Holiday Surprise

Layla

  Deliberately, she let her brush grazed the canvas as she tries to perfect his father's eyebrows on the board in front of her. Putting a finger on her chin, she looks at it; once, twice, she shook her head; it's broad enough, yet drawn a little low.

  Robert Guevarra has an uncanny set of brows. It made him look like he's angry all the time; one thing she inherits from him. But if there's one thing in the world that she wants to inherit from her father, that's his love for their Clothing business.  

  Right after her mother died 18 years ago, he started a clothing line and named it after her mother. He's such a sweet man; she kind of hope she inherit that too.

  Sighing, she put her tool on the table and stretches her arm behind her head. She gazed at the window; she didn't notice it's already dark.

  Despite the sun setting, her room looks a lot livelier with all of her colorful work's hanging on the bare walls.

On her right hangs most of her experimental paintings; abstract strokes of different colors that add life to her dull space. Not to mention the splashes of paints on her table and floor. Seeing all the mess, she cringes sometimes, but despite the chaos, she loves spending her time there.

  When she's not working as a Marketing Manager of their company, she will spend her day offs in her 

drawing room and before she knew it, it's already nighttime.

  She never knew painting can be that addicting.

  One time she told that to her best friend, she just stares at her and says, "I envy you, you know, I can't even read a single paragraph on a book without being sleepy. My attention span is as thin as -your hair," and they will end up brawling, or her, running after Bailey to tackle her. 

  Speaking of the devil, her phone rings and Bailey's Caller ID pops on the phone.

  "Hey! Just calling to ask you the same question for the fiftieth time. Aren't you coming here?"

  Tonight's the company's annual Christmas Party and when she said the company, it's their company; Amelia's Clothing Inc.

  "Sorry Bailey, I'm working on the portrait." She bites her lips guiltily, although Bailey knew she usually skips parties.

  Even though she's the only child of the Company's CEO and owner, she doesn't want working there. She only does it to not disappoint her father; she likes her colleagues though, that's why she attends sometimes.

  She won't be there, but she suddenly wants to go out with Bailey despite her now aching back and the cool breeze outside.

"How about we meet after the party and grab some beer?" she asked, reaching at her coffee on the tabletop and drinks it. 

  Knowing her best friend since 10th grade, she knew she wouldn't say no to beer.

  "No!"

She spat her coffee and coughs, hitting her chest with her palm.

  "No?" she croaks.

  Last time she checked, the world is still round, isn't it?

  She stares at her phone, making sure it's still her best friend on the other line.

  "It should be barbecues and beers!" Bailey whines.

Oh, of course; she loves barbecue too.

  "Barbecues and beers then, silly." she laughs.

  "Alright, see you love!" She hung up before she can respond. She just shook her head.

  Before she can put her phone down, it rings again; Adan Martinez. 

  She creased her forehead. Why is her father's secretary calling her?

"Miss Layla?" his raspy voice echoes on the other line. "Your father, it's -"

  "What is it?" she asked worriedly.

  His father's assistant never calls her unless it's important.

As much as possible, she wants to stay away from business matters.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Can you -go to the office, now?" he asked.

  "Adan, what is it?"

  No response. "Hello? Adan?"

  He hung up. She cursed.

  She tried to call him back but he's not answering; her father's not picking up the phone either.

  She doesn't have much time to dress properly, for she leaves her unit in a hurry. She doesn't trust herself in driving tonight, not in a situation like this.

  She rode on the first taxi that she can get and went to the office.

  After 30 minutes, she arrived at the building. She dashed thru the entrance, forgetting all courtesy as the security greets her; she went straight to the reception.

  "My father! Where is he? Did something happened?"

  If the receptionist is surprised by her disheveled appearance, she didn't look like it.

  "Calm down, Miss Guevarra," she said in a singsong voice, "David will lead you the way, madam."

And a six-foot man guide her to the elevator, all the while not answering any of her questions; not even one out of like -the hundred.

  On their way up, she can't keep still. She crossed her arm, tap her foot and wiped her face countless of times.

  All she wants to know is if her father is fine! Is that too hard to answer?

  They reached the uppermost level of the building. It is where the party is taking place. Did something happened to her father while on the gathering?

