Chapter 1
1
R AIN
One week till Christmas~New York
‘Love can bring a man to his knees and turn a woman into a pile of ashes.’
C.L.
“She doesn’t pay you to read… You know,” a voice scratchy like my sweater rings behind me.
Biting my lip, I stifle a retort.
I know better than feeding the troll.
Besides, the woman paying me to work doesn’t share my co-worker’s opinion, and we both know it.
But opinions are like butts––everybody has one––and I won’t try to argue with her.
Clinging to my last ounce of dignity, I slowly slide the book onto the shelf and continue to organize the volumes by genre and title.
The woman behind me has no intention of leaving me alone, waiting for another opportunity to speak.
Sighing, I try to keep my cool.
No matter what I do, she doesn’t want to walk away, while I refuse to turn around and face her.
Trying to avoid a confrontation, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me irritated because of her.
That doesn’t mean I’m not affected, and the more I sense her stare on my back, the more nervous I get.
Hopefully, a customer will show up and whisk her away. Or our boss will enter the bookstore and give her something to do.
Anything would be better than having her here, stalking me like an obsessed lunatic.
My lips are dry, and I itch inside the sweater, sweat lining my palms.
Pacing myself, I run my fingers over my skirt and tug at the neckline, trying to cool off.
Secretly glancing at the street, I get a view of the freshly sifted snow.
It’s grown into a thick blanket over the sidewalks these past few hours.
It snows steadily, feathery icicles that look like dying butterflies falling from the sky.
I wish I could go home and forget about the bookstore.
I wish I could do so many things.
My eyes linger on the window before a soft rustling draws my eyes to the woman.
Now she’s stacking books not far from me.
The bitch.
It’s not even her job, yet she makes it hers, trying to prove a point.
I’m supposed to keep the shelves organized while she’s supposed to manage the counter, but since there are no shoppers in the store, she’s here with me, trying to drive me nuts.
The afternoons are routinely slow, and today, human traffic is almost non-existent because of the storm outside.
It’s time for her to go home, yet she doesn’t seem to be in a hurry.
Having no other choice, I pivot to face her.
Angel, a petite woman in her twenties, straightens her back and creases her lips, displeased with my attitude.
Her orange sweater and cream pearls make her look washed out.
A tangerine ribbon holds her hair in place, her beaded eyes observing me intently from behind a pair of fashionable, thick-rimmed glasses.
How many times have I been through this with her?
Pretending I’m an idiot while she harasses me?
“I thought you were leaving,” I say dryly, hoping to take her place at the counter.
“I am,” she says, throwing me a stern look, her fingers flipping a freshly sharpened pencil. “But before I go, I need to make sure things are in order.”
Again, that’s not her job, but she keeps talking about it like it is.
“Make sure the customers’ calls don’t go to voicemail. Our boss doesn’t like that,” she says while I bite back another retort.
The little money I get from this job is essential to my survival, so revolting is useless and just not worth it.
This is part of life.
“Okay,” I say, pinning a vacant stare on her.
For the life of me, I can’t figure out why she picks on me the way she does.
Every. Single. Fucking. Time.
She’s been like that from the very beginning.
Before I could open my mouth and introduce myself or say a thing or two about my life, she had her mind made up.
Not much older than me, she’s a college graduate, and for that reason alone, she thinks she’s better than me.
She resents the idea that I’m younger and have no college degree, yet I’ve authored a book.
Her pay is about the same as mine, and that only pisses her off more.
Here she is, forced to share her working space with me, a nobody. Because, like me and others, she has no choice.
Her eyes feel like safety pins on my face as I move around, tidying up the place.
Getting into an argument with her could cost me my job, and I honestly can’t afford it. Not now, and if things don’t get any better soon, not ever.
Dragging my eyes over her fuzzy sweater and fitted pants, I wonder how many people are grinding their teeth right now, clenching their fists and suppressing their true feelings while facing someone like Angel.
Angel… who loves to make my life miserable for no good reason. Especially since we are in the same boat.
Angel.
The universe has a wicked sense of humor when it comes to names.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, pretending I’m dumb so she feels better about herself.
She breathes a sigh.
As if I care.
“Okay, I’m leaving now,” she announces.
That is the greatest news I’ve heard today.
