Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“I think it might be better if we find neutral ground—ease him into the world of Meri since you’ll already have your decorations up.”
“Whatever you think’s best.” I smiled contentedly, ready to prove myself. I could let go of Christmas and act like a normal person who enjoyed the holidays but whose life didn’t revolve around them.
Couldn’t I?
“Oh,” Kay added, “you can meet him at Friendsgiving. You’re coming, right?”
She held it every year on Thanksgiving since neither of us went to our parents’ until Christmas. Our town was a five-hour drive in the mountains if the weather was good.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I replied.
“But you know the rules, Meri. You have to bring a plus one.”
“No…” I whined. “This again?” She knew I wasn’t seeing anyone.
“It’s tradition. We all have to bring a person who’s flying solo for Turkey Day.”
It was a nice tradition, but I hated the task of asking around the office or texting my level-two friends—aka “good friends” but not best friend—to see if anyone would come with me. “Fine. I’ll figure it out.”
“That’s my girl,” she said. “Now move your ass. You still have five minutes to go on the machine to burn off whatever crap you ate for lunch. It was a Twinkie, wasn’t it? I can see the guilt on your hips.”
More like twelve Twinkies, but who was counting?
CHAPTER FOUR
I spent all day Saturday combing through my storage unit for decorations I could rework into a new theme that felt fresh and cheerful, which turned out to be less of a challenge than I’d thought.
Every year, I put out a few classic pieces—like the light-up Santa for my nonworking fireplace—but then I came up with a unique theme so each party would be memorable.
Last year, the theme was “winter palace” complete with glowing icicles and light-up igloo bricks stacked up around the inside of my front door so when someone entered my apartment, it was like walking out of an igloo and into a Christmas wonderland. I covered all of my furniture in white and had several snowflake lightshows staged around the apartment. The year before that, I did a gingerbread-house theme. The inside of my apartment was like being inside a colorful graham-cracker castle—basically a thousand cookies glued to sheets, which I hung on the walls and decorated with frosting. A triumph!
Honestly, I’d had so much fun reliving years of holiday decorating that I didn’t want to put everything away again. Especially the items I’d made by hand like my Christmas tree appetizer tower with tiny red-and-white saucers glued to each branch so my guests could pick a snack in the shape of little presents. The phyllo dough boxes stuffed with herbed feta and little sundried tomato chunks that looked like red bows came out great.
Anyway, since I was on a budget and loving this walk down memory lane, I decided to select the best pieces and name this year’s theme “walk down Christmas lane.” It was the perfect way to remind my friends of all the fun they’d had in prior years.
The only downside to my brilliant plan was that I had to get all of my crap from my truck into my apartment, and some of the boxes weighed a ton. I’d need to unload everything into my garage, unpack the boxes, and move the items a little at a time.
I pulled up to my private garage and immediately spotted the red tent. Why’s he still here? Well, I’d just have to take Jason’s word that the man was harmless.
I parallel parked, careful not to get my front bumper too close to the tent, and then hopped out to unlocked the garage door. As I lifted, the whole thing groaned and creaked like old bones bending under the weight of time.
I went to my tailgate and began carefully sliding out the box of candy-cane-painted plates.
“Oh no!” The tape on the bottom was coming apart, the gap between the flaps separating under my hands. Shit. Shit! I was about to push the box back into the truck bed when I heard a deep voice to my side.
“Let me help,” he said.
I turned my head to find a man with bright blue eyes and a scraggly black beard reaching for my box. Before I could tell him no, he snatched the box from my hands, and the contents dumped out. Right on his feet.
“Son of a snowman!” The man howled in pain.
I looked down and noticed that he didn’t seem to be wearing shoes. Kind of crazy given the cold weather.
“Why didn’t you warn me how heavy that was!” he yelled.
My mouth flapped for a moment. “Well, I-I didn’t have time and…”
His eyes began tearing up.
“Oh, God.” I carefully began moving the broken plates off his feet, and that’s when I noticed a chunk of China sticking from the top of his left foot. “Okay. You’re hurt. You’re hurt. Ummm…I’ll take you to the ER.”