Chapter 10
Friday, December 7
The weather had turned overnight, blanketing the region with another dusting of fresh snow by the next morning. Resting and icing my hip after I got home last night had helped lessen the pain in my side, although the impressive purple bruise from my sledding exploits would turn a deep shade of eggplant over the coming days.
Anita had unequivocally brought me out of my proverbial shell yesterday, and I was grateful, despite the bruise. The fact that Marco had joined me, and we’d continued chatting as he’d driven me home, now still held the power to make me grin all the way to the office.
“Got any plans for the weekend?” Hazel asked when she arrived and plopped herself in her chair before taking off her sneakers and slipping into a pair of low black leather heels. “What did you get in your Advent calendar today?”
“I haven’t opened it yet,” I replied. “If I’m lucky, Anita bought me a book.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Knowing your sister, that’s some serious wishful thinking.”
“Here’s hoping it isn’t. What about you? Doing anything fun?”
“I’m visiting my parents in Buffalo,” she said. “We’re seeing the Sabres.”
“Is that a fencing event?”
Hazel laughed. “No, a hockey team. We’re picking up a tree at some point, too, and we’ve lined up Christmas craft activities with Mikey. Next time you see me, I might be a glittery mess.” With a languid sigh, she added, “I can’t wait to go back again for the holidays. I know it’s only an hour away, but I miss my family.”
Her plans left me feeling nostalgic all day—so much so that as soon as I got home early that evening, I gave my snow globe a shake before opening the box of childhood ornaments. After rummaging through them, I found what I was hoping would be there—the ones Anita and I had made from wooden Scrabble tiles we’d stuck together to read “Let It Snow” and “Jingle Bells.”
Dazey continued ignoring me, so I turned my back to her as I searched the stack of shrinking Advent calendar packages for my next treat. The note underneath the wrapping paper of this rectangular box read:
Now all eleven will be warm!
“What the…?” I muttered, thinking my sister’s clues were more confusing than a Christopher Nolan movie, but when I lifted the lid, I found a beautifully soft, royal-blue knitted hat with a pair of matching gloves.
Ten fingers and one head make eleven , Anita texted when I sent her a picture of myself wearing the hat, along with a heartfelt thank-you message. The color’s spot on. It makes your eyes pop, and the silk lining won’t frizz your hair.
She couldn’t chat on the phone because she was heading out for dinner with her colleagues, so after grabbing some takeout, I settled in to watch TV but soon felt restless. For the first time in forever, neither a book nor the Titanic jigsaw puzzle held my attention.
Strangely, I felt myself longing to be around people. Trouble was, Hazel had driven to Buffalo, Anita was busy, and Mom would try to strong-arm me into going to Pineville. Maybe there was somebody else I could call…
Glancing at my phone, I thought about Marco, immediately dismissed the idea because it wasn’t an Advent calendar task day, and promptly changed my mind again. It took a full minute to type, delete, retype, and finally send the most underwhelming text in history.
Me: Hey Marco. How are you?
To my surprise, his reply came seconds later.
Him: Great. You? Been in any more sled races?
Me: Not without my wingman
The three bouncing dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared again. I tried to guess what he was going to say, almost dropping the phone when it rang and Marco’s number lit up the screen.
“Hi, Callie.” His voice sounded smoother than a lemon sorbet on a hot summer’s day. “Hope you don’t mind me calling. How’s the hip?”
“Fine. Terrific actually.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a good day.”
“Anita gave me another amazing Advent treat. Hold on…” I sent him the photo of me wearing the hat, and added one of my snow globe, which I’d described to him in more detail yesterday evening as we’d driven home.
“What awesome gifts,” Marco said. “The snow globe reminds me of when my brother, Syd, and I used to go sledding back home. The best slope was only a hundred yards from the house, so sometimes we’d be out there before school. Anita really had this custom made?”
“Yeah, from a place in Colorado. It’s perfect, but I know all these treats are part of her cunning plan to get me back to Pineville for the holidays.” I paused, unsure of whether to tell Marco the true reason I was ducking out of my family holiday plans this year. There was something raw and scary about it, even though I had a feeling he would understand. “Work’s so intense, I won’t be able to make it this year,” I said.