She grabs her coat, wraps her muffler around her neck, and strides to the door.
The old bell chimes as the door swings open, a gust of wind sneaking past her, bringing in specks of snow.
The door slams shut before silence rolls over the shelves.
Finally.
The store is empty at last, and I can breathe with ease.
Drained of energy as though she’s sucked the life out of me for the past half an hour, I crash into a chair and glance around the place, pondering.
I love this bookstore but hate the people I work with.
Wooden shelves line the exposed brick walls, while several leather armchairs and reading tables sit in the middle.
Century-old-looking lamps fit the decor perfectly, glowing around the room and adding to the intimate atmosphere.
A moment later, I push out of the chair and walk to the window.
Flurries of snow keep falling, spinning and twirling, dancing in the air as more streetlights come on while the evening sets in.
The cars drive slowly, barely crawling up the street––nice-looking limousines with well-dressed people inside, mostly couples and a few families with children.
Here and there, I spot a single man or a woman.
An older couple walks their dog, the man holding her hand as they stroll down the sidewalk. They look up at the sky as birds made of snow fall from the clouds.
Christmas decorations glow in the dimness, strings of lights pulsing above the windows––red, green, blue, and silver––while pine wreaths hang on the doors, and lit candles flicker in the windows.
They speak of hope, the magic of a nice home, and time spent with your family and friends, all things that are impossible for me to have right now.
The imagery brings back some happy memories of the past.
The quiet, long winters I spent at home with Mom, Dad, and Eve. The fun I had playing with Eve’s dogs in the snow.
Daria, for the most part, was almost never home.
There was always someplace she needed to be or someone she needed to meet with, and honestly, no one had missed her.
It was not uncommon to have our picturesque town and the beautiful estates and hills surrounding it buried under about two feet of snow by Christmas Eve.
We spent our evenings at home––my place or Eve’s––eating cake, sipping hot chocolate, reading and laughing, planning our lives, and trying to imagine our future.
Whatever I imagined back then was nothing like the life I live right now.
What a wonderful time it was. Beautiful, peaceful, and carefree, it was filled with hope, and now it’s all gone.
Saddened, I peel my gaze away from the window, turn around, and head to the counter.
Five minutes after seven, I finish cleaning the store, pull my coat on, lock the door, and leave.
The wind almost sweeps me off my feet as I take a few steps on the sidewalk. Shivering, I hug my coat closer, lift my collar, and walk up the street.
Good thing my place is only a few blocks away. Right around the corner, I pass by a small soup shop.
They sell delicious, hearty soups this time of year and freshly baked bread right from the oven, the aroma drifting through the air.
They also offer a large variety of cookies and brownies, the delicious smell of cocoa and vanilla making me stop and ponder whether to spend the little money that I have on eating out.
Reluctantly, I walk away.
After a couple more blocks, I stroll by a convenience store, turn left, and walk into my building.
* * *
RAIN
“Are you coming home for Christmas?” Eve asks, her voice hoarse from a cold.
Taking a long breath, I slump into a chair, my phone clutched in my hand.
“I can’t take time off from work,” I say. “Besides, it’s only Mom and me, so there’s no point in making the trip. If I go home, she’ll cancel her vacation plans and pretend nothing happened. She’ll also try to make things look better, and it’s not worth the effort. Things are still weird between us, and it’s not as if we’re dying to spend time together. At least, if I don’t go home, she can fly to California and spend some time with her friends and cousins without grappling with guilt because of it. Hopefully, she’ll get to enjoy herself and forget about the past.”
“What about you?”
“There’s plenty of snow here as well,” I joke, breathing a forced laugh.
“Don’t you miss home?” she asks, disappointed.
“Nope. I’m fine. I keep myself busy.”
My lie is more bitter than a mouthful of some nasty medicine.
She pauses.
“Are you still there?” I ask after a moment.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
She sneezes and blows her nose.
“Damn it,” she mutters, annoyed. “I fucking hate this stupid cold. Anyway… Any news from Daria? Your dad?”
“No. Things are pretty much the same...” I murmur, my voice trailing off as my mood shifts for the worse.
It’s not as if I expected to hear from them.
I knew things would take a turn for the worse after what happened.
