Page 6 of Her Secret Santa

Today fucking sucks.

It’s been drizzling rain all day, not cold enough to snow, but cold enough for it to turn to wet, yucky sludge on the ground. After exhausting all online job openings, I thought walking through some of the busier areas of New York and showing up in person would give me a fighting chance at finding a new job. But, every restaurant that I’ve stopped by has no positions available, not even just for Thanksgiving Day.

Maybe it’s just because the holidays are right around the corner, and all positions were filled long ago, or maybe it’s simply my luck. The holiday season, more so than most times of the year, is meant to make people feel like everything is going to be ok. Everything issupposedto be okay, but instead life feels especially helpless right now.

I’ve always tried to be optimistic, but now, I just feel like crying. I can’t though. Not only do I refuse to let anyone see me cry, but I know that if I start right now, I won’t be able to stop. I don’t have time for that right now. I’m less than a block from thenursing home, and Grandma will know if something is upsetting me.

She’ll probably know anyway, but it’ll be easier to change the subject if I don’t still have tear tracks drying on my face.

I step inside the nursing home with a wide smile on my face as I walk up to the receptionist. The warmth inside is a nice contrast to the chill of the mid-winter air outside, and I take a deep, calming breath. Walking into the small, but bright and freshly cleaned lobby, I’m instantly greeted with a warm smile from Sarah. She’s been the receptionist at Brooklyn Gardens for almost a decade, and she’s always sweet to everyone.

“Sarah, hey,” I say as I pull my scarf off.

A strand of copper hair falls over her cheek as she leans back from the computer to give me her full attention.

“Clara! It’s so good to see you,” she says. “You stopping by to see Nora?”

“Yeah, I wanted to check in and see if she needed anything for tomorrow.”

A call comes in before we have a chance to chat more, and I wave goodbye to her, then head down the hall toward my grandma’s room. Her door is slightly open when I knock, pushing the door open more and waiting to hear her voice before I enter.

“Come in.”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I’m here to check on my grandma, not to blurt out all my own worries. I’ll figure everything out, and then I’ll tell her, but I don’t want to dampen her mood. The holidays are a time that both of us cherish, and I want her first one away from home to be nothing but happy.

I feel a million times better as soon as I swing the door to her room open with a bright smile, my stress easier to push to the back of my mind when I see her. Her room is decorated with all the trappings of home, plush pillows and her favorite knitblanket on the bed, an endless array of soft sweaters for her to bundle up in. Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she sees me, her wrinkled face welcoming as she smiles wide.

“Clara, sweetie, look at you!” she says, looking over me. “You’re all wet, come in and get warm.”

She’s sitting in her cozy maroon armchair, a blanket tossed over her lap. I’m grateful that her mind has stayed so sharp, even if her knees and hips have given out on her.

“Hi, Grandma.” I close the door behind me and walk over to press a kiss to her weathered cheek before taking a seat in the armchair next to hers. “I’ve been out running errands, and it’s been raining all day.”

The throw blanket she passes me smells like her favorite gardenia perfume, and it brings back memories of sitting just like this when I was a kid. Of course, back then, it was in the living room of her apartment, but we’ve worked hard to make this place feel like home. I still live in that apartment now, a little one bedroom that would be kind of miserable if not for all the memories of my grandma that have soaked into the walls there. I never knew who my dad was, and my mom decided drugs were more important than I was by the time I was three. My grandma is all I’ve ever had.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” she says, pursing her lips a bit as she frowns. “My girl doesn’t look happy.”

I force a laugh and wave the thought away, even though I know it won’t do much to convince her. She’s always known me too well for me to lie to her, but I don’t want her to worry.

“Oh, it’s just been a long day. I thought it was supposed to snow, so I didn’t bring an umbrella, and the rain is cold.”

She watches me closely, her eyes narrowed as she tries to root out the real reason. I’ll find a new job, and then I’ll tell her, but for now she doesn’t need to know.

“I’m really ok,” I promise, ignoring the twinge of guilt over keeping this a secret. “Just a little tired. I wanted to make sure you don’t need anything for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. I’ll be here tomorrow, but I won’t be able to stay for the whole day. I promised Brooke I’d stop by and help out with the kids in the evening.

“Oh, honey,” she croons, her smile coming back tenfold. “I’m just fine. Jared, that new cook, asked me for my pumpkin pie recipe. We’ll have turkey and ham, and he has a special mashed potato recipe he’s making. He said he’s using Thelma’s stuffing recipe, and I’ve heard great things about it from the other folks here.”

It’s good to hear that they’re going to do a Thanksgiving feast. I want my grandma to have a proper holiday season, and everyone here seems like they’re putting real effort into making that happen.

“That’s so good to hear,” I say. “I’ll have to steal a piece of pie before I leave.”

“I asked him to make extra,” she tells me with a wink, reaching over to pat my arm. “I want you to take some food for yourself, but I already made sure it was ok for you to take all of the leftovers over to Brooke.”

I have to put effort into keeping my tears at bay when I hear that. I had been planning on making at least some sides and a turkey for the kids, but without a job, I don’t have the money for it. Knowing that I can help make sure they all have a good Thanksgiving with some home cooked food is a huge weight off my shoulders.

“Thank you, Grandma. I should get going,” I tell her as I pull back. “I have to stop by the craft store and pick up a few things for tomorrow. What time should I come by?”

She pats my hand, her smile wide and happy, even if I can see the worry lingering in her gaze. I really wish she’d let me do the worrying, just this once.

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