“That’s too bad. Could your parents come to you?” Marco asked.
“Not really. They always host a giant party called the Meyer Christmas Eve bash.”
“Must be serious stuff if it has a name,” he said, teasing.
“Picture this,” I replied. “Our modest, three-bedroom house completely decked out for the holidays with garland running up and down the bannisters and three Christmas trees on the main floor. Now add sixty people who come and go from three-thirty p.m. onward. The place is packed like a giant tin of holiday sardines.”
“Epic,” Marco said. “Have they been throwing this party for long?”
“Since I was three, I think,” I said. “It was only a handful of Mom’s book club friends and their families at first. Nowadays, it’s most of the subdivision. She’s known for putting on the best buffet of the year, while Dad ensures everyone’s glass is topped up with their favorite beverage. It’s uncanny how he remembers who likes what.”
“Hmm…I’m picturing you with a glass of spiced holiday eggnog,” Marco said.
“As much as I love the stuff,” I said with a laugh, “I’m more of a cranberry kir royale kind of girl at the Meyer Christmas bash.”
“Remind me to introduce you to mistletoe shots sometime.”
“Sometime? Don’t tease me. What’s in them?”
“Jell-O and vodka, plus red sugar, whipped cream, and mint as garnish.”
“Tasty?”
“So tasty, I can never quite remember how much,” he replied with a laugh.
“I’ll bear that in mind.” As I stretched out my legs, I once again thought how there was something about hearing Marco’s voice that always seemed to make me feel comfortable and at ease.
“You know,” he said. “All this talk about family, seeing you hanging out with Anita at the cookie session Tuesday night, and hearing you describe your Advent calendar makes me miss spending time with my brother.”
“Is he still in Maine?” I asked.
“Yeah. Syd, his partner Louise, and their two boys live five minutes from my parents. I try to go back every couple of months, but a quick few days isn’t the same.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m lucky Anita’s here. You must miss them.”
“Very much,” Marco agreed. “I was hoping to go home for the holidays, but like you, work’s too busy.”
“I’m sorry you won’t get to see them.”
“Me, too.” Marco paused, and when he continued, he sounded sad. “Callie, I hate to say this, but I have to go. I’m helping at a shelter for the unhoused this evening. It’s pizza night, and one person has already bailed, so I can’t be late. I can call you again after. Or tomorrow for the next calendar task?”
It was probably the thought of not attending my parents’ party in a few weeks coupled with the idea of spending the rest of the evening alone that made a sudden burst of spontaneity take over me. “What if I come with you?”
“Tonight? Are you serious?”
“Yes. I’m great at prep and cleanup.”
“Fantastic.” Marco’s voice filled with enthusiasm as he gave me the shelter’s location, which was close to my apartment. “I’d love your help. Maybe I can stop by, and we can walk there from your place.”
“Can’t wait.”
After we hung up, I quickly changed into a green V-neck shirt and jeans. As I turned off the TV, a car alarm suddenly blared outside. Dazey, who’d been lying on the sofa, let out a screech so loud, she made me jump, and before I knew what was happening, she leaped into my arms.
“Hey,” I said, gently holding her shivering body, not caring that her claws were digging into my arm. “It’s okay, Dazey. It’s just a car alarm. Nothing to be scared of.”
She loosened her grip a little while I stroked her fur, cradling her close as I continued talking to her in a low voice. When the car alarm stopped thirty seconds later, Dazey wriggled so I knelt and carefully set her on the floor before giving her another pat. She stared at me for a moment before licking her whiskers and walking away, but a few paces later she stopped and glanced at me again, almost as if to say thank you.
After making sure she was truly settled, I headed downstairs. When Marco arrived a minute later, I noticed how his stubble, which had grown a little longer than the day before, suited him so well. With the way he grinned as he walked toward me, he looked so happy.
“Hey, Callie,” he said. “It’s great of you to offer to help tonight.”
