Page 161 of Again, In Autumn

It’s easy around Santa. I’m not at ease around many people.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket.

I ignore it, asking the woman beside me, “What happens now?”

She checks out my coffee stain and responds, “They’ll leave our houses out in the bakery for two weeks, I think. People can come around and vote for their favorite.”

“That’s a good marketing strategy,” I appreciate.

She nods in agreement. “You have to come up with a name for your house.”

“Oh!” I clap my hands together excitedly. I tell Santa, “I love when houses have names!”

His eyes narrow. “You do know you’re not living in this?”

I fold my arms and inspect our creation. “She got a very Nancy Meyers-esque look about her.”

“She?” Santa points a strong finger. “This is a man’s house.”

“With a delicate Scandinavian flair and a star anise window.”

“Men can be layered. It’s 2024, by the way,” he admonishes.

My phone beeps once more. I reach for it.

I smile and respond, “It kind of looks like a ski chalet.”

“Peppermint Pines Chalet.” He throws his hands in the air.

“That’s the one,” I agree. “I would vacation there.”

“Obviously, and with Santa.”

I prepare to listen to my voicemail, replaying his words. I question him with my eyes. Does he jokingly mean Santa Santa or flirtingly mean him Santa? The side of his face lifts. His fair eyebrows knit together. The world will never know the answer.

As the announcer makes his rounds, I listen to the message Effie just left. She sings, “Brookie Cookie! I know I said I was coming to the market, but I think it’s over now anyway and…I met someone!”

I groan, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Santa cocks his head, watching my reaction.

Effie continues, “It’s the guy from last night. I told you it was love at first right. Anyway, we’re going skydiving over Hanover Farm. Don’t wait up for me tonight!”

All kinds of shock and frustration pour over my face. I can’t see it, but I feel it, and I recognize it in the concern in Santa’s eyes.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

I shake my head and put my phone away. “Yes.” I pause. “Ish.”

“Is it worse than a stranger spilling coffee all over you?”

“Not worse, just…different.”

The wallpaper on my phone is a photo of Effie and I last year on our trip to Greece, in front of her grandmother’s childhood home. We’re sun-kissed and carefree, glistening with water droplets, caught on the boat mid-laugh.

I ruminate, “It shouldn’t bother me, what my best friend does, but she’s so unpredictable. And reckless. I never know what she’s up to or if she’s safe. And it was cute and fine when we were kids but now…”

Now we’re grownups, and I’m the only one who does the adulting. I make sure Effie gets home every night, tells Alexa to order her vitamins, answers Yia-Yia’s calls when she doesn’t, drives her to get mystery tattoos removed. I relaxed in Greece for the first time. I’m a different woman in that photo, but Effie only projects one image. She’s always relaxed and up for an adventure, because someone’s always there to catch her when she falls.

---