Page 5 of Merry Little Mishap

“Brilliant bronze, milk chocolate, savory pecan, cedar…?” she pointed to Marty’s paws as visual comparison.

“How about dark espresso?” I interrupted, balancing on a ladder to fix her broken smoke detector—her third one this year.

“How dark are we talking?”

Jingle Bellsbounced over the radio, filling the space to her unanswered question.

I thought about it for a moment, carefully considering the answer, because I took it very seriously.

How could I explain to Mrs. Caporali that her granddaughters’ hair couldn’t be darker, or lighter, than the girl who lived next door to her apartment?

How could I even articulate that?

How, without a stutter in my voice, could I share that the perfect shade of color was second to the cheeks it rested on, or the cute little ears it laid over, or the very head it grew from?

God, even the wordespressoas a descriptor was so unfitting—worthy of being kindle to a fireplace—because the color itself could only be encompassed with something as unique as the person it belonged to.

Elena Ortiz.

The back of my neck dripped in sweat just from the thought of her, and admitting that to someone as gossipy as Mrs. Caporali would be a total nightmare for me as a professional in this building.

“Her hair needs to be dark. Obsidian and shiny. Silky and curly,” I finally said, twisting wires together.

“Curly?” She announced with surprise, digging her hands into the pockets of her red apron.

She rocked back and forth on her heels, flipping through some mental rolodex where she stored all her granddaughters.

My phone rang in my tool belt, saving me from her impending elevator speech.

“One moment,” I said to Mrs. Caporali before answering my phone. “Hello?”

“If you get me anything for Christmas this year, please let it be a genie lamp…” Tiffany, my older sister sighed through the phone, her voice rushed as always. “I’m ready to wish Hank away! Can someone—anyone—please just send that man back to whatever polo-wearing, golf-club-swinging, Viagra-usingHELLhe crawled out of?! Did I tell you he got the promotion over me? Me, Nick!Me!Can you believe that?”

“You mean your ex-husband—the man who originally hired you for your current job—got a better position at the same company you both work at?”

This was the third time she told me about the promotion. At this point my ear was just a punching bag for her rage filled rants. She hated her ex-husband so damn much.

“He’s going bald, you know… Iloveit,” she said with as much Christmas glee as she could muster, before something crashed on the other end of the phone. “BOYS! What did I tell you about bikes in the house? Only at your father’s!”

I tried really hard not to groan.

“I’m guessing Santa came early this year?”

“Hank surprised them like some hot shot. I hope he burns his tongue on hot cocoa. Boys, sayhito your uncle Nicky.”

A myriad of shouts and bike brakes screeched through the line.

I pulled the phone away from my ear momentarily.

“They’re excited to see you tonight,” she muffled.

Somethingpoppedon Tiffany’s side.

“What’s that noise?” I asked.

“What noise?” she slurped.

“Are you drinking wine right now?”

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