Chapter 6
Tuesday, December 4
“What a day,” Hazel said the next evening, sighing as she packed her bag, preparing to leave. “I suppose we’d better get used to things being like this around here, but today was brutal.”
Despite yesterday’s news, I’d been in relatively good spirits when I’d first arrived at the office this morning. Hazel and I weren’t scheduled to relocate upstairs until tomorrow, and I’d been determined to enjoy my last Oliver-free day as much as possible.
Those intentions crashed and burned when Grant called a finance team meeting after lunch, ordering the five of us upstairs, where he swiftly informed us he was changing how his newly acquired department would run.
His first order of business was canceling the work-from-home policy. As of January, we were to be in the office five days a week, not three. After ignoring our protests, he tapped his finger on a pile of papers next to him.
“I’ve gone over your job descriptions, too,” he announced. “We can do better. From here on out, we’re dividing the tasks into specific silos.” Counting on his fingers, he added, “General bookkeeping, corporate payroll, accounts payable, accounts receivable, and so forth. You’ll mostly work in pairs. Each pair will be assigned specific silos.”
Hazel, Luke, and Yvonne all tried to argue, saying that was how things had been organized before Jennifer came on board and it had been highly inefficient. Of course, Grant hadn’t listened, saying, “Jennifer’s no longer here, and it’s up to me to decide.”
Hazel and I were jubilant to find out we’d be working in the same pair, still take care of the year-end financials, and had been given accounts payable and receivable. It wasn’t terrible, but it still felt like our wings had been given a definitive clipping, and I wished I’d had the guts to be more outspoken during the meeting.
“Are you staying much longer?” Hazel asked as she zipped up her bag.
“A few minutes,” I said. “Anita gave me strict instructions to be home no later than six.”
“Is this for the Advent calendar?” she asked, looping her New York Yankees scarf around her swanlike neck. “What’s the surprise?”
“No idea. The calendar tasks have been easy so far, but knowing Anita, it could change in a ginger snap.”
Hazel chuckled. “It’s sweet of her to do this for you. My siblings live in Texas and California, but either way, they’re not as fun as Anita.”
“You mean someone who says they’ll do calendar tasks with me and bails?”
“Ah, I’d forgotten about her Orlando trip. I promise I’ll help if I can.” She looked at her phone. “I’d better go, or I’ll never get Mikey to his basketball practice, let alone myself to the gym on time. See you tomorrow.”
Our floor was almost empty now, and Hazel had already packed up her belongings in one of the boxes that had been given to us earlier. As I picked up the other one, my heart felt like it was sinking to the basement, but I had to get the job done.
I opened the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet, and as I lifted out a stack of notepads, something fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, I saw it was a laminated bookmark I thought I’d lost, the one with the drawing of a reindeer dressed like a ghost, and the caption I’m a cari-boo.
I’d bought it at Fallbrook’s spring market with Oliver a few days before the breakup, and he hadn’t found the trinket particularly funny. Come to think of it, when I’d pointed at the drawing and laughed out loud, he’d asked me to lower my voice.
Perhaps his embarrassment was why the bookmark had ended up here, tucked out of sight. Well, what Oliver thought didn’t matter anymore, so I slid the bookmark into my bag and continued emptying the drawer.
As I was finishing up ten minutes later, the elevator dinged. When Grant walked out through the doors and glanced in my general direction, I ducked behind the cubicle walls. Deciding there was only so much of him I could handle in a day, I grabbed my things and darted for the stairs.
The sky was dark, cloudy, and heavy with the promise of snow as I left the building and drove toward the center of town. Traffic was light, and I still had time to spare when I got closer to the apartment, so I decided to make a quick stop at my favorite bookstore, A Different Drummer, to cheer myself up.
As I drove along Bloomfield Avenue, Fallbrook’s bustling main street filled with rustic restaurants, cozy coffee shops, and buzzing bars, I glanced at the cheerful gingerbread men, giant candy canes, and striped stocking decorations in the store windows.
Although I wasn’t feeling festive, I could appreciate how the local decorating committee had descended on the place in full force. Hundreds of icicle-shaped fairy lights hung between Fallbrook’s buildings, and streetlamps were adorned with yards of faux pine garland and giant red bows. Meanwhile, the thirty-foot blue spruce on Trinity Square thirty yards away twinkled like a giant holiday beacon.
After I parked my car, I saw that A Different Drummer had participated in the window display embellishment, too. Dozens of books had been cleverly stacked on top of one another in smaller and smaller circles, and star-shaped lights and red ornaments added more of a holiday touch to the treelike creation.
Typically, any of the day’s stress fell away as soon as I approached the store’s glass doors and saw the books lined up on the other side, greeting me like friends, and today that same sense of calm took over as I went inside.
“Callie.” Elizabeth beamed as she looked up from behind the register. She reminded me so much of my mom—both in age and the fact that she was rarely without a smile. She and her husband, Ian, had run this store for over twenty years and were both avid bookworms and keen bird-watchers. “How wonderful to see you. Are you here for our event?”
“Event? I thought your toy drive was in two weeks.”
