Thirty-Two. A Christmas Person at Last
Thirty-Two
A CHRISTMAS PERSON AT LAST
Heartfelt may take its knocks from so-called “real” movie people, but I can’t fault them for the swiftness with which they get Christmas People green-lit, cast, and prepped for filming.
You’d think an executive there heard there would be only one Christmas left, and it was now or never.
Which, actually, gives me another idea for a movie.
Filming begins in April in Powell Park. I fly back home so I can be on set for the two-week shoot.
When my parents pick me up at Midway this time, I feel completely different than I did back in December.
I know some of it is that, thanks to Bolero’s continued counsel and the fact that I’m not completely broke, I look more put together than I did at the holidays.
But it probably also helps that I’m not hiding my failures from them. Or my successes.
When we pass a guy selling freeway socks, I ask Dad if he’s going to stop. “Actually, this time I wanted to take my girls out somewhere special. To celebrate.”
He reroutes the car to a restaurant overlooking Chicago’s lake front. I can tell Mom is utterly surprised and delighted. “This is where we ate the night of the first freeway-sock purchase.” Mom twinkles when she says it.
I nod at my dad approvingly. There are layers to my parents’ long history that I’ll never know, and for the first time, I catch myself feeling certain I’ll have that in my own life someday.
The day before I’m to be on set, I take advantage of the cool but pretty April day and walk past the Powell Park Green, around the play equipment, and to the familiar house on a block close by.
I’m nervous when I ring the bell—the person I’m here to see might not answer, but the car is in the driveway.
“Dylan, put the Play-Doh back in the cans when you’re done! Not loose in the pantry!” I hear Allie remind her son through the open window.
“But, Mom, it’s all food! And food goes in the pantry!” her son responds.
“Dylan!” Allie peeks through the window and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise when she sees it’s me.
“I can come back. Or leave. Or…” I should have called.
“No!” Then Allie disappears for a second and is swinging open the door, urging me inside. “Jill! It’s so great to see you.” Her daughter, Gia, comes up behind her, staring at me. “This is Mommy’s friend Jill.”
I’m shocked to be introduced as a friend, but then Allie was always a better person than me.
Allie’s house has all the same features it did when she was growing up: the brick fireplace and its rustic mantel cluttered with photos of the kids, vacations, big Rivera weddings.
The furniture is more modern than the stuff her parents favored, and I’m charmed by the kids’ books scattered across the coffee table and open on one of the comfy armchairs.
“Your house is lovely,” I say. I mean it.
“It’s a mess,” Allie says. “But I have really good coffee. There’s a new place in town, Brew Ha-Ha, and they sell their own beans. Want some?”
“Sure,” I say, wondering what it means that the coffee shop Allie and I went to in Sweetville exists in Powell Park now. I follow her to the kitchen as she gets to making a pot. It’s easier to talk when the other person is occupied, so I just dive right in.
“The past few months, I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” I say.
As the coffee maker chugs to life, Allie turns to face me. “What about?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. The weather, the White Sox, the way I was a terrible friend and could have been more interested in your life and less wrapped up in my own problems. I shouldn’t have let us grow apart.”
She lets my words hit her and takes a beat before she responds.
“It was a little me, too. I probably held back on my problems with Will because they seemed like boring married-people stuff,” Allie says.
She’s tidying up some clutter on the counter as the pot fills.
Finally, when the machine beeps, she pours me some of the delicious-smelling coffee.
The mug she puts in front of me is emblazoned with the words World’s Best Mom , and I have no doubt they’re true.
“You’re not boring. At all. If you recall, I was your collaborator on the slutty-Santa choreography of 2011, and a boring person could never come up with the ‘Gettin’-down-the-Chimney Hip Shimmy.’”
Allie bursts out laughing. “Oh God. I’m glad the kids are watching TV and will never ask me what that is.”
“One day, I’ll show them the video,” I tease.
We’re laughing over the old memory, and we ask about each other’s relationships—we’re both single and not actively looking—and work. Allie just got promoted at the produce wholesaler, and I tell her why I’m in town.
“I thought maybe you’d like to visit the set,” I say. I slide the card for one of the associate producers across the table. “Andy knows I invited you. You don’t have to go tomorrow or anything—they’re filming for two weeks.”
Allie’s face floods with genuine delight. “You realize that this is one of my teenage dreams, right?”
“I remember. Let’s face it—we are rom-com queens.”
“The kids are off school for spring break next week; they’d love to see a real movie set.”
“Well, you know SweetHart’s? The bakery?”
“Who doesn’t? Remember when you had a crush on Corey?”
“Forever ago,” I say. “But anyway, I asked for them to be in charge of the craft services sweets table, and Andy will arrange for you and the kids to have first dibs.”
“Is he still cute?”
“Corey? Yeah, of course.”
“I never told you I had a crush on him, too,” she tells me now. “Best friend code—you saw him first, so I buried it.”
In Sweetville, I imagined Allie as the perfect partner for Corey when I initially bumped into him on the street.
Maybe I was onto something then, just like maybe some inner recess of my mind knew Brew Ha-Ha was a great name for a coffee shop.
But now, I can imagine them together not because they’re both uncomplicated Heartfelt types but precisely because their unique complexities would complement each other.
“Well, I’m over that crush,” I say. “But he’s very hands-on with the business. He’ll be on set, no doubt. You should go say hi.”
“Maybe I will,” Allie says with a little smirk. Allie might know I have a teeny-tiny ulterior motive, but she’s playing along with me. I register ribbons of relief unfurling from my shoulders, and it’s because Allie and I are friends again.
And Corey? Well, I felt like I owed him one after he played my leading man in Sweetville, so I insisted craft services use his bakery when I signed my contract.
And now if I can set him up with Allie…
My best friend and my Sweetville leading man both deserve a second chance at love if it feels right.
Who doesn’t?