Page 4 of The Holiday Hate-Off
Charlie grins and waggles her eyebrows. “Softhearted, maybe, but not soft?—”
“Very funny,” I say. “But yes, obviously.” I pause. “Look, you know how much I want a family. I’m not resistant to trying this matchmaking thing, but I don’t know how to date anymore. I’m totally out of practice.”
I dated a normal amount in high school and in my one semester of college, but for the last eight years, I focused on taking care of my mom. I finished my undergrad math degree online and got a tutoring job that allowed me the flexibility I needed. I still went on dates—Mom insisted on it—but it turns out telling twenty-something guys you’re a caretaker for your dying mom is a buzzkill.
I told Charlie as much back then, but she refused to see my situation as hopeless. Her solution? I should try being someone else for a night. A stunt pilot. An actress on the lam from Hollywood. Anything I wanted…
But I wanted to find a man who wantedme, and none of them did. I was too stubborn to pretend to be someone else for their benefit.
Now, I have no reason to lie about what I’m doing. I’m working here at the café and taking some programming classesto help me develop an idea I have for an app. But I’ve only gone out with four men since moving here, and they wereveryunremarkable.
One of the guys clearly only wanted to talk about himself, and he wasn’t interesting enough for me to tolerate it.
Another ordered dinner for me while I was in the restroom. He’d chosen poorly.
The other two had immediately disqualified themselves for future dates with their reaction to learning about my virginity on Date Number Three. But while it’s proven to be an effective litmus test for men, I’ve kept my virginity a secret from Eileen and even Charlie. I know they’d offer advice, and it would be excruciatingly embarrassing.
“You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to go on dates,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes. “There’s no manual.”
“Actually, there are a million manuals about dating, and they all offer conflicting advice. That’s the problem. If there were only one manual, it would be easier to navigate.”
Eileen taps her lips. “What if you could practice dating with very low stakes?”
“Like by dating the two dudes I crossed off your list?” Charlie asks, laughing. “Thosewouldbe low stakes.”
“No,” she says slowly. “What if we have an event at the café? Santa Speed Dating.”
My jaw drops. “Like…all of the men will be dressed up like Santa?” My mind conjures a roomful of Santas drinking hot chocolate from pink mugs, their fake white beards stained with it, and laughter tries to spill out.
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Charlie says with a grin. “Would you be less nervous if the guys are in costume?”
I consider this. “Maybe. I’ve never had a daddy kink. Will I have to wear a costume?”
“Only Christmas colors, dear,” Eileen says. “Let’s make the men work for it. Oh, thisisan idea. I’ll have to get it added tothe town calendar. We can do it on the day we host the Advent calendar. We’re December second this year.” Her mouth flattens slightly, the closest to a disapproving frown it gets. “Hidden Italy has the first.”
“They didn’t even put up any twinkle lights last year,” Charlie says, full of indignant rage.
“That’s because they live in the Hellmouth,” I joke.
“Well, they do have something planned this year,” Eileen says, “and I’m truly happy for them. They’ve had some business troubles lately, something to do with the accounts. So they could stand to have a little holiday magic in their lives. Still, I’ll confess I was a little miffed we didn’t get the first day.”
The Advent calendar is a Hideaway Harbor tradition. Each day in December, the calendar is carted to a different Hideaway location, which hosts the unveiling of the day’s number in the countdown to Christmas. The business that hosts the big reveal usually holds some big event in honor of it. The bigger the event, the better the publicity. Sometimes local celebrities reveal the countdown number. Other times it’s someone dressed up like Larry the Lobstah, the town’s mascot, or one of Santa’s elves. On one memorable occasion, one of the owners of Hook, Wine, and Sinker dressed up as the clown fromIt. Or so Eileen told me. This will be my first Hideaway Harbor Christmas.
It’s a big deal here, I’m told. Which is a relief, because I’ve decided to reclaim Christmas.
Last Christmas was awful, the first without my mom, but I’m determined this one will be full of holiday magic.
Eyes gleaming, Eileen adds, “Perhaps we’ll make a signature drink for it too. I’ve been experimenting with crème brûlée lattes.”
“And a signature sweet,” Charlie says, getting into the spirit of the thing. “What if it’s a gelatin dessert called the bowlful of jelly?”
I laugh, but there’s an uneasy edge to it. The truth is, I’d rather work at holiday speed dating event than participate in it. An hour of five-minute dates with men dressed in Santa suits sounds stressful.
Maybe they’re right, though: if I practice with softballs, I might someday be able to play baseball.
“That wouldn’t give us much time to prepare,” I point out. “It’s already November twenty-sixth.”
“Oh, what’s to prepare?” Charlie says offhandedly. “All we need to do is buy some discount Santa suits in bulk, and we’re good to go. You know, I bet the tourists will actually love this.”