“Yes, it is,” Elizabeth replied. “I’m so looking forward to it, but I meant the talk about media careers with the lovely Sarah Barratt.”
I gawped at her. Oliver’s girlfriend, nope, fiancée , was here? “Tonight?”
Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically. “She’s about to start her presentation in our kids’ room upstairs. Lots of people showed up, but there should be a couple of empty seats left if you hurry. Help yourself to coffee and cookies.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll listen in.” Before I could talk myself out of it, my feet turned me around and marched me to the stairs at the back, all the while ignoring my brain screaming, Where are you going? You’ve never met her in person before. Stop walking. Abort!
When I reached the second floor and hovered near the top of the stairs, I saw Sarah at the front on the room. She was dressed in a casual white button-down shirt, fitted jeans, and a pair of brown suede boots. At twenty-eight, she was the same age as Oliver, with a mane of thick, wavy blond hair effortlessly cascading over her shoulders. I knew from scrolling online that she was the picture of perfection, but seeing it in person was another thing entirely.
During my initial months of heartbreak—and self-inflicted torture from scouring through her socials—I’d hoped she’d be crushed by a meteor, devoured by a crocodile, or abducted by aliens. Maybe nothing quite so deadly, but something that would put an end to her relationship with Oliver nonetheless.
I hovered a little longer, watching the people who were patiently waiting in line to speak with her. Sarah’s dazzling smile was twelve feet wide as she interacted with her fans, shaking hands, signing autographs, and saying an emphatic yes to every selfie request. When she glanced in my direction, I ducked and turned around before darting down the stairs and into the store’s main section, thinking I’d seen enough adulation for Sarah Barratt to last me a lifetime.
That saying about jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire? It immediately came true when I looked up and saw Oliver walking in my direction. We were both in a narrow aisle, and, worse still, it was too late to avoid him because he’d noticed me.
“Callie,” he said, stopping a few feet away, his face transforming into a quizzical expression. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Did you come for Sarah’s talk or…?”
“Sarah who?” I said, feigning innocence. “Oh, Sarah . She’s here? In the store? I had absolutely no idea. What a complete coincidence.” I was babbling, trying to discreetly reach for the shelves behind my back, fingers scrambling. Grabbing the first book I touched and thrusting it into the air, I announced, “I came to pick this up.”
Oliver’s face fell. “Oh, Callie, I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Huh?”
When I looked at the book I’d been so pleased to present, I hoped the meteor, crocodile, or aliens I’d wished on Sarah in the past would come for me instead. The title read No More Heartbreak: How to Move On and Reclaim Your Best Life —the most popular self-help book written by the nation’s leading sex and relationship expert.
“This isn’t for me,” I blurted.
“No need to be embarrassed,” Oliver said gently. “Getting over a breakup can take a lot of time. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”
I opened my mouth a few times, unable to push out any words except for a strangled-sounding “Uh-huh.”
“Well, I guess I’d better check on Sarah. She’s giving a presentation about media careers, and she’s nervous. Have a good evening. I hope the book helps.”
As he gave me another sympathetic smile and left, I wanted to shout, “Hey, I’m over you!” then wondered why Sarah might be feeling the jitters. I couldn’t imagine someone so beautiful and confident being afraid of, well, anything.
I snuck back up the stairs, staying low as I watched Oliver kiss his fiancée’s cheek. When she leaned against him, putting her left hand on his chest, my breath hitched. Even from this distance, I recognized the sparkling ring on her finger. I’d seen that jewelry before.
On Christmas Day last year, Oliver’s mother ushered me into her bedroom and closed the door. “I wanted to show you this,” Ursula had whispered, her eyes filling with excitement as she opened a small black box. Inside was a silver band with a princess-cut sapphire in the middle, flanked by sparkling diamonds.
“Gosh,” I said. “It’s incredible.”
She nodded. “My mother’s engagement ring. Soon, it’ll be yours.”
“Oliver hasn’t—”
“Your mother and I are sure he’ll ask, Callie. Not a doubt in our minds.” She patted my arm. “Now that I know you approve of the ring, I’ll put a bigger bug in his ear about it. Let’s figure out what size you are so he can get it adjusted. Be sure to act surprised.”
The ring Ursula, Mom, and I had been so certain was destined for me now gleamed on Sarah’s finger. As Oliver stared at her, I tried to remember if he’d ever looked at me that way. Maybe, but it had been so long ago, I could barely remember it now.
After going back to the main floor and putting the self-help book back on the shelf, I slipped past the front desk, where Elizabeth chatted with a woman about a choir’s upcoming caroling event in Trinity Square. Reaching for the door handle, I couldn’t help wondering how long it would be before I found true happiness again.
I stepped outside, grateful for the blast of cool air. The weather had turned, with thick snowflakes falling from the sky like tufts of cotton. Nothing helped me more in a crisis than a piece of chocolate, so before I headed home, I ducked into a 7-Eleven for a couple of Kit Kats and decided to add a pack of Dazey’s favorite tuna treats.
When I walked into the living room a little before 6 p.m., Anita sat at the dining table with what appeared to be the blueprint for a roller coaster spread out in front of her. “I’m so glad you made it home on time,” she said, stretching her arms. “I need a break, and I’m really looking forward to tonight.”