There was no way we could walk away from that mess unscathed, especially after facing the ugly truth about our not-so-perfect family.
We’d built our life on lies, and the ending was heartbreaking and predictable.
The destruction was unavoidable since nobody wanted to patch things up and make them work again, so naturally, everything imploded in the end.
“Things are the way they are,” I say, trying to sound at peace with what happened in the past, still grappling with conflicted emotions.
“I feel bad things unraveled the way they did,” she says.
“Don’t be…” I smile bitterly. “There was no other way. We were all too miserable, and we wanted out. I just made it easier for everybody else. This way, they had someone to blame it on, and it was all good in the end.”
Moments of silence tick by.
“How’s work?” she asks.
“Shitty.”
“Even with your new boss?”
“Yup. It’s worse now. I miss my old boss. At least she was fun and liked to chat about books, and there was so much stuff we could talk about. Candy, on the other hand, is always in a bad mood, and you can tell she hates her job. I can’t blame her, though. She used to make good money in a high-fashion store. Compare that to selling books to nerds like me.”
She chuckles.
“It’ll get better.”
“I hope so,” I say, although I don’t believe it.
I had to cut back on food so I could pay rent.
So yeah, I don’t have much hope.
“Going to school is better than this crap,” I comment.
“I’m not so sure,” she says, somewhat pensive. “Any news about your book?”
“Yes. It collects dust on the shelves. Nobody wants to read a book about ancient Rome when people would rather watch cats online all day?”
She laughs.
“What’s wrong with the cats?”
“There’s nothing wrong with them. How do you think I know? I’m one of those people.”
“You should’ve written a book about sex in ancient Rome,” she suggests.
“Mm-hmm… That’s a good idea. Too bad I was still a virgin when I wrote my literary opus.”
She giggles, sneezes, and coughs for a few moments before blowing her nose.
“Fuck this...” she says, sounding like her head is underwater. “I’m so fed up with it.”
She blows her nose again.
“Anyway...” I continue in a serious voice. “I can’t pay my bills with what I’m making with my book. And the way things are now, I won’t get out of this place anytime soon. In the meantime, I’m looking for a job that pays a little better, but there aren’t many options for someone without much education or solid work experience. The job interviews I’ve had led to nothing. So seemingly, my ‘princess days’ are over,” I add with self-deprecating humor.
We laugh, although we’re both bitter about it.
The silence thickens as Eve reads right through my act.
“I’m sorry, Rain,” she says.
She means it.
She really does.
And I know it because we’ve discussed it so many times.
Nothing has turned out the way we thought it would.
My quest for independence kicked me straight into a ditch and put me in a dungeon of despair.
Sure, I live independently, but this is hardly what I had in mind.
Within a few months, I lost everything that meant something to me. My home, my friends, and my family.
My privileged life. And that’s the hardest thing to admit.
My faith and innocence had been crushed too. And so was my heart.
I left a mess behind the day I pulled away from home, which they had to clean up.
A lot happened after that.
In the aftermath, they went whichever way they could, looking for an escape, and for a while, none of us wanted to talk to each other.
For the most part, we still don’t.
Despite being here in New York, Eve is no longer present in my life as she used to be.
But that’s life.
She went to college.
I didn’t.
She is busy with her classes and her boyfriend. In the meantime, I go to work and barely have time to read a book.
I can afford much else.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” I say.
“I wish you came home,” she says, hope woven in her voice. “It’s been snowing the past few days, and the town is sparkling with lights. It’s really pretty. And there are so many people in town. Everybody’s home for Christmas,” she says nostalgically and joyfully at the same time.
“I bet they are,” I murmur, walking to the window and glancing outside. “Here is so much different, though... The streets are finally quiet. Can you believe that? For one, it’s the weather, and then many people have taken some time off to travel,” I murmur, dragging my gaze over the dark buildings and the streets covered in snow.
Soft lights glow in the windows while wisps of fog dangle from the rooftops.
The flurries keep whirling, a few cars moving up the street.
I peel my gaze away.
“Okay then... I guess I’ll talk to you next week. Maybe we’ll get together when you come back. Say ‘Hi‘ to Andy for me.”
“I will. Take care, Rain. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
I place the phone on the table and slide into a chair before I swing my gaze back to the window, utterly broken.