“Happy to,” I replied as we headed down the street. “Just don’t expect me to impress anyone with my cooking skills.”
Marco laughed. “You already have,” he said, and when he spotted my quizzical expression, added, “I meant what I said the other night. Your Grinch cookies were the best Mail?nderli I’ve ever tasted.”
His comment made me grin, but my expression faltered when we walked past a bus stop and I saw a poster with the cast from Sarah Barratt’s news show, her smile luminous. I tried to ignore it, but Marco gestured at the picture.
“Wasn’t she at Lion’s Valley yesterday?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“Sarah Barratt’s your ex’s fiancée?” he said. “That must be weird, considering her face is plastered all over town and on TV.”
“Don’t forget social media,” I added. “Although to be honest, seeing her on Instagram was largely my own fault because I used to go looking.”
“I swear breakups must’ve been easier before the world had all this tech,” Marco said. “I mean, you’d split up, burn all the photographs, and with a bit of luck you never saw the person again. Way easier to move on.”
“Definitely,” I agreed. “And it’s not that I haven’t moved on from Oliver, because I have, but the hurt still lingers. It’s making it really hard for me to—”
“Trust,” Marco and I said in unison, both of us nodding.
He stayed quiet for a moment before taking out his phone and opening Instagram. When he held his cell toward me, I saw a picture of a woman with long red hair, sea green eyes, and a cute little beauty spot to the left of her nose, her lips parted in an effortless, stunning smile.
“Is that…?”
“My ex, Ruby Rowlinson.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She is, and if we’re being completely honest here,” Marco said, his tone complicit, “I used to look at her social media, too, after we broke up. I was waiting for her to slip up and post about whoever she’d been seeing when we were together so I could catch her in the lie. You know, to prove to myself that I hadn’t been paranoid.”
“Did it work?”
Marco shook his head. “I stopped scouring her profiles when I realized it no longer mattered whether she had or hadn’t cheated. After some soul searching, I knew we weren’t super compatible in the first place.”
“How so?”
He shrugged. “Ruby thought I obsessed over food, which is absolutely fair, and she found it annoying how I’d go on and on about tweaking recipes. She considers food as fuel, not much more.”
“I can see how you’d clash on that one.”
“Yeah,” Marco agreed. “She works for an event planner, and she’s very image conscious. Nothing wrong with that, but I’m the opposite, as demonstrated by my beanie and apron. She’d refuse to have her photo taken if it wasn’t staged and filtered, and even then we’d do a dozen retakes. It came across as self-obsessed, but I think it was the opposite. A lack of self-confidence, you know?”
“I get it,” I said. “I had a similar problem with Oliver sometimes.”
“Oh?”
“Mom gave us all these over-the-top ugly Christmas sweaters one year,” I said. “Oliver’s face was utter panic when she said she wanted a group photo. I had to beg him to do it, and he complained about it for ages after.”
“I bet you pulled yours on without anybody asking.” Marco nudged me with his elbow. “From what I know about you, I can’t imagine it fazed you one bit.”
“Not in the least,” I said. “As far as I’m concerned, the uglier, the better. I wish I could wear some of my punny shirts to work, but the dress code won’t allow it.”
“Their loss,” Marco said.
“Speaking of work, how are things at Dessert Dudes?”
“Great.” Marco grinned. “We won a last-minute catering gig for a corporate Christmas brunch on Sunday because the regular supplier couldn’t deliver, so I’ll be eyeballs-deep in mascarpone and puff pastry tomorrow. Want to hear about my new secret ingredient for caramelized apples?”
I nodded and listened intently as he described what would surely be another culinary delight, thinking how our conversation always seemed balanced, both of us sharing and listening equally.
As we continued walking, our shoulders and hands occasionally brushing against each other, I realized how much I liked something else, too—the fact that I could be myself around him. Open, honest, and vulnerable. Not Cautious Callie. Not Calamity Callie. I didn’t even have to pretend to be Cool Callie. Whenever I was with Marco, or so it seemed, I could just be…Callie.