Chapter 1: Holiday Chaos
Thursday, December 5th
“Flour, sugar,” I mumble to myself, blankly staring at shelves in the grocery store with a million mental to-do items clouding my thoughts leading up to Christmas. I wave and briefly catch up with a few neighbors and fellow parents. While I only need two things, I can never just dash in and out; there are always familiar faces in my small town of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin—always a reason to stop, chat, and delay.
My phone buzzes, Sarah’s name lighting up the screen. “Hi,” I answer, my voice sharper than intended, feeling overwhelmed by the frenzy of obligations the holidays bring.
“Girl, take a breath,” she chides gently. “What are you doing?”
“Just grabbing a couple of things for the bake sale.” I groan, the simplicity of the task overshadowed by my ever-expanding to-do list.
“You know you don’t have to participate in every school function. There are other moms.”
“I know. I know.” I sigh, the reminder doing little to ease my stress.
“What are you wearing on our bar crawl next weekend? Have you seen any good sweaters online?”
Yet another thing to add to my to -do list. I huff in exasperation. My friends and I are resurrecting a long-abandoned tradition. What am I going to wear on our ugly-Christmas-sweater-themed girl’s night? Racking my brain for a moment, I decide on the easiest option, something I already own.
“Probably that one I have that lights up with an elf ears headband.”
“Oh, that’s perfect! Good.” Sarah’s tone is approving. “Will you hate me if I dress sexy?”
I chuckle, my eyes inadvertently catching those of a hot, brown-haired guy. We hold the stare for too long. Long enough for me to notice his perfect five o’clock shadow and height. Then he goes back to examining the two cereal boxes in his hands like he’s making the most important decision of his life. A simple choice in cereal is his biggest worry; how I envy that.
“Hello?” I hear Sarah’s voice, annoyed.
My heart’s racing. It’s either from feeling all sorts of ways from this brief stare with a random man or a warning of an anxiety attack.
I take a deep breath, then answer Sarah. “As long as you wear an ugly Christmas sweater, I won’t hate you.”
“So, Mr. Grinch … he’s taking Ben next weekend, right? He isn’t going to cancel at the last minute?”
I groan, thinking of my ex and the father of my son. “Who can ever be sure about him?” I mutter. “But it’s his weekend, and my mom is on standby just in case.”
“You better not cancel on us! It’s been six years since you, me, and Rachel have gone out on an ugly Christmas sweater bar crawl!”
I smile, thinking about the last time—me, a pregnant snowman drinking mocktails. I’m still the only one in my friend group to have a kid, and it’s not like I was a teen mom. I was twenty-four.
“I promise I won’t cancel on you both next week! See you at High Five!”