7. Like Christmas Morning #2
Starving from the big breakfast I never achieved and skipping lunch, I search through Josie’s cabinet for anything that resembles a can opener to make my tuna fish.
I’ve got to get to a grocery store. I’m afraid Great Aunt Josie having a cherry pitter and a crème br?lée torch in the drawer that should house a can opener solidifies that.
I slam the drawer shut and reach toward her gold swan faucet to wash my hands, wishing I could hold the can of tuna under hot enough water until it popped open. My mind flashes to the lunch I had the day before where I felt quite satiated.
Damn it all. Why does she say his name that way, and why do I keep replaying it?
After brunch with Helen, I went through the rest of the boxes in the attic.
My hunches were all confirmed as the last row of boxes revealed enough Christmas decor to, in fact, decorate a small town.
That, and the wine cellar I found in the back of the attic, God love Aunt Josie, instead of in the basement… Wait. Is there a basement? Hmmm. I’ll save that one for another day when I’m not two over-poured glasses of Chablis-in on an empty stomach.
Kourt-schmourt. He’s just a boy man in a great big, small town. What does he know about anybody or anything? He did buy me lunch though. A red and white checkered tablecloth and his smell-good smile.
I made this binder on my own off information he volunteered and I’m proud of it.
He didn’t show me the ropes. He drove me to Fisher’s.
Possibly for rope as they would have that there.
They have everything. Even hot basketball coach chauffeurs and handsome football coach gossips and all of their floozy Archer-style lady friends.
Hungry, and with heavy feet, I slump my way to Aunt Josie’s absurd sectional. It looks like it belongs in a speakeasy.
I can’t be certain of the time that passed. After all, I’m on mountain time. Wait, am I Central time, but just in the mountains or is this Eastern? “Alexa! Who is Kentucky’s time zone? And, why is there a can of tuna fish in my hand?”
My stomach growls again. Or wait. That’s not my belly.
“So when am I picking you up?” The sound of my best friend’s voice is so faint it’s almost like a dream or early stages of schizophrenia as I’m hearing him in the walls.
“Oh!” I dig through the garland-covered coffee table and lift an array of Christmas tree skirts from where they’re draped across my laptop.
“Hey.” I’ve been riding such a high since breakfast turned brunch with Helen—turned fasting for me slash wine for dinner, that I forgot who I am. “Jesus. Archer!”
“How very Catholic of you on a Sunday.”
I toss my monstrosity of a notebook aside so I can take its seat in front of my laptop to see my best friend. “Pick me up?”
“From the airport. You’ve got to be bored to tears by now. There are some situations, Erika with a “K’’ not even you can make the best of.”
“Actually, it’s not that bad.”
I lean into frame with a wide-eyed grin I can’t salvage, as I toss my can of unopened tuna fish onto the discarded Christmas tree skirts. “Arch. It’s really amazing. I think my great aunt sent me here for a reason.”
“Is she dead? Did you find out yet?”
“I don’t think so. There would have been a lot more paperwork.”
“So, Egypt or some trip to a nudist colony with bored Midwesterners, then? What’s the deal? She’s going to leave you the last place she inhabits every time she moves onto greener pastures? I can’t believe she wouldn’t just tell you where she is.”
“Hey. I know somebody else who exists relying on greener pastures. Her philosophy has always been freedom and anonymity are the key to knowledge and adventure. If anyone can identify with that sentiment, it’s you, dear heart.
Honestly, I think this is a one-time place.
It’s like she handpicked it for me. You said yourself when we opened the envelope, it couldn’t have come at a better time. ”
“Yeah, it’s a nice break after a pitch that went south, but you don’t have to stay. What am I’m going to do for the holidays?”
“You said you would come here.”
“I was pretending to be supportive.”
“Archer. I’ll say what you won’t say for fear of hurting my feelings. You’ll be stuck in town inundated with the Harmon account I was dropped from.”
“Not the entire time. What about the rest of the holiday break, and the employee Christmas party? You know I can’t bring a date. They’ll think it’s serious.”
“That fruitcake is a package I have no interest in unwrapping.”
“Which part?”
“Not your love life, we both know that has no resolve. Me. Office. Christmas Party. Not this year, buddy.”
“Fine. But what about the rest? We spend every Christmas together. We decorate every year.”
“No, Archer. We don’t. Chicago decorates for Christmas and we sneak a peek on the way to meetings until they let us off for a few days, of which you and I get together between your failed second dates and share a Merry Christmas toast at our favorite bar with the fireplace, clear white lights, and one perfectly tasteful wreath hung with the red velvet bow.
All the while I walk home alone in the cold, wishing I’d gotten a Christmas tree after all. ”
“But I thought—”
“This place is different, Archer. I don’t know… I feel it’s—like I’m supposed to be here right now. Hey. Knock Great Aunt Josie all you wish, but in true Auntie Mame fashion, these people need a little Christmas … and so do I.”
Loud claps sound from my laptop, and I peek back at my screen to see Archer slow clapping. “You really drank the Kool-Aid, or I guess Eggnog is more appropriate.”
“ Woo! Good idea.” I jump away from the couch to grab my grocery list on the kitchen island.
“What? It doesn’t pour from their faucets?” Archer’s sardonic mumble is barely audible.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just been a tough week at work on the Harmon case. Talk to me later.”
I step back toward the frozen black screen where Archer has muted his mic and closed his video feed.