Page 15 of Ten Christmases Without You
“Oh goodness, you haven’t gotten very far,” Vivienne said, her voice sailing into Emmy’s consciousness. “The Furasshu team’s flight came in a bit earlier than expected. They’re already in a cab.”
“Sorry. I’m on my way.”
“It’s fine. I’ll eat fast. Were you able to get the hamachi nigiri with foie gras and wasabi miso?”
“Yep.”I always do.
Vivienne gave a quick “bye” and hung up.
The cost of her boss’s sushi habit nearly rivaled Emmy’s paycheck after taxes.
For Christmas, her dad had given her five hundred dollars instead of a gift. She’d tried to tell him not to, but he’d insisted, and when it came down to it, she needed the money. While the gesture had been an effort to help her out financially, it only served to make Emmy feel like a failure. Having been out of college for four years, she should be further along in her career.
As she made her way toward the crosswalk, her phone went off again with a text from Vivienne:
Never mind, love. You won’t be able to sprint and get here before they do. I’ve called something in for delivery from the café downstairs. Head on home for the night and have a wonderful holiday. You can eat the sushi—my treat. Merry Christmas!
Emmy’s shoulders fell. So much for learning something to further her career this evening. Maybe she should go out on her own and find her own clients. Except that she didn’t have any upper-level experience to tout to anyone. Who would wantherhandling their public relations?
Now, all she had to look forward to was an extravagantly expensive dinner in her empty shoebox of an apartment. She’d never had the hamachi nigiri with foie gras and wasabi miso. It might be better than her other option: spaghetti noodles with canned tomato sauce, which she could make for the week, and the supplies cost only $4.85.
She texted back:
Merry Christmas.
With a sigh, she turned around to make her way back to her apartment.
As she passed by the dress once more, someone inside The Garnet & Petticoat reached into the window, fiddling with the edge of the gown, and Emmy’s heart drummed. Had someone bought it? It wouldn’t make any difference if they had. The gown wasn’t for her anyway. But with further scrutiny, the woman in the window seemed to be simply rearranging some of the gifts, shifting them into the light.
“Ho, ho, ho!”
Emmy tore her eyes from the dress to see a Santa heading her way through the masses. He rang a gold bell as he made eye contact with strangers on the street and spouted good cheer. They were a long way from the nearest shopping mall—where was he going? He stopped by the violinist and wiggled his large booty, making a few people laugh.
Then, to her horror, his gaze landed on Emmy. He rang the bell in the air. “It’s the holiday season!” The man in the red suit with white fur cuffs strode toward her. “Smile!”
She gripped the box of sushi, already thinking of getting an Uber home, even though the walk was only a few blocks. The last thing she needed was some deranged Santa following her back to her apartment. He lifted a gloved hand and rang the bell again. Then he leaned toward her, sending the scent of peppermint her way.
“The holidays are short,” he said into her ear. “Make the most of them. Another Christmas will be gone before you know it.”
Then he strode into the crowd around her, ringing his bell and singing, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”
Could her night get any weirder? She’d better duck out of the way somehow until he was gone.
As she regrouped, she centered herself by focusing on the dress in the window. It represented a life she’d always imagined she’d have one day, but given her circumstances, it felt eternally out of reach. The woman sprucing up the display noticedEmmy. She smiled and waved at the mannequin, her eyebrows bouncing. Then she beckoned Emmy inside. Perfect timing. She could escape Santa and get a closer look at the dress.
Where was she going anyway? Back to her dingy apartment? She’d had to put down a pot in the corner of the living area to catch the leaky ceiling pipe, and the draft was intolerable.
Santa might be right. Why shouldn’t she make the most of her holiday? What would it hurt if she went inside and looked at the dress just for fun? It beat the alternative.
She stepped into the brightly lit shop.
Her phone went off again in her pocket, but she ignored it and walked over to the shop window.
“I’ve had my eye on this dress,” she said to the shopkeeper. “It’s so pretty.”
“It’s an unknown designer,” the woman said. “There’s no tag.”
Curious, Emmy stepped over to it and took hold of the sleeve, turning the edge inside out to view the stitching: overlock stitch. Her mom, who’d taught her all the stitches growing up, once explained that she always used a French seam to enclose raw edges because it was best for delicate fabrics. Disappointment bubbled up because the style was different from her mother’s. For a split second, she’d hoped it was the same.
