Page 7 of Christmas By The Shore

“Ah yes. How could I forget?” She waved a hand in the air. “Well, next time you talk to someone in that department, let them know that at this point, I feel like I’d be better off designing my own cover, and you know how horrible I am at drawing. Maybe that will light a fire under their butts to put a little more effort in!”

“They’ve been working hard on this pitch, and they’re trying to help you,” Cat reminded her. “They think that a more cohesive color scheme with the first book will make it easier to sell a box set once your third book is finished. And they’re probably right.”

“But the books aren’t part of a series!”

“They are your first three debut novels, though, and they are all in the same genre, so it makes sense to put them in a box together. Mrs. Kendall wants to have the box set ready to go by next year, so that we can really push it as a Christmas gift. Which reminds me, you haven’t sent me your pages yet. Are you done with chapter eight or not? People are dying for book three to be released.”

McKenzie avoided making eye contact.

“That’s a no!”

“I’m almost done,” she countered. “But I got stuck. I’ve decided that I really can’t stand these characters and that their story is super boring.”

“You said that about your last book,” Cat said. “And the one before that. You just have to push through this stage and get back to writing.”

“... I guess.” She clicked her tongue. “But this time it’s different, Cat. I genuinely feel like this isn’t the book I should be writing. I’m so uninspired.”

“Don’t be so defeatist. Just give yourself some time, try to get out of your head, and I’ll push your deadlines a little. It’s going to be fine.” After nearly fifteen years of working with writers, Catherine knew when they just needed a little push. McKenzie especially, since they had been friends since childhood and only had the confidence to publish her first book after years of Catherine prompting her to do so. “Let’s say you get to chapter five by Thanksgiving. That’s three weeks away. You can do it.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try hard,” Cat pleaded, “because you know I’m the one who gets yelled at when projects aren’t completed in time.”

“I know.” She smiled. “And have I thanked you recently for never yelling at me when I am late on pages?”

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll go pick up my lunch at the cafe down the street and bring it back so I don’t have to walk away from my desk.”

“Not a chance,” McKenzie said as she stood. “I love you, and I love helping you, but I refuse to be complicit in your unhealthy attachment to this office.”

4

Three Weeks Later

It was the week of Thanksgiving, and Catherine knew better than to call McKenzie and ask where her pages were. If her friend's general demeanor that November was any indication, she had been avoiding her book like it was the plague. McKenzie had been going out a lot, checking in less, and giving the impression that she thought her book advance would last her the rest of her life financially.

This is why Cat wasn’t shocked when McKenzie called the Monday before Thanksgiving and asked if she could crash the Anand family Thanksgiving dinner. Catherine didn’t always go to her parents’ Cape May home for the holiday but wanted to this year. She would only take Thursday and Friday off and make up for lost time over the weekend, but it would be good to see her mom and dad. She’d missed Christmas the year before, as well as most of the Hindu holidays that her dad still practiced.

“Yes, yes, you can come with me,” Catherine told McKenzie from her desk, where she’d already been working for an hour eventhough nobody else was in the building yet. “You know you’re always invited.”

“I assumed, but I wanted to make sure. There was a chance your parents were planning something different this year.”

“They never plan anything different,” said Cat. “They are creatures of habit. I was actually just about to call my mom and see what she needed me to bring. I’ll keep you posted.”

They hung up, and Cat promptly dialed her mother’s line. Her mother answered, her voice sounding far away. “Hi, sweetheart!”

“Mom, I can hardly hear you!” Catherine hated it when her mom put her on speaker and left the phone on the other side of the room. “Can you please not leave me on speaker?”

“One second, dear,” she said. “You caught me right in the middle of washing my hair. I just need to throw it up in a towel.”

“That’s fine,” Cat said. “Butthenwill you hold the phone so I can actually hear you?”

A few seconds went by, then her mother’s voice came through the phone with perfect clarity. “Is this better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

“Good. How are things?”

“Things are fine. Work’s been busy, but that’s par for the course.”

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