Page 6 of Holiday Hoax

“Too bad. You can go ahead and leave, I’ll do all the closing duties tonight.”

“Thank you. Have a good night.”

The most unwelcome sight awaits me as I open my mailbox in the lobby of my building on the way home. Not only do I have a bill from the neighborhood urgent care clinic from my sinus infection treatment but also my student loan bills. A blue envelope sits on the bottom of the pile with just my name and apartment number written across the top.

Curiosity has me tearing it open right there in the mail room. My eyes skim the text until they land on the figures at the bottom. The monthly HOA fees are increasing by two hundred dollars. That’s seven hundred and fifty dollars worth of fees to upkeep parts of the building I don’t even use. I drop my head to the marble topped table in the center of the room and pound it against the stone while I let myself wallow in pity.

Nico was kind enough to give me the apartment so I don’t have a mortgage payment, but between loans, bills, groceries, and the fricking HOA payment I’m barely making it. I don’t want to ask for money. Moving home with my parents is out of the question. If I don’t start making more commissions, I’m going to have to find a second job. But if I get a second job, Nico and my parents are going to wonder why and then I’ll have to tell them. Then Nico will try to swoop in with all his money to make my life easier.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate that he wants to help me, I do. But he’s in California with Stella, and they’re trying to get her lupus under control while starting a family. He doesn’t need to be worrying about his baby sister floundering back in Chicago.

I’m definitely not going to burden my older sisters who have families of their own. Mom and Dad are struggling since he had a heart attack nearly a year ago and hasn’t been able to go back to work fully. I’m not about to add more stress to their lives.

I drop the mail on the kitchen counter as I walk directly to the wine cooler and pull out a bottle of cheap pinot grigio. Filling the glass nearly to the rim while I pull a packet of ramen out of the cupboard, I can’t help but think about what a joke this is. I’m not even paying rent, but I’m the epitome of house poor.

Rain starts falling against the windows, the sound soothing my frayed nerves. I decide to lean into the atmosphere outside and light a pumpkin candle and turn on old episodes of Gilmore Girls. A few hours in Stars Hollow should reset my soul.

I settle in with my ramen and wine while candlelight flickers against the deep green walls. The very first thing I did when I took over the apartment was to paint every single room to bring life into the space that was so void of color. The open concept living room and kitchen were color drenched in a deep forest green that contrasts gorgeously against the oak floors and cabinetry.

I can’t afford the type of art I'd want to adorn my walls with yet, so I do the next best thing and turn them into statement pieces themselves. The only white space left is the office which I really just use as a studio. I’m not a talented artist, but I have always loved the peace and tranquility of sitting in front of a canvas and bringing the vision in my mind to fruition.

I’m finishing the last of my wine when the unfortunate topic of my bills filters back into my mind. Just for giggles I start a search for part time jobs in my neighborhood of the city. I have experience working in restaurants, but I’d really rather find anything else. One of my college roommates used to sell her dirty panties. She made a fuck ton of money doing it if I remember correctly.

Could I do that?

How do you even do that?

I grab a piece of paper and start making a list of possibilities.

Bean and Leaf -barista?

Rite-aid

Grace Salon

Whole Foods

Selling panties-$$$

Foot pics?

I sigh and toss the list onto the coffee table where it lands amongst my collection of coffee table books. None of these are feasible options. At least ones not involving selling panties or pictures of my feet. I guess that’s a check in the positive column for those. My schedule at the gallery isn’t set. Some weeks I’m doing open to close Monday through Friday and other weeks I’m working on the weekends. Not to mention the evening showings which can be scheduled any night of the week. But my paychecks depend so heavily on commissions.

Drew’s purchase today doubled what I’ve earned in the past two weeks for this month. When the money is good, it’s so good. Why can’t I have more rich friends?

CHAPTER 3

IAN

The conversationwith my father went about as well as I thought it would. More pressure to find a wife or at the very least a steady relationship with a woman I can trot out at company functions. He even came armed with a list of names of suitable choices from my mother.

Which is how I find myself attending an art gallery opening on a Thursday night when I should still be in the office finishing up some end of the month work. My date’s name is Annette Carlson, she’s the daughter of the CEO of a prestigious bank. She’s beautiful, well educated, and ticks all my mom’s boxes for what she wants me to have in a partner.

Unfortunately, we have zero chemistry. Throughout dinner we both struggled to make conversation beyond pedantic small talk. I nearly faked a bout of food poisoning just to end this awkward date and put us both out of our misery. But then she started talking about the gallery and the artist whose work willbe on display. She has an impressive story, so another hour is workable.

A server walks past us with champagne on a silver tray, so I grab two glasses and hand one to Annette. As she thanks me, I hear a familiar laugh. I immediately turn, looking for the woman it belongs to.

She’s standing beside two men in bespoke suits, the three of them taking in a large piece of artwork on the wall. I can’t take my eyes off her stunning figure in her slinky black dress that drapes in all the right places. She barely has any skin showing, and yet I can picture her body vividly. Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, the long waves flowing down her back, along with lilac-colored strands woven in.

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