5
Olivia and Jack’s parties mingle quickly, and soon the event is fully coed and dancing to Latin/Afrobeats.
The happy couple is grinding on the floor when Olivia spots me and pulls me in. “I forgot to ask about your plus-one! When can we meet him?”
“He’s actually here!” I say. “He had to stop at the restroom, but he should return any minute.”
“I can’t wait,” she says with a playful smile.
Jack, her fiancé, dances around us. “He can totally hang with us for the rest of the night.”
I give them both a thumbs-up. I guess I better find the man of the hour.
As I make my way back toward the main dining room, I stop dead in my tracks.
It’s hard to miss the tall man with the big glasses and bushy beard as he dances wildly in the middle of a group with Audrey.
“Wait, Leo is my date,” I say to no one in particular. “Why is he dancing with her?”
My stomach sinks as I watch them. They can’t take their eyes off each other. He takes her in his arms and spins her around, dipping her to the cheers and applause of the crowd.
Feeling numb, I jerk back as though physically distancing myself from the sight will make it not real.
“Watch out!” someone screeches behind me, just as a shock of cold water drenches my body.
“I’m so sorry!” a woman exclaims. I turn to find a server, face pale, with an empty water pitcher in her hand.
Warm tears well in my eyes, in contrast to the frigid water sliding down my chest to my bare legs. As if this day couldn’t get any worse.
“Let me help you!” The server, a young blonde woman whose name tag reads Kim, guides me toward a nearby table and grabs a handful of napkins. She continues apologizing as she hands some to me. I dab at my dress, but it’s hopeless. I’m completely soaked and soggy like a sugar cookie dunked in milk.
“I’m so sorry.” Kim winces. “I’m guessing you don’t have a change of clothes?”
I shake my head, doing my best not to cry in public. This night has gone to shit. My plans to help myself have completely backfired. Instead of growth, I got humiliation. I’m officially in my flop era, and the universe is going to keep me here.
“Hey, let’s get you cleaned up.” Kim motions for me to come with her.
I follow her lead, ready to leave this place as soon as I get a bit more dry. Besides, Leo is otherwise engaged with Audrey, and Brooke and Olivia are having so much fun they won’t notice I’m missing. I can text the girls later that I had to take off. As for Leo… I’m happy if I never see him again.
I close my eyes and mutter positive affirmations Wit Wit taught me: I am capable. I am strong… The universe will work things out—even when I can’t see it yet. Girl, you’ve got this.
Turns out, I don’t have this.
In fact, as I step out of the tavern’s employee breakroom dressed in a felt reindeer costume, I feel very much like I’ve never gotten anything ever.
Apparently, the costume—which reminds me of a sad, hungover Rudolph—was left over from this year’s breakfast with Santa. Kim assured me they wouldn’t miss it. I wonder why.
After zipping myself into the outfit, I officially called it quits on the party. Now I’m standing out back behind the dumpsters, holding my ruined dress and hoping no one catches a glimpse of me in basically a furry brown onesie before my cab arrives. At least it’s relatively warm.
I push the cloth hooves away from my hands to check my rideshare app. Thank the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future, my car is only a minute away.
I snuggle deep into the fuzzy brown hoodie that smells slightly of syrup and try not to let the disastrous events of today flood me.
Between Luke dumping me, embarrassing myself at the bakery, my mom’s Christmas stocking, an awkward date with Leo the dentist, the tiff with Robbie, and my ruined dress, the holiday is off to a brutal start.
Thankfully, before I can do any more spiraling, my rideshare app pings and a white BMW SUV pulls up. I confirm it’s my car, noting its license plate: 2MORROW.
Interesting. I’ve no idea why this driver chose this license plate, but if they’re like me, they realize the past and present really suck. I shut the car’s door behind me, gratefully sinking into the warm cabin.
“I was looking for a Marygrace, but it looks like I got Rudolph,” the driver jokes. Her sonorous voice has an accent I’ve heard time and again growing up in a Filipino household. It’s enough to make me feel slightly better.
I offer a polite laugh. “I’m Marygrace.”
“I know, my deer.”
Great. I have a funny Uber driver. Fortunately, it’s only a ten-minute drive home.
“Rough night?” she asks as she pulls away from the tavern.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” I mutter.
“Bet I do,” she says. “Your aura is crying out for an intervention.”
My aura? I squint at her reflection in the rearview mirror.
Who is this woman? I can’t see her completely in the dark, but she seems to be about Mom’s age or older, with kind, dark eyes and chin-length salt-and-pepper hair underneath a stylish midnight-blue beret.
She’s wearing a matching blazer. I look at my app for her profile name, which I say aloud. “Madam Lunas?”
She nods. “Yes, that’s what they call me.”
“They” as in…?
“Well?” she asks into my silence. “Do you want to tell me about it?” Several golden bracelets jingle on her wrist as she merges us onto the main road. “Or should I just keep reading your energy waves? Feels kind of invasive, if you ask me.”
“Umm…” I trail off as I notice the crystals hanging from her rearview mirror and what looks like tarot cards tucked into the leather seat pockets in front of me.
