Page 14 of Ten Christmases Without You
What would it have been like to be Anne Brewer—adored, glamorous, always the center of attention?
As Emmy stared at her reflection, she felt like an impostor. Her inner critic whispered, “You’ll never fill her shoes.” Her mother wouldn’t have expected Emmy to fill her shoes, but she felt the pressure nonetheless. With a sigh, she unzipped the dress, gingerly took it off, and returned it to its hanger. As she took her pajamas out of her suitcase and climbed into bed, she promised herself again that she’d make some changes. She wasn’t sure what to do exactly, but she couldn’t stay on her current path.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT CHRISTMAS
December 20, 2016
“Thank you so much,” Emmy said to Akari, the hostess of Umi Sushi, as she took the to-go bag.
“Let me run to the kitchen and get an extra container of sauce for you.” Akari left her front counter and swished back to the kitchen.
Emmy looked down at the bag. She didn’t eat sushi. She couldn’t afford it. Not at this place. Yet, she’d been to Umi so often that she knew the staff of the small but elegant grill by name. Being sent out to walk the city streets multiple times per day to run errands for her boss was a “perk” of her job. Even though she wasn’t okay with the extra time it took, she attempted to find a silver lining by convincing herself that doing extra favors, coupled with hard work, would eventually pay off.
She’d been passed over for yet another promotion this year. Vivienne said she was “competent, but they wanted a different style,” which seemed to be the way her life was going in general. She worked herself to the bone, but she kept getting passed over. She’d given Vivienne nothing but perfect work. What else did she need to do? Inferiority niggled at her, that perhaps she justwasn’t good enough. But if she gave in to that idea, her future in PR and everything she’d worked for would evaporate right in front of her, so she continued to hold out hope.
Emmy’s friend group in New York wasn’t much better. There were a few people she went out with occasionally, but given her long work hours, she didn’t have friends she saw consistently. Every now and again, she got a text from her high school best friend, Adrienne McLoughlin and they chatted about the day. Embarrassingly, she hadn’t dated anyone since college except for Zach, and that had ended in a phone call after Christmas last year. She’d confronted him about the lipstick, and he’d admitted it, telling her he’d come by for his jacket, which he’d left at her place, but he never did. She eventually took it to the second-hand shop when she reorganized her closet.
She blamed her lack of close friendships on her working hours and the fact that she was exhausted at the end of the week and actually wanted to clean the grit out of the little crevices in her kitchen sink drain instead of going out. But was she only covering up her insecurities? Every now and again, she’d allow herself to consider the fact that she didn’t feel like she could offer a lot on a night out with friends. Would she even be any fun? So she focused on work.
While she shared a strong genetic similarity with her mom in their mutual love of creativity, there was one difference: Anne Fairchild Brewer had that “something special” Emmy didn’t have. Her mom made things happen while Emmy floundered around, stuck. She couldn’t measure up to her mom. So, what was the point in possessing her mother’s interests and talents? She often wondered if her mom had been taken away from her before Emmy had really gotten a chance to learn how to live life from her. There weren’t a lot of people Emmy looked up to, apart from her mom. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t developed any lasting friendships. Was this lack of connection some sort ofcharacter flaw? Had her mother figured out something about relating to others that she hadn’t?
Akari returned and handed her a lidded plastic cup of sauce. “Late work night?” she asked, toying with her shiny, poker-straight ponytail as Emmy stuffed the container into her bag.
“It seems so.”
Emmy had been sent out to pick up dinner for Vivienne, because the workaholic woman couldn’t get away, and Emmy was the only one she trusted with her delicate order—requests such as no-nut sauces; brown rice, not white; or an extra half roll. Tonight, she’d asked for her favorite off-menu item: hamachi nigiri with foie gras and wasabi miso. They only offered that dish on Saturday nights. Emmy had made friends with everyone at Umi, so in Vivienne’s words, “If I send Emmy, a friendly face, they’ll make the dish for her.” Not to mention the restaurant wasn’t a take-out restaurant at all. But they made an exception for Vivienne because she ordered the $90 dish at least twice a week.
A client, a team by the name of Furasshu, was dropping by this evening, directly after their flight in from Tokyo. While her boss would never allow her to have a large part in a campaign the size of Furasshu’s, Emmy tried to see the bright side. Just being present was a perk. This meeting could be a huge opportunity to watch the pros in action and to eavesdrop on the conversation. No one got this chance.
Akari slid a couple extra individually wrapped mints across the counter. “It’s your last day before you’re off for the holiday, right? With any luck, you won’t work too late.”
“Yeah, I hope so too.” Even though she’d stay until midnight if she could be even a small part of this meeting.
Emmy palmed the mints and slid them into her coat pocket. “Thanks.”
She tightened her cable-knit scarf, opened the door to exit the restaurant, then stepped onto the snow-dusted sidewalk and into the bustling New York City crowds.
A street corner violinist played festive music under a small tent as snowflakes fell like feathers around her. She paced through the merry spectators that had gathered around the musician. A little girl, bundled in a bright blue coat and matching mittens, dropped a dollar in the open violin case at the man’s feet while he played “Carol of the Bells.” Her parents clapped then took hold of her little mitts and danced with her.
Emmy wanted to get back to work to deliver Vivienne’s dinner early so she could ask about sitting in for the Furasshu meeting, but she was stopped by the crowd on the congested sidewalk. If she had to get stuck in a horde, however, this was the perfect location: in front of the shop window at The Garnet & Petticoat, an upscale second-hand boutique. For weeks, she’d lingered whenever she’d passed the deep-green gown displayed there. It reminded her of the kind of dress her mother would’ve designed.
The tapered waist and elegant neckline screamed for her mom’s diamond necklace and bracelet set that Emmy had inherited, but the dress form simply held the gown, waiting for a buyer to add her personal style to it. The single garment was the focal point of the display—the star of the show—with fresh pine, gifts wrapped in silver paper with white bows, and twinkle lights filling the floor, and oversized silver baubles dangling above the dress.
It looked to be her size. Emmy imagined the feel of the fabric on her skin and the gentle squeeze of the seams at her waist. She had no place to wear a garment that sophisticated, except the company party, although Vivienne would likely prefer for her to wear something of a client’s instead. It never failed; every holiday, they seemed to be representing some designer oranother. This past week, her boss had been chomping at the bit to get Emmy involved in the Weston Atelier campaign, an upscale New York clothing design firm. Emmy couldn’t afford even the buttons of one of their dresses on her salary.
Last year, she’d had to eat nothing but noodles and turn her heat to ice levels just to pay off the party dress Vivienne had suggested she wear from Hawthorne & Co. But this year, still unable to fit into her mother’s red gown, and unwilling to waste money on a dress she’d never wear again, she’d made up a reason she couldn’t go.
Her phone buzzed.
She hit “speaker” and answered, holding the device near her mouth. “Hello?” Her gaze remained on the intricate beading around the gown’s neck and wrists, something her mom would’ve loved.
“Hey, where are you now?” Vivienne asked.
“I’m still on the corner of 19thand Park.”
The crosswalk sign flashed, and the throng began to move. A passer-by bumped her shoulder, knocking her into the window as if the universe had scolded her for wasting time with the dress. She eyed the garment once more, its extravagance a far cry from her reality.