Once the elevator doors open, she forgets about David and runs to the double doors on the far end of the hall. She pushes it with all her might. Inside, she almost squints at the blinking Christmas Lights hanging intricately above the white ceiling. She rubs her eyes as the white and gold decor of the room welcomes her.

  What a dazzling theme, she thought.

  As she scans the crowd looking for her father, she's suddenly aware of her paint-stained blouse and pants; she shouldn't be there.

  "Oh, there she is!" she heard her father's voice amplified thru the speakers. He's standing on the stage; handsome and regal-looking even on a casual shirt.

  She sighed in relief; he's fine then. But what's going on?

  About fifty sets of eyes looks at her, in delight? She can't tell; she can't even think clearly as she catches her breath; her knees shake from running earlier.

  She heard loud cheers, and the crowd claps.

  Someone covers her with a coat; Bailey. Her best friend looks at her worriedly.

  "Bay. What's going on?"

  Before she can respond, her father speaks again.

  "As I was saying earlier and as you all know, Amelia's Clothing is in the business for almost two decades. And we're so grateful to work with you thru all those years. Sadly, all of us are not getting any younger, especially me."

  Oh no.

  Her father continues. "But fortunately, I have a wonderful daughter to continue this legacy." He gestures at her.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my daughter, the new CEO of Amelia's Clothing, Inc. Layla Guevarra."

She's in a dazed as her colleagues continue cheering for her. Some of them pats her shoulders, saying their congratulations as she made her way to the stage. Bailey guides her patiently, rubbing her shoulders from time to time and whispering, 'it will be alright'. Her voice shaky; her best friend doesn't like this as much as she does.

  Her father reaches for her hand to guide her thru a couple of steps.

  "This all for you, darling" he whispered once they're on the center. He kissed her forehead then.

  She can't find her voice; all she can do is to fake a smile.

  So this is what it's all about? A surprise. She's more than surprise, actually, she doesn't want this; no matter how promising it is, and no matter how selfish she might sound. Perhaps she really is selfish.

  Looking at the microphone on her hand, she deeply breathes. She feels their gaze on her. The new responsibility weigh on her shoulders.

  "I -ah," she quivers; she clears her throat and tries again. "I -thank you for being here, to celebrate the holiday, and welcome me. And as my father said, we're grateful to all of you for working with our family's company for these past years." And she meant it. Without them, their business will be nothing.

  "Well -to say that I'm surprised hearing my father's announcement is an understatement," she laughs nervously as the audience chuckles.

  She looks at her father, who's standing on the side of the stage. He's smiling, an expression she barely sees on his face; he felt her chest aches. Can she really break her father's heart in front of everyone?

  This business is her family's legacy, but no matter how hard she tries, she can't bring herself to love it the way his father does.

  She closes her eyes and her mother's face forms in her mind, "Honey, do whatever makes you happy," she always says.

  She never had the courage to do that, not until recently when she paints, and discovered that's where her heart is. She can't pretend anymore. She needs to be honest; to herself, to her father, to everyone. They deserve to know the truth.

  "Do whatever makes you happy, that's -what my late mother used to say." She said, and the crowd became quiet.

  She remembered her mother reading her a book she loves so much, and she asked if she can be like the main character.

She smiles at the memory.

  "She told me, you can be a writer and write whatever you want," her mother said that and touched her nose; her little self giggles back then.

  "Or -you can be an actress, and I won't get tired watching every movie you're in. As long as it will make you happy, do whatever you want, honey. That's -that's what she told me."

  She scans the crowd, making sure they're still listening.

  "Unfortunately, she didn't live long enough to know what I want. But you know what's unfortunate?" Most of them shook their heads the others look at her wide-eyed, perhaps sensing her speech will not end on a positive note.

  "When my mother died, my dream and who I could have been, died with her."

  Her words sound cruel even on her own ears, but that's the matter with truths; sometimes it can hurt you as much as lies does.

  Her mind told her to stop and just leave, but she can't.

  "After my mother dies, no one asks me, Layla," This time she pauses and sniffs; she stifled the forming sob in her throat and go on.

  "Layla -what is it you want to be? Perhaps you're all thinking, of course she wants to be the successor of her father's company. But I'm afraid, that, this," she said gesturing at the whole place. "This is not what I want."

  Right on the front, she saw Bailey on the verge of tears, but smiling; her head nods, encouraging her.

  Gripping the microphone with her both hands she continues.

