Page 62 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

This wasn’t me.

I felt so much better after driving to the salon for my usual highlights. The resort had an expensive salon on the premises, but I preferred to keep a low profile when it came to personal care.

I skipped the grocery store though. I knew better than to go where Terry shops again—I was using the delivery service from now on.

Then, as I drove closer to the large parking lot, there he was.

Terry was loading trees into a massive truck. Probably the same trees we’d set up together. I thought about the moment of passion we’d shared and then had to swerve before almost driving into a snowbank.

What am I going to say? Oh my god, I was not at all prepared to see him again. I mean, I had known that Iwouldat some point. But I wasn’t ready … I didn’t have a strategy yet.

After I parked, I was slow to turn off the car, unbuckle my seat belt, put my visor up, and eventually open my car door. I took a deep breath before stepping out of the car as I steeled myself for the awkwardness and pain to come, while also feeling still a bit of that usual excitement about just getting to see him.

I needn’t have bothered.

He’d just finished and was already driving away. As he shifted from reverse to forward, I was sure he spotted me, but he gave no indication. He merely turned his head and left.

I should’ve felt only relief, but instead, I felt hollow. I forced my legs to trudge through the snow to the entrance. I usually parked at a side entrance closer to where my rooms were, but I wasn’t thinking clearly when I pulled in. Oh well, I’d move my car later, probably. Maybe.

As I walked through the automatic doors, fluffing my hat after taking it off, I noticed my eyes were dry, at least. Good, the last thing I needed was for more staff to see me teary-eyed. I’m sure they’d witnessed quite the show last week when I’d had the Christmas meltdown of all meltdowns.

I gave a friendly wave to the front desk person, who I didn’t know very well. The moment she saw me, her eyes widened, and she started waving her arm fast. I guess she wanted me to come over?

I sighed. I just wanted to get back to my room so I could wallow some more—just a bit more, since I was not really a wallower, of course. But instead I smiled and walked over to the desk, where the employee was talking to a tall blonde woman who looked … well, expensive. As most of our guests do.

I slid behind the front desk and looked at Lanie, as indicated by her employee nametag. “Hi Lanie, I’m Mariana. I don’t think we’ve met yet, but it’s nice to meet you. Can I help with something?”

Lanie fidgeted. “I—yeah, yes, it’s nice to meet you. Um, yes, there’s a guest here claiming to…”

I didn’t hear the rest of what she said because my head had started to turn to face the guest on the other side of the desk. And when I saw her, I stopped thinking, stopped hearing.

Stopped breathing.

Finally, I gasped. I couldn’t even begin to physically form words, even if I could think of which ones to use.

What words could possibly fit this moment?

“Mariana, it is you,” she said in soft, measured tones.

I still couldn’t speak. I heard Lanie say something behind me, but it didn’t register. I just kept staring.

Upon closer inspection, the woman’s hair had a bit of strawberry blonde, but it was extremely subtle and cut short in a chic, expensive cut. She was around the same height and build as me. Her nose was small, her cheekbones high. Her face and eyes so familiar, with faint lines in the corner of her eyes and mouth. And on her face was my polite, gracious smile.

“M—m—” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t. So many thoughts and feelings were zipping through my brain and my body that I had to brace my hands on the counter to steady myself. I took a couple of steadying breaths, reminding myself I’m Mariana Northam, dammit. I don’t get intimidated or overcome by feelings or any of that nonsense. It’s time to be a Northam once again. Not the person she probably thinks I am.

When I knew I could handle myself, I raised my eyes back to her face, which was looking at me curiously. “My mother, I presume?” I asked.

That smile again. The gracious one, the one I used at work, mostly. Often when I didn’t want to be smiling at all. “Yes, Mariana. I am your mother.”

“Oh,” I said, giving her the same smile back as I patted my straight, light blonde hair. At least it wasn’t strawberry-blonde anymore, like hers. I’d been dyeing it for years. “Pleased to meet you. Can I help you with something?”

A flash of something—irritation maybe, or perhaps even hurt—passed over her face at my blunt question, but she smiled again. “I came to introduce myself and get to know you, darling.”

Darling? Is she serious?

She can’t be.

I wonder if she wants money or something. Though it certainly doesn’t look like it, from her expensive outfit and luggage.

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