epilogue
The first week of January
With a new year comes the dreaded board meeting. The one in which the directors want to vote on my competency as the president of Ashford’s. When anarchy ensues, the leader isn’t typically present for the coup, but these older men want me to witness their power.
As I sit at the head of the large oval table, I stare at the men who once knew my great-grandfather. Many of them were between his older age and the ‘youth’ of my grandfather. All of them made their fortunes in retail.
Sitting on pins and needles, I refuse to be washed up in my thirties, but Angelica reminded me that new books are written all the time. Maybe mine had a moral.
The value in life doesn’t come from a store. Not the things you purchase or own. Not how you spend your money. Time is the commodity. And value comes from the people in your life.
Family. Love.
As I teeter on the possibility of losing my legacy, the door to the conference room opens, and Tucker enters.
“Dad?” I whisper. He hasn’t attended one of these meetings in years, often voting by proxy. Beside him is my uncle, Mach. Since he moved to West Virginia a few years ago, we haven’t been as close, but I’ve always admired him. Always thought I’d be him. A single man to his core.
Then he fell in love in his forties and moved to the south.
I have him beat by a decade on the love front.
Tucker takes a seat next to Ed Marksman, with Mach on his other side. I stare at both men while Walt calls the meeting to order.
Most of what he says is drowned out as he drones on about my unnecessary expenditures, my delinquent behavior, my reckless attitude, like I’m fifteen, not thirty-five.
Finally, voting is called, and the men begin to raise their hands in favor of removing me. There are nine of us, typically my favorite number.
To my surprise, Joseph Banks doesn’t raise his hand. Neither does Ed Marksman. Or Tucker. Or Mach. Four against four, which leaves me with the deciding vote.
My hand rests in my lap.
Walt stares around the room, betrayal evident on his face.
“Now that that vote is completed. I propose a new one. The removal of Walt Wittiker for sexual inappropriateness and sexual harassment toward women and two men in this company.”
“I beg your pardon,” the older man snaps like he’s swallowed an entire Christmas goose.
“You can beg me to have you escorted out of here. After the official vote.”
But I’m no longer messing around with men like Walt. If the board doesn’t vote him out, the lawsuits that are about to hit will.
Hands go up, favoring eight over one.
I punch the button on my phone for security. Then call Maxine.
“Mr. Wittiker will be escorted from the building.”
“Right.” Her efficient tone holds a smile, and I glance toward the opposite end of the table where Mach . . . and my dad . . . give me a reassuring grin as well.
A true vote of confidence from both of them.
+ + +
“We need a vacation,” I tell Angelica as we sit inside my soaker tub. Her back is to my front.
In January, the weather in Chicago is frightful. The polar vortex causes temperatures to dip to negative twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. And a blizzard shuts down the city.
“Isn’t that how you got in trouble in the first place?” she laughs.
Her hair is piled on top of her head, allowing me to kiss her neck.
“I was thinking more like a family trip. Visit California. See Michigan.” Julia lives out west; Mae and Dad share a place in the mitten state.
Angelica shifts to look up at me. “That sounds wonderful.”
Since the Christmas intervention, in which her family merged almost seamlessly with mine, I’ve been having weekly check-ins with Tucker. Nothing too deep. Just a chat. We have a long road to travel, but I’m willing to ride the path.
I don’t believe Scrooge changed everything about himself in a day.
But with my girlfriend at my side, I’m willing to weather storms and climb mountains.
I’m still getting used to the term, but I can already think of another one I want her to use.
Visions of her in white, standing by the floor to ceiling windows in the Oak Room still haunt me. A good haunting.
Angelica shifts again, resting her head back on my shoulder. She strokes her fingers over my forearm like she says her mom used to do to her. The motion is soothing, comforting.
With the most hectic retail season behind me, I have about six months to prepare for the next run. Christmas enthusiasm starts earlier and earlier every year, but I’m not going to let the hype steal the season from me again.
“So . . . a vacation,” Angelica hums. “Road trip?”
I chuckle, knowing that’s how Tucker met Mae. I’m not as adverse to flying as he is.
“Whatever you want, angel.”
Angelica leans forward and spins, straddling me within seconds.
“Whatever I want, huh? Is this like I can have anything I want from Ashford’s?” She laughs, reminding us both of how I’d once given her the same offer. Knowing she isn’t a material girl, I don’t even take her question seriously.
“As long as what you want is me.”
Leaning down, she kisses me, soft and too sweet. I cup the front of her throat as she pulls back.
“Always,” she whispers.
“Sold.” Then I smile, and she watches the divot by my mouth. An apostrophe on my smile she calls it. She claimed it as hers like I’ve claimed that freckle near the corner of her lips.
Angelica laughs again, but I cut off the sound, swallowing it, savoring it.
And falling more in love with her every second we are together.
She saved my life with a kiss.
I stole her heart in return and the grinch still deep down inside me plans to keep it.
In the end, this scrooge gets the girl.
+ + +
Thank you for taking the time to read ELF-ish.