Her grin was wide, and she looked so happy, I decided to keep quiet about my day. This was Anita’s last evening in town before her trip to Orlando, and I refused to spoil it with my sorry tales. When Dazey padded over, I pulled her bag of treats from my pocket. Kneeling, I held the food toward her, waggling the pack. Dazey glanced at me before sticking her nose in the air, turning around, and slowly walking away.
“What is it with this lady?” I said as I joined Anita at the table and handed her one of the candy bars. “Whenever you bring that tuna stuff home, she practically mauls your hands.”
“Could it be that you’re trying too hard?” Anita asked gently.
“Trying too hard might be the story of my life right now.”
“Well, that could be an easy fix. It’s your story. How about writing yourself a new chapter?”
I wanted to retort things weren’t that simple. Except, when I replayed my sister’s words in my mind and slowed them down, a curious sensation traveled through my body, something I was unable to grasp and that faded so quickly, I wondered if I’d imagined it.
I blinked three times. “Maybe I need an entirely new book.”
“Reinvention? Now you’re talking.” Anita pointed at the stack of Advent boxes. “It’s also time for your next task, which I guarantee you’ll approve of. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I said, making a big production of searching for the box marked with the silver number four. Removing it from the stack turned out to be like a gigantic game of Jenga, where one false move could make the whole pile come tumbling down.
With the parcel safely in my hands, I tore into the gingerbread man motif paper and saw a note stuck to the lid of a cardboard box.
Today’s mission:
You already know you’re one smart cookie.
Now let’s go make some we can eat!
I rummaged through the packing peanuts inside the box like a pirate searching for treasure, locating a sheet of folded paper. This wasn’t another handwritten note from Anita, but a printed confirmation of some kind.
Congratulations. You’ve reserved two spots at Fallbrook’s Central Kitchen Christmas Cookie Bonanza for Tuesday, December 4. The baking session runs from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. No baking experience or supplies required.
I looked at Anita. “We’re baking tonight?”
“We sure are.”
“ Christmas baking?”
“Uh-huh. Isn’t it great?”
“Yes,” I half-fibbed. “Now I know what yesterday’s cookie cutter gift was really for.”
When she gave me a victorious smirk, she must’ve spotted the remnants of my slight displeasure because she added, “Don’t make that face. It’s for a good cause. Most of the treats we make tonight will be donated to the fire station. They’re running a charity bake sale tomorrow. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
When Anita went to her bedroom to get ready, I spotted the set of cookie cutters she’d gifted me the day before and stuffed the Grinch head in my pocket as she called out for me to hurry up and get ready or we’d be late.
Outside, the snow had picked up some more, larger flakes doing cartwheels through the air and settling on the ground. We walked down our street, which was lined with two- and three-story Victorians similar to ours that had Christmas trees in the front windows. As we headed along Bloomfield Avenue, I pulled the baking session confirmation from my pocket.
“You booked our spots yesterday?” I asked when I noticed the fine print at the bottom, remembering how Anita had said she’d finished planning the Advent calendar weeks ago.
“Yeah,” she replied quickly. “The one I’d lined up for tonight fell through. Not enough participants or something. It was a last-minute switch.”
“Okay. I’m sure this will be just as fun.”
She muttered a few words sounding like In more ways than one , but when I asked what she’d said, she replied, “That’s what I’m counting on.”
I glanced at her and spotted the tiny grin pulling her lips upward, which was accompanied by an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes.
“What have you done?” I asked.
“Me? Nothing. Why do you ask? Oh, look,” she said as we turned a corner. “We’re here.”
Central Kitchen was located in a moss-green building on Robinson Street, just off Bloomfield. From what I’d read online as we’d walked here, the business turned so-called ugly produce the grocery stores didn’t want into delicious smoothies, offered weekly pay-what-you-can cooking lessons, and sublet space to other culinary companies. I loved their sense of community, which reminded me of how things were in Pineville, too.
When we pulled open the front door and stepped inside, my nostrils filled with the scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, and citrus, which I’d always considered to be the best holiday combination. We were immediately greeted by a silver-haired gentleman who had deep lines on his face and a metal clipboard in his hands.
“Welcome to Central Kitchen,” he said, his friendly voice raspy. “I’m Walter. Are you here for the cookie session?”
“Yes, please,” Anita said.
“Wonderful.” Walter smiled. “Can I get your names?”
“Anita and Callie Meyer,” I said.
“You can hang your jackets in the vestibule to your left,” he said with another warm smile. “The kitchen is the second door to your right. Marco Lancaster will be your chef for the evening. Enjoy.”
“Did he say Marco Lancaster?” I asked Anita when Walter turned to greet some new arrivals, but my sister ignored me as she took off her jacket and headed for the vestibule. “You don’t suppose he’s our Marco, do you?”
She turned with one eyebrow raised, her mouth in a grin. “ Our Marco?”
“You know who I mean. Christmas tree guy.”
Anita shrugged as she hung up her jacket. “Only one way to find out,” she said, swiftly heading for the door, leaving me with little choice but to follow her again.