The faint scent of cinnamon and orange peel lingers in the air, which is enchanting and disarming at the same time.
The hustle and bustle from the tavern and nearby nightlife feel oddly muted here, like she’s swept me into a pocket of peaceful magic, yet instead of feeling calm, I feel the opposite.
I don’t want to meditate. I want to cry or smash things after the day I’ve had.
I sniffle into my sleeve. What’s wrong with me?
“My, my,” she says. The car’s interior lights and dashboard display illuminate Madam Lunas’s face in a half shadow. “You do need an intervention, don’t you?”
I stammer. “I—I mean…” I don’t know what it is—maybe the fact that she reminds me so much of my mom, or the way the crystals are throwing soft shards of light around the back seat, making me feel like I’m inside my childhood Christmas tree, but my eyes begin to well up.
“I just had a pretty terrible day, actually.”
Madam Lunas looks into her rearview mirror with concern in her eyes. I continue, telling her about Luke, Mom’s stocking and Noche Buena, and Wit Wit’s campaign to get me to go out with Leo. How badly that ended just now.
“I know I have a lot going for me, but I still feel like I’m missing that one big thing. Someone to share it all with,” I say with an embarrassing hiccup. I wipe my eyes with my felt reindeer hoof.
“Sounds like someone is in need of a Christmas miracle,” Madam Lunas says, passing me a tissue from a velvet-covered box as we pull to a stop at a light.
“You could say that.” I laugh, then blow my nose. “I’m so sorry for unloading on you. Is this what people do? Dump all their stress on their rideshare drivers?”
Madam Lunas smiles mysteriously. “We don’t just drive. We listen. You’d be surprised what people say when they don’t feel the pressure of anyone’s expectations judging them.”
“That makes sense.” I crumple my tissue. “I always feel like I have to impress everyone, and when I don’t, then I’m just a huge disappointment.”
Madam Lunas makes a tsking sound. “Now, now, my dear. Happiness is but a lens through which you view the world. Change the lens, and the world itself may change.”
Easier said than done, Madam Lunas. I take a shaky breath. A pop-up fortune teller was the last thing I was expecting from my driver, but if this is a message from the universe, I guess I’ll take it. “So, you’re saying if I look at things differently, I can be happy?”
“Perhaps,” she muses. “Or perhaps you’ll simply see the truth of where happiness has been all along.”
I frown. What does that even mean? Maybe listening to her was a bad idea. I glance out the window, trying to get my bearings, to see how far we are from Mom’s house. Can I walk the rest of the way if things get dicey?
“You don’t believe me?” Madam Lunas’s voice deepens. “Maybe it’ll make more sense if I tell you what I’m seeing. What I’m seeing is that you will be with the love of your life next Christmas.”
I stiffen. “Hold on. You mean I’m going to meet the love of my life one year from now?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You’ve already met this person. You already have history.”
I laugh in disbelief. Okay, now I really know she’s a fraud.
She’s telling me the love of my life is someone I’ve already dated?
My exes scroll through my mind like profiles on a dating app I once swiped right on—confident and wrong.
Each relationship I gave my best, but inevitably things didn’t work out—bad timing, personality clashes, heartbreakers, or, like Luke, it just wasn’t meant to be.
But as I sit in my syrup-scented reindeer costume, there’s a small, soft part of me that wants what Madam Lunas is saying to be true.
That the perfect someone is so close I could flip through my phone and find their number, text them “Merry Christmas,” and see if we can start again.
I hate how hope fills my chest at how badly I want this, how badly I want her to be right.
I lean forward, glancing again at the tarot cards stuffed into the back of the seat in front of me, the crystals dangling in front of me. “Are you a psychic or something?”
She laughs, a light and tinkling noise.
“Oh no, I wouldn’t use such a title. I just have a feeling about these things. You’ll see.” She winks and a shiver runs down my spine. “Here we are.”
I sit up straight, realizing the car has stopped and we’re in front of Mom’s house. All the lights are off inside, but the Christmas decorations on the front lawn are still sparkling like they stayed up waiting for me to come home. My heart clenches a little.
“Well, thanks for the pleasant ride,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I’ll be sure to tip and leave a positive review.”
Madam Lunas’s smile reminds me of a crescent moon, a sliver of light and all mystery. “I welcome your feedback after your journey,” she says.
“Right,” I mutter. My journey? It was all of ten minutes from the bar, but it was certainly memorable. Between her quirkiness and fortune telling, I’m not sure how much I can put in my review without getting my account flagged.
“And remember,” she says as I slide out of the car, “not all miracles happen Christmas Day. It just might take a couple of times to get it right.”
“What?” I ask, but she’s distracted, leaning forward to turn the radio on. “Well, Merry Christmas.”
I gently close the door with a soft thump.
I watch her as she pulls away with a brief wave, George Michael crooning “Last Christmas” over the radio. I can’t help but laugh to myself. This song is the holiday anthem for heartbreak—how fitting.
Whoever’s in charge of Christmas miracles: I get it, I’m a mess. Help, please!