Southern California Christmas is a scam.
The calendar insisted it was December 24th, but the thermometer said seventy-two degrees (22c). Palm trees wrapped in fairy lights swayed gently outside Jay's house. Inside, Phil Dunphy was sweating buckets in a Santa sweater that looked like it had been knitted out of insulation.
Phil (interview):
"Christmas isn't Christmas without Santa. But LA Santa? He's, like, beach-ready. He shows up in board shorts with a surfboard instead of reindeer. I don't want my kids growing up with that version, so… the sweater stays. Sweat builds character."
Claire rolled her eyes, fanning herself with a paper plate. "Yeah, character—and smell."
The whole family had gathered in Jay's living room. The tree stood in the corner, looking like it had been decorated during a turf war between Hailey's tinsel obsession and Jay's 'keep it simple' minimalism.
Packages spilled out beneath it, bright reds and greens clashing with the beige California carpet.
The TV blared. Tonight's highlight wasn't It's a Wonderful Life—it was the local news special.
The anchor grinned at the camera. "And now, on Christmas Eve, a story that might warm your hearts even more than this Los Angeles weather. Meet the pint-sized swimmer who stole the show last week at the LA Youth Invitational. Could we be looking at the next swimming prodigy, right here in Southern California?"
Neil, wedged between his parents, felt his stomach flip. His clip rolled—his tiny frame on the blocks, his clean dive, his relentless strokes, his cheeky one-liners during the interview afterward.
The living room filled with the sound of cheers from the TV replay. Phil, quietly keeping the recorded tape in his bag; as if hiding a treasure.
The family reacted in predictable fashion:
Phil puffed his chest like he'd coached Michael Phelps personally.
Claire dabbed at her eyes and muttered, "It's just the onions from the kitchen."
Hailey groaned. Her face said: "Why do I always have to be the punchline? They always laugh at me."
Mitchell smirked: "Well, Neil's officially more famous than anyone in this room."
Jay just grunted in approval, arms folded, hiding a proud smirk. Like an old general surveying the battlefield after the victory.
Neil squirmed, between two parents, his heart pounding. This wasn't like my last life. I wasn't invisible. They were proud.
---
Dinner
It was similar to last year. Turkey, mashed potatoes, and awkward conversation—the three pillars of family holidays.
Phil, carving the bird: "You know, I like to think carving turkey is a lot like closing on a house. Precision cuts, firm handshakes, everyone gets a slice of the dream."
Everyone groaned. His rendition of a firm handshake, churning heads by seconds.
The food was halfway served when Jay casually dropped the bomb.
"Cisco dropped again. Eight bucks down to five-seventy-five. Maybe it's time to cut our losses."
Claire froze with a forkful of stuffing. Regret in her eyes, 'should have sold when it reached $8. That's a 60% profit—a whole $6k. I could get three computers with that money. One each for my children.'
Mitchell frowned, swirling his wine like it held answers.
Phil squinted. "Cisco? Like Nabisco? Don't they make Oreos?"
"That's Nabisco, Phil," Claire sighed. Contemplating. Will the price fall further?
Neil set down his fork. His palms felt clammy. His heart pounded.
'Here it is. My chance. Don't sound weird. Don't sound forty in a four-year-old body.'
He spoke softly, but steady. "Oh Mom. I know Cisco. I read about Cisco in the magazine. It is the company you and dad invested in." He looked in her eyes, clearly asking for praise, or a peck on the cheeks.
It was his persona for when anything related to his future came. 'No shame in acting like a child. It is about 15x profit. Always blame the magazines. No one reads in this house anyway.'
Claire (intrigued): "What did you read honey?"
Neil: "... Uhm. I read that they bought another company for $4 billiwon. Ugh. Billion. They are selling more ethernet routers to homes now."
Claire (looking at Jay): "Could they be buying out the competition."
Jay: "Sounds like that. I heard too. From my broker. The company has been slowly taking over the market."
Claire: "Neil honey. Did you read anything else?"
Neil (thinking): "The article said they are working on new twechnology. Wi-Fi—Internet in air; like—glances sideways to Phil—balloon."
All eyes swiveled to him. The air went taut.
Neil pressed on. "I also watched the morning news. Profits went up last quarter. But the price went down. The expert said it means people are just… waiting. Collecting. Like when Hailey hides cookies under her bed to eat later."
Hailey gasped. "You spy on me?!"
Phil (interview, whispering): "I tried one of those cookies once. Stale. Regret."
Neil's voice steadied. "Mom uses computer every day. She won't leave the computer alone now. Even Dad complains she stares at it like it's her soap opera."
The whole room burst up in light laughters.
Claire groaned, covering her face. "I was checking email!"
Mitchell smirked. "Email? Is that what we're calling it?"
Phil wagged his eyebrows. "Guess the Dunphys got their own As the World Turns."
Jay leaned in. "So, you're saying… this drop's just temporary?"
Neil nodded, chest thudding. "The business is fine. The price is just… resting. Like a swimmer before the turn."
Silence.
