“Is it the Christmas part you don’t like?” she asks, throwing me for a loop.
“Huh?”
“Are you one of those guys who hate Christmas, or just life in general?”
“I don’t hate Christmasorlife in general. I just don’t want to be in this damn town.”
“Christmas Town?” Her voice is soft.
“Yes. Christmas Town. This whole place is a joke. I mean, come on. Holly Jolly Christmas Tree Farm on Candy Cane Lane? Everything in this town is overdone.”
“Well, I love this place. I think it's magical, or it will be once Halloween is over and the real decorations go up. Christmas is the best time of year. Hands down.”
I can’t say I don’t admire her enthusiasm. It’s clear it’s her favorite holiday. “Do you live here?”
“No, we… I mean I live in Centerville with your parents. Well, notwiththem. David and I had a place at the rear of the property.”
“You mean David never left home? Typical. He always was a mama’s boy.”
“I asked you not to do that.” She starts to rise.
“Sorry. Don’t go. It slips out.”
“Where does all this animosity come from?”
“From years of being treated like shit.”
She rolls her eyes.
“You think I’m exaggerating, huh? Don’t worry. It’s no skin off my nose. Believe what you want. I know the truth of what it was like growing up in that family. But you know what? I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good. Neither do I.”
“So, what’s your plan? You gonna commute from Centerville to run this place? You have to admit, selling is the best solution. Just think what you can do with the money. You can even move out of there.”
“I’m not selling.” Her brows lift.
“You said you haven’t been up there in two years. So, what do you know about it? For all you know, it could be a complete rundown dump by now.”
“Then maybe we should go look at the place.”
I can see she’s going to be stubborn about this. “I suppose we could take a ride up there. See what’s what.”
“We should head up there before we run out of daylight.”
We finish our food, and I toss a wrapped fortune cookie at her, then dig my wallet out and put a card on the tray with the bill.
She unwraps hers.
“What’s it say? Maybe we can play the lottery numbers on the back.”
She frowns.
“What?” I ask.
“You will find your meaning for living.”
“Weird.” I open mine.
