Page 33 of Secret Santa

She came around the counter and pulled me into a hug. I didn’t think I needed it, but the second I was locked in her arms I melted against her. The way she ran her hand down my head and held my back so I melted into her soothed me more than it should have.

“It will get sorted out. I think this is a huge misunderstanding,” she said, refusing to let me go, “But if it turns out he did you dirty, I’ll be the first one to tan that cute hide of his.”

“Fitzy!” I laughed, choking on the ball of emotion locked in my throat.

“And there will be plenty in this town lined up behind me.”

The day tortured me with how slowly it moved. While I knew in my head that Presley wasn’t responding because he was busy, every hour I didn’t hear from him felt like a hot poker against the most sensitive piece of my heart. By the time seven o’clock rolled around and I waved goodnight to my nighttime cook and server, I was a knot pulled so tight I was close to snapping.

By eight o’clock I was about out of my mind when his name and picture finally appeared on my screen. I already felt like I’d run a marathon and I’d not even spoken to him yet. Well, for real anyway. I’d had plenty of arguments with him in my head over the course of the day.

“Priscilla, I swear, this is just a misunderstanding.”

“Well then help me understand.” My voice sounded far away and not close at all to how I felt I usually sounded.

“I didn’t realize that by asking those kids to come and pitch in at the diner that I was putting them in breach of their eligibility contracts. I honestly didn’t even think about it. I saw how exhausted you looked, how helpless the situation seemed, and I did the first thing I knew was in my power to relieve that. I didn’t think Priscilla. But if they aren’t official employees with a W2, it creates questions. It makes it look like you were exploiting them for visibility, using their notoriety as members of the swim team to bring business into your diner. I needed to fix that fuck up. I didn’t want it reflecting badly on you or hurt my kids. Since technically they were helping to give you some relief—Beckett thought it made for a good headline especially since it was so close to Thanksgiving. That’s all, Priscilla. It was my mistake, but there wasn’t anything untoward in my intentions. I promise.”

“Don’t you see, Presley? You used me to fix your problem. You took something I’ve worked so hard for. I killed myself to achieve this level of success on my own, and you just wiped that all away with one stupid news article.”

The conversation became circular. He didn’t understand. The article had nothing bad or detrimental to my business or reputation. It was a puff piece about some kids volunteering during a busy season. Him not understanding hurt. How could he not.

“I told you, Presley. I told you all about how hard I’ve worked to get the town to separate my dad and what he did from us and that diner. The effort I’ve put in to not be seen as the town charity case. The girl from the wrong side of the tracks with the mom married to a felon. I’ve never asked for help. I’ve accepted no charity from anyone because the second I do; I’d go right back to being the white trash girl with the country song life. And you in one fell swoop have shoved me right back into that box.”

I couldn’t talk anymore. The room felt like a balloon losing its air. After ending the call with Presley, I texted the link to the story to Jesse. No explanation went with the text message. I wanted to see if he too would be upset by the news article. Though I fell asleep before a reply came.

Presley: I’ll be home on Monday night. I’d like to see you so we can talk about this.

The message greeted me when I woke up. Still nothing from Jesse. I couldn’t be a turtle forever, but ignoring his message for the moment was exactly what my scattered nervous system needed.

He didn’t text me for the rest of the day. Not that I spent every free second I had checking. It was the dumbest thing. If I wasn’t even going to respond to his message, why did my stupid heart keep expecting more.

Jesse finally called me in the middle of the afternoon lull.

“That was a nice write up in the paper,” he said. “I’m glad that you finally got some help, even if it was just some kinds doing some charity work. You burn your candle too close to the quick trying to keep that diner running.”

“Jesse don’t you see?” My throat tightened, making it hard to get the words out. “They’re trying to do it again.”

“Who is trying to do what?”

“We’re the charity case. The kids that everyone looks at with false pity and whispers about behind our backs. Everyone is going to remember, Jesse.”

I heard him sigh. There was too much in that goddamn sigh and it said way too much. I knew what he was going to say before he even said it. But he’d moved away. He didn’tknowlike I knew.

“Little Miss Priss,” he began, gentling his tone like he had when we were kids, “do youreallybelieve that nearly twenty-five years later anyone in that town even cares about Dad anymore? Half of them didn’t even exist when it happened.”

I’d been about to say something, but he spoke up again, this time not nearly as gentle as he’d just been.

“Mom carried that albatross for so many years it killed her. Don’t pick it back up and shoulder that burden too. There’s no need for martyrdom, Priscilla. You painted over all of those terrible memories and breathed new life into that diner. You’re letting mom’s memory flourish in a newer version of her dream made possible through you. Don’t put that guilt back on her shoulders. She suffered enough while she was alive. And you don’t deserve to be the cross bearer now, either.”

I heard a voice in the background. A woman’s voice. He stopped talking to me, and it sounded like he put the phone near his chest. He gave a response, but it was too muffled for me to hear.

“Listen Miss Priss, I gotta go. I’ll see you in less than four weeks. I’m so excited that you’re coming.”

We exchanged the usual goodbyes and he disconnected. Leaving me with way too many thoughts spinning in my head. I needed to do something. Sitting in my apartment marinating in too many emotions wouldn’t do me any good. I saw the French jams on my counter, as if they stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to make something from them. And I set to work, throwing all of my feelings into my baking.

ChapterTwenty-Three

The minute our bus pulled into the parking lot I was off, desperate to get home and find Priscilla. Her broken voice tortured me through the competition and all the way back home. I wanted so badly to text her sonnets worth of apologies, but texting would do no good when she’d already decided for the both of us. She needed to hear it from me. To see me when I explained and apologized.

---