefits?"

"Mama!" I said.

"I only say what you are afraid of thinking," she said pointedly to everyone at the table.

My hope dimmed like a cloud passing over the moon. Heat prickled my cheeks. Spending time away from home had waned the trust between us. But even when she'd react similarly with news from Kimmy's love life, I couldn't see why she'd keep insisting on these worst-case scenarios.

I looked at Dad for support. He had been the bigger supporter of my music career.

He sighed. "Tai, I don't want to risk hurting you again. You overestimate the kindness of people. You take things at face value because in an ideal world, everyone is honest. But that's not true."

"This isn't like before," Tienne said. "Why can't you give Nora a chance?"

"Listen to me," I pleaded, the savory food turning sour at the back of my throat. "I'm an adult. I can make my own choices. Mama, you even told me before I moved to Toronto that you can't shelter me from the world. And Baba, didn't you marry Mama because you had faith that everything would work out in the end? I can't pretend to know the future, but I want to trust myself. For once," I exhaled.

I had gone completely off-script, but screw taking my parents' opinions into account. Mine should matter just as much! This was more than just Nora. It was my autonomy that they were rejecting. Mom looked on stoically. Baba held his hand against his forehead, his mouth set in a resigned line.

Mama leaned forward, but Baba cut her off with a knowing look. "We have time on the 29th. We'll meet your girlfriend, because you have probably implied that she could come--" He held up a hand at my protest. I deflated. "I didn't say on purpose. But we'll meet Nora. It's the polite thing to do. And I will have a talk with your Mama. Deal?"

After washing the dishes—unlike everyone else, I placed the dishes neatly in the dish rack to avoid noise—everyone settled on the couch and turned on Netflix. Usually, Mom and Dad would pepper questions about our lives between bathroom breaks. I'd workshopped my ideas for songs because sometimes my parents had good and sometimes unintentionally hilarious advice. Tonight, I went upstairs to work on my diorama and brainstorm on my own. My distress pulled me like an anchor to sleep. 

Em không lần? = Aren't you cold? 

Kim Ly, đến đây! Tại sao em không rửa sạch cái nồi?  =  Kim Ly, come here! Why didn't you wash the pot properly?

Note: For my early readers, I have changed Raahi's name to Rajathiran. I found that Raahi is more Hindi than Tamil, and it is also widely used as a female name, not a gender-neutral name. According to my Tamil friend, there's no real unisex names like there are in English (e.g. Sam or Alex). 

After much debating, I made up Rajathiran - it is a mashup of Rajani (female, meaning Queen or Night - that fits with their time of birth) and Ethiran (male, meaning Fearless). Not perfect, since the -ran ending makes it sound male in Tamil terms, but the long name gives a variety of nicknames to call them, and Rajathiran is cool with that.

Monty and Joachim will refer to them as Raj. Phiona will call them Thiran. Tai will call them by their full name. (He does that with everyone.)

Phonetic-wise, in Tamil it's RA-ja-thir-ran. (Only one syllable stressed! Can you believe that?!) In English, it doesn't really matter, but in my mind I call them RA-ja-THIR-ran. 

For clarification, this does not mean Raahi was their dead name (aka name at birth that they don't use anymore). 

More fun facts: 

-They originally settled on Rajethri as their new name (yet another mashup) but got *way* too many people hearing "Jeffrey" instead of Rajethri.

-"Jeffy" is now a running joke between Raj and their brothers. 

Extra note: "Tamed Dash" by Enhyphen is Tai's theme song. I like the lyrics.