Christmas Pretend

by N.D.

The holidays have a way of bringing people together in unexpected ways. 

This story is part of The Manuscript Editor’s Holiday Romance Contest, where writers are challenged to explore romantic connections through a seasonal lens. Each entry brings its own interpretation of what a holiday romance can be.

Take your time reading. Let the story unfold. And if it resonates with you, don’t forget to show your support.

Note: This story has not yet been proofread.

CHRISTMAS PRETEND

By the second week of December, Manila had already decided it was Christmas whether you liked it or not.

Lanterns hung from every lamppost along España, jeepneys blasted Jose Mari Chan like it was a civic duty, and the air (thick with exhaust and anticipation) buzzed with something softer underneath. Hope, maybe. Or just the collective agreement that for one month, people could pretend things were lighter than they were.

For Mazy Villanueva, that pretending was about to get a lot more literal.

"Please," she said, hands clasped together like she was offering a prayer instead of begging a favor. "Just one night. Three hours, max."

Across from her, seated on a plastic monoblock chair in the cramped kitchen of her apartment, Kris Cruz stared at her like she had just asked him to donate a kidney. 

"A Christmas dinner," he repeated slowly. "With your entire family and relatives."

"Yes," Mazy said brightly. "But think of it as . . . cultural immersion."

“I already live in Manila,” Kris said. “That’s immersion enough.”

She ignored him and pushed on. “My mom’s side is very . . . traditional. They don’t believe in being single past twenty-five unless you’re actively suffering.”

“You’re twenty-six,” he pointed out.

“Exactly,” she said. “I’m late.”

Kris sighed, rubbing his temples. He had known agreeing to be Mazy's plus-one at their office Christmas party was a mistake. He should’ve stopped there. That was safe. Neutral territory. Fairy lights, catered food, a quick escape.

But then she’d mentioned her lola.

And now here they were.

“I just need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” Mazy said, lowering her voice like the walls might judge her. “We wear matching holiday outfits, we eat, you smile, maybe hold my hand once or twice. Then you disappear back into your mysterious, emotionally unavailable life.”

“I am not emotionally unavailable,” Kris muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. He didn’t argue.

“Look,” she added, softer now. “You don’t owe me anything. I know it’s a lot to ask. I just . . .” She hesitated. “I’m tired of being the only cousin without someone.”

Kris looked at her then. Really looked.

Mazy had always been like this—funny, self-aware, hiding something tender under sarcasm. They’d been coworkers for almost two years, friends for longer. He knew the sound of her laugh, the way she drank her coffee too fast, the way she pretended she didn’t care about things she cared deeply about.

And maybe that was why his chest did something inconvenient.

“Three hours,” he said finally. “No extended program.”

Her face lit up like the SM Mall of Asia Christmas tree.

“Deal,” she said. “Oh my God. I owe you my life.”

“Just my dignity,” he replied.

***

They met at SM San Lazaro the day before the dinner to find matching outfits.

Mazy insisted it had to look “effortless but intentional,” which Kris learned was code for she had already planned everything.

She emerged from the fitting room wearing a deep green dress with subtle gold embroidery. Festive, but not trying too hard.

Kris swallowed.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just . . . green suits you.”

Her cheeks pinked, but she pretended not to notice.

He came out next wearing a cream-colored polo with green accents and dark slacks. When she saw him, she froze.

“Oh,” she said. “Okay.”

“What?”

“You look . . . annoyingly boyfriend-coded.”

He laughed. “That’s the goal, right?”

She nodded, a little too quickly.

They paid, and as they walked past the Christmas display, Mazy stopped in front of a stall selling decorations.

She picked up a snow globe—inside it, a tiny replica of Manila Cathedral dusted in fake snow.

“I had one like this when I was a kid,” she said softly. “My dad bought it for me from Divisoria. I used to shake it every night before bed and pretend it would snow here.”

Kris watched her smile at the memory.

“Get it,” he said.

She shook her head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s Christmas,” he replied. “That’s basically the theme.”

She hesitated, then bought it.

Neither of them noticed how natural it felt, standing there together.

***

The Villanueva family Christmas dinner was held in Quezon City, in a house that had been hosting the same gathering for over thirty years.

There were lights everywhere. Food on every surface. Relatives Kris had never met greeting him like he’d been around forever.

“This is Kris,” Mazy said, slipping her hand into his without thinking. “My boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

The word settled between them like something fragile.

“Ah!” her tita exclaimed. “He's so handsome!”

Kris smiled, charmed and slightly terrified.

For the next hour, they played their roles perfectly. He laughed at her uncle’s jokes, complimented her lola’s cooking, and leaned in close when she spoke, like it was second nature.

At one point, they ended up sitting beside each other on the couch, their shoulders touching.

“You’re doing great,” Mazy whispered.

“So are you,” he replied.

She looked at him, really looked, and for a second, the pretending wavered.

Later, during gift-giving, Mazy handed him a small box.

“For you,” she said. “So you won't be empty-handed.”

Inside was the snow globe.

“I thought,” she said quickly, “since you helped me pretend, you should get something real.”

Kris stared at it, then at her.

“This is . . . really thoughtful,” he said.

“Don’t read too much into it,” she joked.

But when their fingers brushed as he took it, neither of them pulled away.

***l

By the time they left, it was past ten. The city was quieter now, lights reflecting off wet pavement.

They walked slowly, neither in a hurry.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Kris said.

Mazy laughed. “You survived.”

They stopped under a streetlight.

“So,” she said, suddenly shy. “Thank you. For today.”

“Anytime,” he replied. Then, before he could stop himself, “I mean—if you ever need a fake date again.”

She smiled. “What if I don’t want it to be fake?”

The words hung there.

Kris' heart raced. “Mazy—”

“I know,” she rushed. “Bad timing. We’re friends. Coworkers. This was just pretending.”

“But it didn’t feel like it,” he said quietly.

She looked at him, eyes searching his face.

“I was scared you’d say that,” she admitted. “Because I feel it too.”

They stood there, Christmas lights blinking around them, the city breathing softly.

Kris reached into his bag and pulled out the snow globe.

“Can I try something?” he asked.

She nodded.

He shook it gently, watching the fake snow fall.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he said. “If you don’t either.”

Mazy laughed, eyes misty. “You know it doesn’t snow in Manila, right?”

He smiled. “Maybe not. But some impossible things still happen.”

She stepped closer.

“So,” she said. “Real date?”

“Real date,” he confirmed.

He kissed her then—soft, warm, very real.

Above them, Christmas lights glowed brighter, and for once, the pretending wasn’t necessary at all.

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