Page 10 of Merry Little Mishap

“Maybe, but so are you. And what you need is a Christmas angel to give you a little push.” Camilla swiped at my phone once more, double tapping not one, but three of Nick’s photos. The little red hearts popped on the screen, showing that Ilikedhis posts.

I wasn’t even following his account.

“Camilla!” I screeched, snatching my phone out of her hands.

She cackled. “Don’t unlike them either. It’ll be more awkward if you do.”

“I can’t believe you.” I tossed back the last of my drink, stuffing my phone back into my purse.

“Believe it. And that’s not the only gift I’m giving you.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a carefully wrapped box with a large red bow.

“Awe, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

“Well, it’s actually the last item for your countdown. I’ve been keeping my eye on your posts, and they’re a massive hit on instagram.”

“They’ve been a big hit for my personal life, too. As long as this one doesn’t get chewed up by Marty.”

“Actually, this one is meant to be shared… but no dogs for Christ’s sake. Maybe Nick can help you open it.”

“Ugh… I need another drink.” I slid my arms into my matching plaid blazer, fixing the gold hoops in my ears.

“Remember… it’s all about confidence. I know from experience. My ugliest moments are when I’m most insecure… it’s not me, it’s my fear.” Camilla gave me a quick hug. “Now, don’t forget. Finish up this last review, and I’ll promote you to associate editor. You’ll officially be on the payroll.”

We said our goodbyes one final time before I turned away, package in hand, and a pep talk that felt more like a cheer up, than an actual plan I could ever pull off.

Across Washington Square Park, below bushy green garland and white string lights was O’Malley’s hand painted sign; a once old Irish pub now turned liquor store.

“You could at least get rid of the menu that’s still hanging in the window.” I brushed Manhattan snow off my shoulder, shivering in my topcoat as I climbed the warm steps into the entrance.

“I like the charm of it, besides, nobody would actually go to a pub to eat. It’s all about the spirits,mimano.” Luis greeted, wiping down the original sticky bar top.

I laughed and nodded around, lifting a twelve-year-old bottle of WhistlePig from one of the built-in mahogany shelves.

Outside of the missing barstools and newly added Dominican flags, this place stayed completely untouched from how it used to look; its intricately carved banisters and dark crown molding aged by the wear and tear of generations that had traversed its chestnut floors for over a century.

Even Luis knew it’d be criminal to ever remove the hanging Tiffany lights that were strung about, their warm glow casting perfect cozy shadows along the copper tiled ceiling and forest green wallpaper.

“Let me guess, Marty’s driving you to drink again?” Luis leaned on the counter, scratching his mustache. “Or did the ol’ pooch send you on an errand for himself? I’m guessing he’s a peppermint schnapps kind of dog.”

I shopped around and shook my head. “I’m actually here for myverythirsty sister. You wouldn’t happen to have a barrel of wine handy, would you?”

Luis whistled, “How about a box of it?”

“I’m sure anything with a handle would suffice.”

“I second that.” A customer in the whiskey section added, dragging his freshly cut Christmas tree across the floor to the counter. His face was stricken with holiday horror. “I just spent two hundred dollars onthisNobel Fir…TWO HUNDRED. All becausemyinsufferable mother-in-lawhadto have it!” He stomped the tree trunk onto the floor, gritting his teeth. “Well, guess what lady… you mayneedthis overpriced fire hazard, butIneed a stiff drink just to make it through the holidays with you! Believe me when I say, I’d much sooner dress like an angel and sit on top of this tree than haveyouruin the single drink I waited for all year long. So help me god, I’ll have my eggnog how I like it, even ifyousay it spoils my breath!” he announced loudly, as if rehearsing before his final performance.

Luis quickly bagged a bottle for the man, sympathetically punching numbers into the cash register before wishing him a Merry Christmas.

The bell at the door chimed as he exited, trudging out into the street with his tree.

We both got quiet and stared at each other.

“Feliz Navidad, Nick!” Angela, Luis’s wife, greeted me as she made her way from the cellar, bags of heavy bottles in hand. “Are you here to pick something up for Marty?”

“Why does everyone think my dog’s an alcoholic?” I arched a brow, concerned about his reputation. “I’m actually here for my sister.”

“Tiffany?” she asked, yanking a receipt from the register, stapling it onto the bags.

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