Page 115 of Scrooged for the Holidays
I nod definitively. “I know, and I do. But that doesn’t mean you have to forgive me or that you should. And maybe it was wrong of me to come here now, and I’m sorry for that, too. But before I left town, I wanted to apologize in person so you could see my face, to let you know I’m genuinely sorry for not only how I treated you but also that I ruined your Christmas.”
“You didn’t ruin our Christmas.” An older man appears next to Holly and places his arm around her shoulders. I remember his name is Bob. “I told my wife we wouldn’t let you ruin it.”
Holly places her hand on her husband’s chest and looks up at him. I don’t know how long they’ve been together, but they look at each other as if they’ve never loved anyone or anything else in the world. It makes me think of the way Remi looked at Kai the other day in the hallway. My chest pangs with longing to go back to them both, to Sam. But I ignore it.
“Grandma!” A small girl with blonde hair runs over, making the three of us turn toward the high-pitched voice. “Grandma, look!”
The little girl stops in front of her grandparents, holding something up to them. Holly takes the item from her granddaughter, and that’s when I notice it’s an ornament. My breath freezes in my lungs when she holds it up by the string attached to the top so she can look closer at it. It’s not exactly the same kind I made my mom, it’s more modern and flat, but I visibly see a picture inside the glass.
“I made this for you in school. Sorry it’s not wrapped; I forgot to do it.”
A smile hitches my lip at her candor. She reminds me a bit of Avery when she was a kid.
Holly’s eyes visibly water as she bends down to hug and kiss the girl on her cheek. “It’s beautiful; thank you so much, honey. I love it. I’ll hang it on my tree when I get home.”
The little girl jumps up and down happily, hugging her grandma before she runs back to who I assume is her mom. Holly straightens and shows Bob the ornament proudly. He smiles adoringly at her before kissing her forehead, side-eyeing me while he does it.
My gaze falls back on the ornament in her weathered hand. I clench my jaw, swallowing down the thick emotion that’s building in my throat. That was how I wished my mom had reacted when I gave her my ornament, how I had always imagined it going in my head. A desire to talk to my mom about that day surges through my being along with the need to hug her now, given what I’ve learned from that memory.
I think I stare at the object for longer than I should, because Holly holds it out for me to see better, the picture facing me.
“Sweet, isn’t it?”
Holly’s voice is even, and her eyes are discerning, like she’s trying to puzzle me out. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s letting me see the ornament. Maybe my staring tugged at her heartstrings.
Normally, I would be embarrassed revealing any sort of emotion, especially to near strangers, but that’s why I’m here—to be vulnerable, to lean into my feelings instead of shutting them off.
I dip my chin to look at the picture in the frame. I expected it to be one of her granddaughter or a family photo, but instead, it’s a younger version of Holly and Bob standing in front of this very restaurant. They have wide smiles on their faces, and the neon sign outside is brand new. If I squint, I can see a banner in the back that reads “Grand Opening.”
The hunger I’d been feeling turns into a different kind of need. It’s the same hunger I carried as a young girl desiring to learn about the world, to devour every scrap of knowledge I could find. Later, it grew into an obsession with real estateand business along with a drive to succeed, to mold myself into everything I believed I wanted. No, not wanted—neededto be.
The granddaughter laughs, drawing my focus across the room. The people are back to ignoring me, laughing and eating food. The Christmas music seems to have gotten louder, and I notice the holiday lights and decor around the space. It’s festive, but more importantly, it has soul, heart. It’s not stark and bleak like the home I saw my future self in or another cookie-cutter business. This place means something, and that’s important.
I roll my shoulders back and look at Holly and Bob. Their gazes haven’t left me, and I see the weariness in their eyes. My chest tightens at the distress I’ve caused them, and I hope they let me make things right.
“You don’t have to say yes right now or ever,” I say with determination. “I’ll understand if you tell me to leave and never come back. But if you’re open to it, I’d like to work with you to increase your revenue, to keep Holly’s Restaurant open for years to come.”
Bob straightens while Holly eyes me skeptically. “Why the change of heart?” She bristles. “Just three nights ago, you couldn’t care less what happened to this place. You only cared about Northlight’s bottom line and your job.”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” Nobody would.
Holly takes a step forward and stares into my eyes like she’s trying to see into my soul. See my truth. “You’re being serious?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “I don’t joke about business, Mrs. Gibson.”
“Are you doing this because your boss told you to?”
I shake my head. “I’m here because I want to help and I think you and your family belong in Garland. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
There’s a long pause, and her gaze narrows. My palms turn clammy while I wait for her to speak. I may not deserve her forgiveness, and I understand if she wants me to fuck off, but I hope she doesn’t.
She stares a bit longer, and just when I think she’s going to tell me to leave, her brow relaxes, and her eyes soften before she nods.
“Would you like to join us for Christmas breakfast?” She gestures toward the table with her chin.
Her family is still enjoying their time together, her granddaughter playing with her sister or a family member similar in age. The other girl has round cheeks and red hair like mine. The two girls giggle conspiratorially, and the blonde girl hugs the other one. My heart pangs.
“Thank you, but I have somewhere I need to be.” I look back at the table once more before I hold out my hand to Holly. The last time I was here, she wouldn’t shake it, but this time, she does.
