Oliver Moore’s heart thrummed in his chest, and it had less to do with the hollow drumbeats coming from Hacienda Luz’s ballroom and the giant Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby blinking multicolored lights. It was the fact he had yet to steel himself to walk into the party in said ballroom.
A line had formed at the podium situated in front of the ballroom’s double doors, manned by hotel workers wearing black polo shirts and Santa hats. The doors were open, and beyond the threshold was a brightly lit room with people walking past. He caught sight of barongs, tuxedos, and long flowing dresses made of silk and lace.
Then he looked down at himself, wearing dark jeans, a Henley, and a puffer vest.
“Shit,” he said.
The couple in front of him turned. Ollie didn’t recognize them, though he smiled back.
He didn’t know what was worse, being completely underdressed or not recognizing the people attending his grandmother’s hundredth birthday party.
Both.
All of it at the same time.
The line shuffled forward, though he didn’t follow suit. His feet refused to move, and his nerves had balled up and nestled themselves at the base of his throat.
Gah. He should’ve tried to call one of his cousins sooner than tonight to let them know he was coming. He would have known about the dress code then. But his phone call earlier to Ruby, the baby cousin of the family, though in her late twenties, hadn’t gone exactly as he’d planned. She’d literally hung up on him.
Insecurity bloomed in his belly, and it triggered the runner side of him (literally and figuratively), to get the hell out of there. It was rude to show up underdressed. It was obvious he wasn’t needed here—the fact that the party had gone off without a hitch was proof of it. His cousins were probably still pissed at him.
Correction: they definitely were, seeing as he hadn’t spoken to them in months. To boot, he hadn’t come home for a year.
His heart and head continued to jostle for dominance as he stood there seconds longer. And just before his head won out, the musician in the ballroom started to sing. The song: “Pasko Na, Sinta Ko.”
At the tune, his heart grew twice its size and crowded out the rest of his thoughts. “Pasko Na, Sinta Ko” was his grandmother, Lola Naty’s, favorite song, though, truth be told, Ollie never had understood why because it wasn’t a happy song at all, despite the hopeful instrumental. He and Lola Naty had debated the lyrics time and again when he was younger, and the fact that it was being sung at this very moment meant that it had to be a sign.
He couldn’t phone it in. He’d come too far and practiced this moment too often for him to turn around now with his tail between his legs.
He had prepared himself for the criticism from his cousins that he’d done little to help coordinate the party.
He’d pumped himself up for the questions that always seemed to come his way, like “When are you finally going to get a real job?”
And, he’d readied himself for the hug from his grandmother, because that was going to make everything worth it.
So, with the two meticulously wrapped presents in his hand—thank goodness for gift-wrapping services this time of year—he strode forward to the podium when his turn came, and walked right on by.
“I’m a Moore,” Ollie said flippantly as he passed one of the hotel workers, catching sight of one of his nephews singing alongside the musician. It made him grin; memories of him and his cousins taking their turn at the mic rushed back.
They were a close bunch despite their large span of ages, since Lola Naty had six children, and by God, he missed them.
He stepped across the threshold of the ballroom…
Only to be stopped by somebody.
More specifically, a gorgeous woman with dark hair draped over her right shoulder. She was of Asian descent and had brown eyes, golden-brown skin, and plump kissable lips. Though that was neither here nor there, because those lips were pressed into a line of pure disapproval.
“I’m sorry, you can’t just enter,” the lips said. They were painted a berry color, more cherry than strawberry. His mind went straight to wanting to see if she tasted like either.
“Sir?” the lips said, and this time, their stern tone reached his conscious mind.
His eyes darted upward to her eyes. “Excuse me?”
With a hand, she gestured to the podium, shaking her head. “Please return to the podium.”
He didn’t understand what was going on. Was he a kindergartener waiting his turn on the monkey bars? And yet, he shuffled back to the podium, shrugging at the people waiting in line. They were dressed to the nines and were clearly not impressed with his Lands’ End ensemble.
Too bad for them because he was family.
The hotel worker—Norah, as labeled on the tag pinned on her shirt—thumbed a tablet on and asked, “Your name, please.”
“I said who I was. I’m a Moore.”
She swiped up on the tablet’s screen. There was a hell of a lot of names on this list. Soon, she got to the letter M. “Your first name?”
“Oliver.”
Behind her, a glob of young teens passed by the doorway. Ollie raised a hand to get their attention, though they paid him no mind. Squinting at the crowd, he tried to find someone he knew. The family was extensive. Surely a cousin or an aunt or uncle would pass.
