Chapter 26
Thursday, December 20
Spindly fingers of morning light crept around my bedroom curtains when I woke up. The space next to me was empty because Marco had left before dawn again, grazing my cheek with his lips as he murmured I should rest.
I wasn’t sure if he’d have time to meet last night, but I’d been delighted when he’d come to my apartment after work. “This is the home stretch,” he’d said while we’d eaten a ham and mushroom pizza, curled up on the sofa. “The plan is to get the orders done by Sunday night so all we’ll have to do are the deliveries on Monday morning. Then the two of us can spend Christmas Eve and Day together, if you like.”
“I’d like that very much. I can’t wait.”
“Me, neither,” Marco had said. “I won’t be able to see you until Sunday though. I’ll be working late, and it’s so busy. I feel like a bit of a jerk considering I won’t be around to help with the calendar tasks for a couple of days. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
I’d insisted it was fine, which it was, because lying in my bed now, I knew that while I would’ve loved to have seen Marco over the next three days, I felt confident enough to handle whatever Advent tasks Anita threw at me on my own, even though she’d be home soon.
Yawning, I pulled on a shirt and sweatpants before heading to the kitchen, where I found a heart-shaped note Marco had stuck to the coffee jar.
See you Sunday night, Swiss Miss you already xo
I chuckled as I made myself a drink and prepared Dazey’s food while she wound herself around my legs. It was quite extraordinary how attached she and I had become over the past few weeks. Maybe I’d tell Anita I was ready to entertain getting one of those cute Bengal kittens, providing Dazey would allow another companion in the house.
Once my feline friend had everything she needed, I went to my Advent calendar and picked up the task package wrapped in Santa paper, giving it a shake. It didn’t make a sound and felt light, and when I tore into the gift, I found an empty box with another message from Anita.
Today’s mission: Baggage control.
Step 1. Open your closet. Step 2. Remove anything Oliver-related that no longer serves you. Step 3. Toss him it to the curb. You got this…
As I read her words again, I felt my gut lurch with apprehension at the prospect of this assignment and was thankful Anita had made this one of the later tasks.
When I first moved in with my sister and she helped me unpack, she’d witnessed me shoving anything that represented the milestones of Oliver’s and my relationship into the back of my new closet.
During the first few months after I’d arrived, when I’d still believed there was hope for Oliver and me, I’d occasionally allowed myself to look at the items. I cringed now, thinking how Anita had caught me crying while holding a framed picture of Oliver and me from our first Valentine’s Day, or me lying in bed wearing one of his shirts while reading through an old love letter. Even though that was only a few months ago, it felt like a lifetime compared to where I was now. To who I was now.
As I sat for a moment, listening closely to what my mind and heart were trying to tell me, I wondered if I was truly ready to let go of these sentimental things from my past. Of an entire decade of my life. There was only one way to find out. I took a long, deep breath, opened the closet, stepped back, and let my eyes scan the shelves.
Tucked away in a corner at the top were two of Oliver’s hoodies, which I remembered pressing to my nose months ago. I pulled them out and noticed the faint remnants of his aftershave.
The memories of Oliver wearing one of my favorite sweaters of his as we walked through Pineville’s forest trails on a cool fall day last year were so clear, but instead of them hurting my heart, they carried a certain fondness.
Oliver had been my first love, and I’d always care for him in some way, but I could now look back and recognize how special that moment was for my past self. I set the hoodies on the left side my bed, ready to be returned.
Next, I located a jar of petals from various flowers he’d gifted me over the years, which I’d transformed into potpourri. I lifted the lid and inhaled as flashes of birthday, Valentine’s Day, and just because bouquets went through my mind. Again, it didn’t hurt to experience these memories like it used to. It felt nostalgic. Knowing it was time to let this flowery mulch go, I put the jar on the right side of my bed.
When I picked up the bag containing the cards and letters Oliver had written to me throughout our decade together, I paused, running my hands over his words. There was something so personal about these, and I wondered if I should keep them. After a short pause, I realized I had no intention of reading through his past declarations of undying love anymore, meaning there was little point in hanging on to them.
The set of heart-shaped glass coasters I found next, on the other hand, had been an impromptu gift from him, and they were beautiful. Even if they were from him, that didn’t mean I couldn’t still find joy and love in them. These, I decided, would stay.
After another hour of taking my time to go through my closet and bedside table, I had four distinct piles on my bed: keep, return to Oliver, donate, and trash.
It was astonishing how the deep and overwhelming sense of hurt I’d felt before Anita had sent me on my Advent calendar journey had dissipated. Now all I could think of was how much room I had in my closet and how this task had opened my heart, ready to be filled with brand-new memories.
I also knew, without a single doubt, that I wanted to be with Marco. Oliver had shaped my life in so many ways up until this point, but I could be more myself with Marco than I ever was with my ex.
The thought of how good Marco and I were together made me smile, but at the same time, I promised myself to be sure I always held enough space for me. Moving forward, I wanted to allow myself the opportunities to continue discovering exactly who I was and what I enjoyed.
I took a picture of my reorganized closet and sent it to Anita, thanking her for the task. When she didn’t reply, I decided there was something else I could take care of today—Dessert Dudes’ accounts.
