Page 14 of Booked for the Holidays
“Nothing. It could be worse, I guess.”
“Worse than the Grinch himself? Doubtful. Maybe he’s not joining in, and it’ll just be his employees. There’s no way that man will actively participate.”
“Wait a second. This could be perfect. We could create a joint design that spans across both shops. A cohesive theme. They’re right next to us so it could flow smoothly. Do you think we should call a meeting? We need to start planning right away.”
“Why would we call a meeting? We don’t have to actually work together, Bridge. We can do our own thing.”
“That’s no fun. It’s the holidays. A time to spend with loved ones and create memories.”
“Are you implying the employees of Gardner’s Hardware, who you’ve talked to a handful of times at best, are your loved ones?”
I sigh, frustrated. “I’m trying to say we should take advantage of these next six weeks and look at it as a chance to get to know the people we share a wall with.”
“Winning $100,000 would be so cool, but the last thing you need to do is run yourself into the ground. And why? To prove something to an ogre of a guy who would save himself in a fire then find a way to blame everyone else for the disaster, even if it was his fault? I say we decorate our shit, let them figure out theirs, and tell Theo to fuck off in the process. You know he’s probably saying the same thing about us.”
I open and close my mouth, but the words to insult him don’t come out. Perhaps it’s because I always try to find the good in people, even when they don’t see it in themselves. Perhaps I’m holding onto a feeble shred of hope Theo might find some cheer of his own during the competition.
I don’t know his story or what he’s been through. I don’t know if he’s been hurt, or the one who inflicted the pain on someone else. It just seems like he needs something to remind him of all the good parts of life, because I think someone along the way only allowed him to see the bad parts of himself.
A flutter, persistent and tumultuous, wanes in the crevice of my chest, under my heart. The sensation is relentless, refusing to let me give up on him.
I can’t force Theo to join in or participate in an event he obviously loathes. What Icando is continue to reach out. Continue being someone who’s not afraid of the walls he’s trying to construct. He attempted to ward me off the other night at the meeting. I saw the scowl, the fierce look in his eye, determined to push me away. His confusion when I didn’t give in, and the acceptance of my presence. Those thirty minutes–hell, it might not have even been that long–allowed me to glimpse through the fissures of his iron-clad facade.
I don’t hate what I found, either.
I kind of like it.
And I’ve always liked a challenge.
I would never attempt to change someone. Take Chandler for instance: although she might lash out, she’s not innately mean. Her disdain is deep-rooted and stemming from a traumatic life event that’s given her no choice but to snarl at the world and everyone in it. I’m starting to pick up on the same traits in Theo, too. I can tell there’s a different side of him hiding. Buried under the pain, the hurt, the rubble from the past.
It might be weak.
It might be snuffed out.
It might be dim and dull, but it’sthere, and that’s what matters most.
That’s what the holiday season is about, right? Not presents or winning money. Not who can have the most lights in their store windows, the biggest tree, the brightest menorah.
It’s about peace. Joy, comfort.
It’s about love.
Gifts even the most broken people and fractured souls deserve to receive.
“I promise I’m not going to overextend myself. I already drew a sketch of a basic idea for the floor.”
I pull out the folded piece of paper from my pocket, the one I stayed up late to work on last night when creativity struck, and place it face up on the counter. Chandler leans over and studies the renderings.
“Bridget. This drawing is horrible.”
“What did you expect? I got my degree in business, not art.”
“Yeah, and it shows. What the hell is that supposed to be?”
“A chair, obviously. I spent three hours on this!”
“Threehours? We need to get you out more. Or, at the very least, you need to get laid.”