A sliver of guilt ran through him. He should know everyone on this guest list. How did it get this bad?
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have your name here.”
His vision swept down to Norah. “That’s impossible. There must be a mistake.” Except, inside, his initial foreboding had begun to bloom.
They wouldn’t have cut him out of the guest list, would they?
He knew his reputation was shot with the family—he’d never been able to overcome this image they had of him as the lackadaisical, unserious, playboy cousin. Who even said playboy these days?
They did.
He also knew that he’d ditched in the middle of planning this party, even after committing to it, and he owed them an explanation.
But surely, surely, his cousins weren’t vindictive.
Or were they?
He shook his head and said, “Can you check again? There are a lot of people with my last name. That must be at least half the list. But I’m on there.”
Norah’s face was impassive, and after a beat, she scanned the list again. “I…I apologize, but your name isn’t on the list, and I have strict instructions for entry.”
“Can you get someone in there? They’ll tell you. My family owns this hotel!” He pointed over her shoulder and spotted his cousin Drew Hizon, looking down at Gel, his ex-girlfriend, who was wearing a fancy gown. They were standing so close that he could feel the intimacy from here.
But Drew and Gel had broken up years ago.
When in the hell did they get back together? Why didn’t Drew tell me?
“Next,” Norah prompted, gesturing a set of guests forward, waking Ollie from his runaway thoughts.
“Wait!” Ollie waved to the double doors. “There’s one of my cousins. Drew! Andrew!”
Faces in the foyer turned toward him, but he didn’t have a lick of care. He was a Moore, dammit. “Don’t you have something with all the photos of the family members? Having to prove who I am is ridiculous. Drew!”
Except Drew didn’t hear him, and he and Gel disappeared deeper into the room.
Then the double doors shut in front of him.
He looked to Norah, who had a hand against the closed door. “Why’d you do that?”
“As I said, this is by invitation only, and I have strict instructions for entry. Perhaps you can call someone inside the event and they can come and check you in?”
“I tried.” Ollie said, though as the words left his mouth, panic rose within him. Because he’d changed his phone number recently—a consequence of a toxic relationship gone awry, and hence his disappearing act until he could get himself together—and he only had one number memorized. It was his baby cousin Ruby’s, who had the easiest number to memorize: 415-222-1212.
And she’d hung up on him earlier.
But the bottom line was as clear as the lyrics of “Pasko Na, Sinta Ko.” echoing through the closed double doors.
Ollie had been shut out.
He backed up from the podium now, face hot with embarrassment, and watched as more people were admitted. People who were strangers, allowed into his family’s inner sanctum. And yet he hadn’t been.
He deserved this, right? It was his fault. He hadn’t fulfilled what he’d promised to do. Every Moore cousin had made a commitment in both dollars and time to this party, but he’d simply been unable to. He just didn’t have the finances for it. He’d been stuck in a relationship that had taken him away from the family. A relationship that had taken every bit of him to escape from.
Ollie had been ready for some pushback today, just not as drastic as this.
How many times had his cousins, his parents, his Lola Naty told him how family was forever? That forgiveness and understanding were paramount? That in this world, the only people one truly had were their family, blood or found. He’d certainly done his share of meeting people halfway. Each one of the Moore cousins was stubborn and headstrong and individualistic, and growing up with them had taken all kinds of patience.
And yet, underneath the excuses that threatened to bubble over, the truth burned bright.
He could have done better.
Hell, he was trying to do better now.
As he clutched the gifts, irritation wormed through him. He was going to get in there, come hell or high water.
It was at that moment that a woman accidentally dropped the contents of her purse on the ground next to the podium, and Norah bent down to help retrieve them. It was as if a spotlight had beamed his answer, and the double doors became a target. Ollie’s legs propelled him forward, with thoughts of his family as his motivation.
Until he was dragged back by a strong hand on his shoulder.
“Whoa there,” a deep voice cautioned.
Looking up, Ollie was met with the snarl of a man twice his girth and a head taller. This person did not have the hotel’s logo on his shirt, but a singular stitched word in all caps: SECURITY.
His body slackened.
Oh my God, he was getting kicked out. He was really getting kicked out of a family party. “This isn’t right.” He was in full begging mode now. “I should be in there. This is a misunderstanding. I’m Ollie Moore. Ask someone.”
“That’s something you’ll have to take up another way,” the security person said, gripping Oliver by the elbow. He felt like a rag doll being dragged out of Hacienda Luz—the hotel he’d all but grown up in.
All the while in a state of shock.