Page 2 of A Very Irish Christmas
Eggnog. Just no.
Watching my wedding video, which was taken on a sensational snowy day in winter wonderland New York.
TWO
I am in Macy’s, hiding beneath a rack of taffeta cocktail dresses. My head is covered in a hot pink puffball skirt, and I’m struggling to breathe. My feet are still sticking out, and I mutter a little ‘ouch’ every time someone steps on them.
The Christmas music is jingling away in the background, and I’m formulating an escape plan. I can’t stay here forever – the store will close, and I’ll be alone with all the creepy mannequins. If I can make it to the restroom, I can barricade myself in and buy myself some time. All I have to do is survive the next few minutes.
I suck in air, tell myself I can do this, and clamber out. As I emerge, a woman with a toddler looks shocked, grabs her child and pulls her away.
I throw myself into the flood of bodies, caught in the human current. I ricochet between shoppers and rails of clothes and a display of cashmere scarfs, pinging around like a human pinball. I mutter apologies, make myself as small as I can, and finally make it to the restrooms.
I splash water on my face, staring myself down in the mirror.Stop being so pathetic, Cassie O’Hara – this is supposed to be fun. My skin is white and clammy, and my red hair hasn’t copedwell with the puffball skirt. I don’t look like a woman having fun. My heart is racing, and my lungs aren’t getting enough air. It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.
I grab my bags, and make the last crazy sprint to freedom, rewarded with a blast of icy rain. I lean against the wall, and try not to hyperventilate. People give me a wide berth, automatically swerving away from me as though I’m contagious. After a few moments, a woman wearing maybe twenty layers of mismatched clothing approaches me. She looks like she sleeps rough, a wild look in her eyes and a Santa hat perched on her head. Her feet are encased in sneakers coated in plastic sheeting, which is practical if not chic.
I root around in my pockets, find that I have no loose change. I mean, who does? Homeless people need card machines these days.
‘Sorry,’ I say, feeling like a louse. ‘I don’t have anything to give you.’
‘That’s okay. I just wanted to check you were all right. You need some help?’
Huh. Right. I must be looking even worse than I thought.
‘Thank you, that’s very kind. I just… well, I get a bit weirded out by Christmas shopping.’
Even as I say it, I realise how lame I sound. I’m guessing this woman’s life holds a few more challenges that mine.
I dive into one of my bags, the one that contains the expensive suede gloves I bought for my sister, Suzie. Suzie hates everything I buy for her, every single year. She’s one of those women who has everything – apart from manners. I once saw a purse I’d given her in the window display of her local thrift store, which was just plain rude – she could at least have donated it to one a few miles away.
‘Here,’ I say to the wild-eyed woman. ‘Take these. Keep yourself warm, okay?’
She takes off the cut-down socks she’s currently wearing, carefully stashes them in a pocket, and puts the gloves on. She smiles and waves her hands around like she’s conducting an orchestra.
‘I’m going now,’ I say, pleased that the gloves will be getting some use. ‘Stay safe, and… um, merry Christmas?’
There are actually five weeks to go, but I don’t think anyone cares anymore. The stores have told us it’s Christmas, so it must be.
I scurry home on a crowded subway and through rainy streets, relieved to finally make it back to my apartment. I put on my favourite green-and-red check pyjamas and my fluffy socks. I grab the cookies I’d baked earlier, and sink down onto my couch.
It’s been a horrible day, and I vow never to repeat it. Next year, I won’t be buying my mother and Suzie gifts at all, I decide. Next year, I’ll be donating to a good cause on their behalf instead. I could get a pair of goats named after them – or even some toilets. I saw an ad for a water charity where you could do that. The Suzie and The Audrey. And even though they might secretly be annoyed, they’d have to pretend to be pleased, because it’s for charity.
That makes me laugh, at least, as I settle down for one of my own Christmas traditions – watching my wedding video. I do it every year, and it’s become part of my festive ritual – a bit like gingerbread or mistletoe or those cute Hallmark movies that make you smile. It wouldn’t be Christmas without it.
I sip my milk, and press play.
It starts with me, up in my room, getting ready with Suzie and my mom. I’m sitting in front of a mirror, the make-up lady behind me. I wave at the camera, looking delighted and freaked out all at the same time.
