I appreciate Gretchen’s attempt to make good of a bad situation, but I truly don’t know what I’m going to do now.
“Give some thought to what I said.You never know what amazing opportunities might be waiting for you.I have a good feeling about this, Jem.And you know I’m never wrong.”She laughs, tossing her head back slightly.
Despite all my worries, a small smile spreads across my face.The Gretchen effect.
“I’ll text you later,” Gretchen adds.“Let’s meet up for drinks, my treat.Okay?”
I nod.
“Now I’d better get back to work before I find myself on the chopping block too.”She flashes me a playful wink.“We can’t both lose our jobs today; one of us has to be able to buy those drinks.”With that, she disappears through the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I admire Gretchen’s unwavering optimism; she has an uncanny ability to illuminate the darkest situations.I mean, I just got fired, and somehow, she has me believing this could be a good thing.I guess only time will tell.
I race down the ten flights of stairs, avoiding the elevator to steer clear of any chance encounters with my former co-workers.Before opening the double glass doors for the last time, I slip on my red trench coat, cinching it snugly around my waist, dreading the bitter cold that’s bound to be waiting for me.But as I step outside, under the fancy awning and into the chaos of New York City, I’m unexpectedly greeted by a burst of warmth.
Okay, so maybe Gretchen is onto something here.I know it’s just the weather, but perhaps this is the universe’s way of showing me things are looking up, and better things are coming.Or maybe I just drank the Gretchen Kool-Aid.
As I pivot to walk away from the building that I’ll probably never step foot inside again, I come across a man wearing a tattered Santa hat, shaking a sleigh bell, calling out for donations on the sidewalk.Usually, I would shuffle past, eyes glued to the pavement, but something stops me.
Feeling Gretchen’s positivity clinging to me like a fresh coat of paint, I rummage through my purse, pull out a crinkled ten-dollar bill, and toss it into the shiny red donation tin.
The man looks up, beaming, with a twinkle in his eye.“Thank you for your kindness, miss.Merry Christmas.”
“You’re very welcome.Merry Christmas to you too,” I reply, feeling a warmth stir in my belly.
“Everything always works out as it should.Let go and follow the signs.”
“Excuse me?”I cock my head to the side, puzzled by his words, as if he knows what just happened in the building behind me.
But he’s already turned his attention to the next kind New Yorker stuffing dollar bills into his red tin.
I shake my head, questioning my sanity.Either way, I hope everything does work out.But as I walk a few blocks, panic starts to creep back in.If I take a left and head toward the subway, I know what awaits me—pajamas, ordering in, sobbing for a few hours, and replaying every moment of the last four years in my head.No, I can’t do that to myself.
Keep walking Jemma.Just go with the flow.
Well, the flow seems to be leading me toward Fifth Avenue.I don’t fight it; I just go with it.
Big, soft snowflakes begin to flutter down as I stroll along Manhattan’s most decorated street—a street I’ve strategically avoided the past few Decembers.But as I pass the glittering storefronts, each window beautifully decorated for the holidays, one display catches my attention, stopping me dead in my tracks.Tears immediately spring to my eyes.
If this isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.
Amidst the shimmering decorations, a mini snow-dusted Eiffel Tower stands majestically, surrounded by delicate, glistening snowflakes.A flood of tears stream down my cheeks, racing to my chin, chilling my skin.
I miss the old me.
I miss the me that planned to visit Paris one day.
I miss the me that enjoyed Christmas.
Gretchen is right; I need to find her.
I let my imagination run wild as visions of Christmas in Paris swirl through my mind, stirring my soul.I can almost picture the twinkling lights adorning the Champs-Élysées and the scent of fresh buttery pastries wafting through the crisp winter air.
If I stay here and find another job, I know I’ll sink back into old habits.There’s a reason I became a workaholic and turned my back on Christmas.Happiness feels like a stranger now.But that ends today.
I press my hand against the cold window, feeling the coolness seep into my skin, grounding me in this moment of clarity.
Paris, here I come.