  "The thing is, I want to be a painter," She braves a glance on her father, who's gone stiff as of the moment.

  "I want to paint cheerful faces, even the lonely ones, hoping my work will at least bring everyone smiles, or if not, even just a company in someone's melancholy. I want to paint the trees and flowers bloom, or graze my brushes on the canvas as their leaves and flowers fall, but above it all, I want to paint because -it makes me happy."

  She sighed. "I'm afraid, if I became the new CEO, I can't lead you like how my father did, because he loves what he does. You don't deserve a leadership of any less."

  The hall is now dead silent, it's as if no one dares to breathe.

  She glances at her father.

  "Father. I love you, you know that. I'm so sorry, but I -I can't."

  She wipes her now wet cheeks and sobs; she can't hold it any longer. She then leaves the stage and all of her colleagues, dumbfounded.

  She can't count how many times she whispered 'sorry' as she makes her way thru the crowd and into the exit of the hall.

  Deep inside she knew her apologies will never be enough. 

Robert

  He went to Layla's condominium unit, hoping to talk to her; but no one answers him. She's not even answering her phone.

  Is she so angry that she doesn't want to talk? He's about to leave, but then he realized she never shut him off like that.

  With a spare key in hand, he entered her unit; but she's really not there.

  His daughter doesn't tidy her room, which reminded him of his wife; he smiles.

On one wall hangs a picture of Amelia. Layla is so much like her mother, especially seeing her talk her hearts out on the stage earlier.

  "You should have seen her Mel, our daughter grew as a decent and brave woman," he muttered.

  Looking at the ticking clock, which struck at 10:00, he called Layla's best friend. It rings a few times until she answered.

  "Mr. Guevarra?" she asked.

  She is like a family to them and like a sister to Layla; if she's with someone, he bets she's with Bailey.

  "Bailey, is Layla with you?"

  "Uh -yes," she whispered. "She's -drunk and sleeping on the couch. Don't worry, Mr. Guevarra, I'll look after her."

  "Thank you."

At least now, he knew where she is; and that she's fine, aside from having to much alcohol, of course.

  He went further on the house as he saw a tiny room near the kitchen; it's door ajar as if Layla leaves in a hurry; maybe she does. He doesn't know what Adan told his daughter to coax her to go to the party. She looks shocked back there.

  He side-stepped an empty can on the floor as he entered a room; a drawing room. It is in far worse state than the living area; crumpled sheets of paper is everywhere; splashes of paints on the floor and on the table. On the far end corner, near the small window, is a canvas; painted with an unfinished painting -a painting of their family; Amelia and him beaming, with little Layla between them; she's about 8 years old.

  'I want to paint cheery faces, even the lonely ones hoping it will bring everyone smiles, or if not, at least be a company in someone's melancholy', she said earlier. He smiles, looking at the masterpiece.

  Maybe this is what she means.

  On top of the table, he saw her diary with the year on its cover, 2019. He let his calloused hand grazed it and flips the page cautiously.

  20th of August:

  I've won a Painting Contest! Aside from my best friend, no one else knew. So me and Bailey celebrated with barbecues and cans of beer.

  He flips a few pages more and found a photo of him and Layla attached on the page.

  6th of October:

  We ate at father's favorite restaurant. I'm not yet done with the portrait, so I bought a perfume instead as my gift. I think I'll do the painting 'til next year; not complaining, though.

  PS: He loves the perfume!

  He really loves it, it became his favorite scent from then on.

  Seeing her drawing room, it's like he sees a new side of his daughter, she's afraid to show to everyone.

  God, his daughter is so talented.

  All this time, he's been thinking of ways to improve the company, so when the time comes, he'll hand it to Layla successfully, not knowing it's not what she wants all along.

  Fighting his tears, he pulls out his phone and dialed Adan.

  "Mr. Guevarra," his voice booms from the other side. "What is it, sir?"

  "Cancel all my meetings tomorrow."

  "Sir?" he asked incredulously.

  "I have more important things to do," he said, then picking a list of art schools beside Layla's diary, he adds, "Adan?"

  "Uh -yes sir?"

  "E-mail to me all the prestigious Art Schools that you can find."

  He sounded amused and agrees.

  Putting down his phone and looking at the painting of his late wife, he whispered.

  "From now on dear, I'll make our daughter's happiness, my priority."