Page 17 of The Art of Being Merry
I put my hand over my heart, trying to slow down the mama bear response from something being wrong.
“So why are you calling me?”
“The back and forth was too much for my fingers.”
“Oh, ok-ay.” This guy continues to surprise me. I defer to my unanswered question. “When do you need it by?”
“Christmas Eve Eve. Ideally before to make sure it fits and everything. Do you know someone who can help?”
“Yeah. Me.”
5
dax
“You?”I choke on the word. Not from disbelief of her abilities, but more so because she’s willing to take this on. Does she understand what I need? What the job entails exactly?
“Bad idea?” Clementine’s voice is filled with gloom. I don’t like how I’m the cause of it. “It was just a thought.”
I stand up from the couch, not prepared to have this conversation in front of the boys. I’ll unpack the reasons later.
The longer I don’t answer, the more she’s going to think I hate the idea, which couldn’t be further from the truth. I saw what she created for the Main Street Lights Spectacular. What do I have to lose if she’s offering?
I sneak into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
“Forget I said anything.”
“No. Wait. It’s not that,” I rush to assure her, doing a piss-poor job. “I don’t want you thinking it’s a simple task and then realizing you can’t do it. Because of the timeframe, not because I don’t think you can create something atrocious.” At her gasp, I slap my forehead. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I’ll permit you to try again.” Her words bring a kind of unfamiliar consolation, another statement to add to the unpacking list. Just racking them up with her today.
“Thank you.” I put the phone down on the vanity and hit the speaker button. “I have an idea, but I’m not sure how it willtransfer to a sweater nor how much time it will take to carry out. I don’t want you to invest your time in something that might not be doable. Your time is valuable. I have full faith in your abilities. It’s simply the time crunch. That’s what I’m trying to say.” There. Hopefully, she can’t poke holes in my explanation.
“Better,” she agrees, and I let go of the breath I was holding waiting for her answer. “Number one, I appreciate you valuing my time. That’s refreshing.”
Refreshing?My mouth opens, but she continues.
“Number two, how about I hear your ideas and assess if it’s something I think I can handle given the deadline? Or?—”
“Or?” I interrupt.
“I sketch out some ideas I’ve come up with I’m certain can work and present them to you for your viewing and assessment.”
“You already have ideas for something I mentioned in the last ten minutes?”
“It’s the way my mind works. Constantly creating, even if most ideas never come to fruition.”
“That’s . . . amazing. And sounds busy.”
“Like you have no idea,” she laments, though there’s an undertone of pride layered in. “I can work up sketches for your perusal by tomorrow or the day after.”
“Cool. Send them my way. Email is probably best. Do you have mine?”
“Uh, no. But it’s not like I won’t see you to get it from you.” She chuckles, the jovial sound bouncing off the walls in the cramped bathroom, making it appear louder.
“Fair. So you’re having fun shopping?” I’m not sure why I ask, why the sudden urge to keep her on the phone is a need. “Got your new gloves?”
“You know what? Nope. What the heck, Clem? It’s what you came for.”
