“Anytime,” I say. She heads back to her desk, and I soak in the sunlight pouring through the windows as I work my way through the building.
It’s an open space with the exception of my private office and a conference room, but even I have a workstation amongst the other designers. It contributes to the collaborative environment we’ve all established together, with Ellie and me leading the charge.
Seven years after rejoining the workforce, when the demand for my services increased beyond what I could handle alone, I brought on Ellie, who worked out of my original home officewith me. I loved her so much that I set her up with my son. By the time Ellie and Ben got engaged, I’d hired two more designers, and things were getting a little cramped. So when I turned fifty-two, I opened my dream office in a quaint blue house tucked away on a side street of downtown Loving that had been zoned for commercial use.
“Morning!” Ellie is already waiting for me when I enter my office, her tailored red suit popping against her fair skin.
Often, there’s some weird sense of competition between mothers and the women who marry their sons. In fact, many women I’ve known over the years can’t stand their daughters-in-law. But I never felt that way with Ellie. I love her as though she were my own, and our family is better because of her. After my Henry died, it was mostly Ellie who kept things going at work while I waded through the never-ending waters of grief, rarely able to make it to the office.
“I got you a latte.” She’s propped against my desk with a cup of coffee from The Southern Bean that I already know contains my favorite toasted praline latte with an extra shot of espresso. Ellie is thoughtful like that, but the eagerness on her face tells me this cup of coffee carries a little more weight. It’s a peace offering—a hope that we can work together without any of the tension from Thanksgiving.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I say, kissing her on the cheek, a wisp of her blonde hair tickling my nose. “By the way, I’m making your favorite pumpkin cheesecake for dessert Sunday.”
I spoke with Ben and his sisters last night, just as I promised Rose. Though, I suppose it wasn’t really an apology so much as it was me calling and pretending everything was fine and asking what they wanted for our weekly dinner. But that’s just as good as saying sorry, right?
“That sounds amazing,” she replies.
“How were Noah and Emily this morning?” I ask, placing the coffee on my desk and hanging my coat behind the door. “Ben said you put the tree up Saturday because they were hounding you to death.”
She chuckles. “Oh, they were. They’re so excited.”
I move to my desk and take a seat in my purple velvet office chair. “It’s fun, isn’t it? Seeing Christmas through their eyes?”
“It is,” she says, sitting in one of the tufted chairs opposite me. “Especially now that they really get what’s going on. I loved their first Christmases, but now it’s extra special.”
I sigh, remembering what those holidays had been like in our home.
“Actually, there’s something I want to ask you.” There’s the slightest quaver in her voice.
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
“Oh yes,” she replies, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. “It’s just that the kids mentioned Mistletoe Fest coming up next weekend. They saw a sign for it when we went to the store yesterday, and they asked if we could go this year. And I was thinking maybe we could all go as a fam?—”
“No,” I say, cutting her off, immediately regretting my sharp tone.
“It would mean so much to the kids if?—”
“I can’t do that, Ellie. I hope you understand.” I press my lips into a firm line.
It’s selfish. Silly, even. But the last time I went to that festival, I faced the worst tragedy of my life. My entire world was upended and shattered into millions of tiny little pieces that night, and I can’t bring myself to ever go to the last place I saw my sweet Henry alive.
Her face falls, taking my heart with it. “Of course.”
“But you should still go,” I insist, forcing a smile. “Maybe afterward, you can all come by for some hot chocolate?”
“Sure,” she concedes, her voice small.
“So, has Lindsey said anything else about the firefighter?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject.
She shakes her head. “Not since Thanksgiving.”
Rats.I can’t help the face I make.
Okay, maybe I was asking because I actually wanted to know.
“It’d be nice to see Lindsey get back out there, wouldn’t it?” I ask.
Ellie gives me a polite nod. “It would,” she says, rising to her feet. “Well, I should get to work. I have some emails I need to catch up on.”