With a glass of juice in hand, I set the boxes of documents and my laptop on the dining room table. I’d said I’d get everything ready for Marco as soon as possible, so I continued working my way through the credit card statements, tallying the charges with the receipts Marco had bundled together and marking a few with Need more detail .
When I got to the September statement, I saw an amount for the Odd Duck. I didn’t have a receipt for the meal, and couldn’t tell if it was a client meeting or something else, so I circled the charge in red pen and made a note on a list of queries I’d compiled. Next, I took a picture so I could show Marco, hoping either he or Vince would be able to find the original receipt or remember who the dinner had been for.
Two lines down, there was another amount I couldn’t find an invoice for, this one for Floral Reef, which I recognized as a trendy, highly popular florist in town. Once again, I circled the charge, added it to the query list, and took a photo.
With the credit card statements done, I tackled another stack of papers related to Dessert Dudes’ bank accounts. Twenty minutes in, I felt my brow furrow. I flipped through the pages, went back to the beginning, and checked the numbers once more, and again for a third time.
I kept coming to the same conclusion. Every few weeks, payments of $1,990 had been made to Vince. The withdrawals had continued regularly, with almost thirty thousand taken, and none of it returned.
Unease crept into my stomach and refused to budge. I wanted to believe Marco knew that this money had been removed from Dessert Dudes’ bank account, but he’d never mentioned any company loans to himself or to Vince. What he had mentioned on multiple occasions was that they were reinvesting most of the profits into the company, taking an equal but small amount in dividend advances, and that their cash flow always seemed tight. What was Vince doing with all this extra money?
I grabbed my phone, let my fingers hover over Marco’s number as I tried to decide what to do. While he’d never said Dessert Dudes had advanced more cash to Vince, maybe he knew. I could send a message, ask what the terms of the loan were. Interest had to be applied; otherwise, the money could be considered as salary and become taxable. My other option was to be more direct and ask Marco outright if he knew Vince had dipped into the funds.
I swallowed hard, thinking about Marco’s extreme workload between now and Christmas Eve. Did I really want to worry him and potentially cause issues between him and Vince, especially given that Vince wasn’t my biggest fan?
For a moment, I tried reasoning with myself. Maybe Marco knew about the money, and Vince was intending on putting the cash back as soon as possible. Perhaps he’d forgotten. No, that didn’t make sense. The most recent withdrawal had been a week ago.
The other red flag I couldn’t ignore was the original paperwork from the bank, including a printed copy of the security settings, which clearly stated that any payment over two thousand dollars would generate an automatic text alert to both Vince’s and Marco’s cell phones. Each amount paid to Vince had been ten dollars under the threshold.
Mind made up, I knew saying nothing to Marco wasn’t an option. He absolutely needed to know if Vince was possibly jeopardizing the business, but I had to discuss this with him at the right time, considering the stress he was under.
It was already Thursday. I wouldn’t see Marco until Sunday night, at which point Dessert Dudes would have completed the huge contracts they’d picked up. Maybe it was best to wait until then…
In case I needed them, I snapped a few photographs of the bank statements and was still mulling over scenarios of how I could handle the situation and what I’d say when I heard the front door being unlocked.
“Honey, I’m home,” my sister yelled as she bustled into the hallway. “Anyone in?”
“Anita!” I yelped, running to her and hugging her hard. “You’re back. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“Surprise.” She craned her neck, peering over my shoulder. “Is Marco here?”
“No.” I hugged her again. “Am I glad to see you.”
“Me, too, even though I miss that gorgeous Florida weather already.” Anita took a step back. “Why are you freaking out so bad?”
“Because I think it is bad.”
“Are you catastrophizing again?” she asked.
“No. If anything, it’s the opposite. Seriously, this could be really, really bad.”
Anita shook off her jacket as she dumped her shoes and suitcase in the hallway and closed the front door. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”
—
Half an hour later, I was on my feet, pacing the living room. Meanwhile, Anita sat on the sofa with Dazey in her lap. “If I were you, I’d tell Marco now,” she said. “Call him or go over.”
“No, I don’t think so. Not yet.”
“Are you sure? Because to me, it feels like the right thing to do.”
“In theory,” I replied. “But not with the orders they need to work through over the next couple of days.”
“They’re that busy?”
“Yes. Trust me, if this was at any other time of the year and things were calmer for Dessert Dudes, I’d be running there right now, but this could send Marco into a tailspin. If they can’t deliver, I’ll make things even worse. The company could suffer.”
“Don’t you think it’s already suffering if this Vince guy’s siphoning cash from the business?” Anita replied.
“Probably, yes,” I admitted.
“How can you be certain it’s what he’s doing?”
“I can’t, not a hundred percent. That’s part of the problem.”
“Is it possible you’re overreacting?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t feel like it…I mean, like I already told you, him taking the money is possibly legit, but my instincts and experience are telling me it isn’t.”
“It’s your call, Callie. I understand you not wanting to blow up Marco’s life right now, but you definitely have to tell him.”
“Absolutely,” I said as I ran through the options in my mind again before making my final decision. “It’s not ideal, but I need to wait. I’ll tell Marco everything I’ve found out on Sunday.”