Phil whispered, wide-eyed: "Did my son just explain Wall Street with a pool metaphor?"
Jay muttered, impressed despite himself: "Kid's not wrong."
---
Neil and Hailey are helping Alex Walk on her two legs with support of both their hands.
Jay Calls the Accountant. He pushed back his chair, grabbed the phone, and dialed. "Let's see what my guy says."
The accountant's voice crackled on speaker.
"Yeah, this is normal. Stock went from five to eight real quick. People cash out. Natural. Fundamentals are strong, order book's full, profits are up. If it hit eight once, it'll hit ten next. If you're in for the long haul, it's a buy. Honestly? Could even add more now."
Jay leaned back, smirking at the table. "Well, shrimp here's sharper than half the guys I know."
Neil's chest tightened. See? I'm not crazy. I'm not just some weirdo kid.
---
Family Debates
Claire exhaled. "Well, at least that's good news. But I don't think I can add more. Not with Alex now. We need to save. Neil will get a sports scholarship anyhow. Alex looks mature too. But Hailey—"
"Friendly fire!" Hailey shouted, clutching her chest in mock betrayal.
Mitchell cleared his throat. "I can't either. My internship just ended. I need to find a job. Maybe I'll move to Chicago or New York for few years."
The table froze. Claire dropped her fork.
"WHAT!!"
"WHAT!!"
Phil, oblivious: "Oh, I love New York. The city never sleeps. Like me after too much eggnog."
Everyone had many questions; they understood it was inevitable.
Mitchell with his preferences and Jay and Dede being bitter all the time in house. It was time, he moved out.
---
Jay grunted. "Well, I'll add more. Another $5k will do. With the sponsorship and the local TV showing Neil in our Pritchett's Closets label—the sales are bound to go up."
Claire snapped. "Dad! We need to renegotiate the deal for sponsorship. You can't use my son for one-sided benefit. He's not a racehorse!"
Jay shrugged. "Oh. That hurt"
"... Did you not see who the sponsor was last week? If he isn't my horse; then whose is it? Don't forget I'm his coach."
Both Claire and Jay argued about the sponsorship money, and I got a new deal from it. Uncle Mitchell helped them calm down, but he was definitely speaking from my side.
Neil Dunphy—signed as the brand ambassador of Pritchett's Closets.
Dad raised a glass. "Then I'll chip in too. It's Christmas! And what's Christmas without routers?"
---
The table broke into chatter, but Neil felt himself sinking. His fork hovered over mashed potatoes he didn't taste.
This is it. My moment. I want my own account to trade. But what if they laugh? What if they stop seeing me as their son? What if they see me as… wrong? A freak?
Flash of his old life: people dismissing him, ignoring him. Alone. His girlfriend—with her best friend taking the seven vows of marriage. His family distant—uncaring.
I don't want to lose them. Not this family. Not when they're proud of me.
His chest throbbed. He clenched his little fists. You swam against eight-year-olds, Neil. Don't drown here.
---
Neil Speaks. He found the courage. The day has to come. He can't keep on acting as a swimming prodigy and cute brother and son.
He raised his eyes, voice small.
"I… I want to invest too. With my money. Like Mom."
The table froze.
Claire blinked. "Sweetie, stocks aren't toys."
DeDe (snarky): "Next he'll want a 401k."
Phil, ever sunshine: "I think it's alright. He didn't even ask for toys. There's no harm in letting him try. He earned the money himself."
Mitchell leaned in. "He has been watching business news every morning. And he won prize money. Technically it's his to do whatever with."
Jay growled. "Fine. But he can't quit swimming. What will happen to the contract then? I don't care if he becomes Warren Buffett, I want medals for my money."
Neil's chest loosened. They didn't laugh. They didn't reject me. They listened.
---
The Gift came early.
By dessert, the decision was made Neil's Christmas gift would be a brokerage account, supervised but real.
Startup capital:
$100 prize money.
$500 sponsorship payout (after Claire and Mitchell cornered Jay).
$90 piggy bank savings.
Total: $690.
Phil (interview, beaming): "Most kids ask Santa for Power Rangers. Mine asked for a trading account. Santa's sleigh? Officially NASDAQ-approved."
---
Later that night, Neil sat cross-legged in pajamas under the glow of the Christmas tree. Wrapping paper littered the floor, family bickered over leftovers.
He hugged his small stack of gifts but clutched the knowledge of the brokerage account like treasure.
This was my first true step. Not pretend training. Not just reading. A real account. Real stakes. This time I'll do things right. Options Market—here I come.
---
The camera panned out: tree lights twinkling, Claire fussing over Alex, Phil retelling his Santa joke for the fourth time, Jay muttering about "ROI on grandkids."
And Neil, silent, determined, his blue eyes reflecting the Christmas lights like stars. A smile glinting his face. He looked like a kid for once. happy with the gifts.
---
AN: I changed Mitchell from having his job in earlier chapter to Internship as he wasn't old enough to graduate law school yet; 22 years old probably then. I know it is a small detail, but it bugged me. Thanks to the reader for pointing it out.