Chapter 1
Jewel
The line at Hoardstrom’s is unrelenting, a winding snake of wealthy shoppers, clutching glossy bags and peering down their noses at me while I work. The giftwrapping station is tucked between the fitting rooms and the towering Christmas tree that reeks of cinnamon and cloves. It smells good, sure, butafter eight hours of ribbons and bows, I’m overdue for some fresh air.
I smooth the silver foil wrapping paper over a designer hatbox. Ironically, I modeled for a campaign for these hats last year, but the customer staring at me while I wrap her purchase doesn’t know it. That's just part of the ups and downs of the industry. Sometimes you're in, sometimes you're invisible.
Folding the edges crisp and clean, I secure the paper with double-sided tape so the seams disappear and decorate the box with an artful bow. The woman watching me doesn’t say a word, just stares like she’s daring me to mess up. I don’t.
“Happy Holidays,” I say as I hand her the perfectly wrapped package. She doesn’t even say thank you.
Not that I expect her to. This isn’t my little hometown in rural California, where the tías hand out tamales from their front porches with a smile, and my mom can’t walk down the aisle of the grocery store without running into a cousin.
No, this is the big city, where casual kindness is a commodity rarer than a five-dollar coffee and aspiring models like me are a dime a dozen. The place where I firmly believe my dreams of being successful in the fashion world will come true if I work hard enough and don’t give up.
But until I make it big, this seasonal giftwrapping job (plus the steep employee discount) is buying Christmas gifts for my siblings back home, and I don’t need anythank yousexcept the paycheck.
The next customer, a handsome, bearded man with a British accent and gray salting his auburn hair, steps up to my counter. “Here, what do you think of this?” he asks, sliding a heart-shaped gold necklace toward me. A tiny diamond winks in one corner. It’s simple and tasteful, perfect for a woman his age.
“Beautiful. She’ll love it,” I say, putting on my customer-service smile. I hold out the wrapping paper sample card for hisinspection. “Today we have silver snowflakes or gold leaves, and of course Hoardstrom’s signature plaid.”
“You think so?” He’s still hung up on his question. “She doesn’t wear much jewelry. Maybe she doesn’t like it.”
We’re not supposed to give advice at the giftwrap counter, but I lean forward, keeping my voice low. “Every woman loves jewelry. It’s just a matter of knowing her taste. Judging by this necklace, your lovely lady is warm, practical, and has an inner strength that surprises people when they get to know her.”
His smile spreads. “That’s her exactly. Thank you.”
“Gold paper to match the piece?” I suggest, and he nods, happy with his choice.
As I wrap, making sure the corners are tight and perfect, I imagine how proud he’ll be to give it to her on Christmas. How loved she’ll feel that he spent so much time and care choosing just the right gift for her. Maybe they even have kids who will be excited to see what’s in the box when their mom rips open the gorgeous gold paper. Their holiday is going to be so warm and happy and full of light.
Meanwhile, I’ll be by myself in my apartment, celebrating the holiday with someone else’s cat, eating whatever cut of meat was on sale.
What am Idoingwith my life? Why am I skipping Christmas with my family, my favorite holiday, in favor of staying in the city alone? Why am I giving up that happy, noisy, delicious celebration in favor of working double shifts at the giftwrapping station and cat-sitting for my roommate while she flies back to her hometown?
Because this is my dream, I remind myself sternly.I’m a working model in one of the fashion capitals of the world, and that comes with some sacrifices. Sure, the fashion gigs are unpredictable, and I have to fill in with part-time jobs to make ends meet. But I’m a farm girl at heart. I’m not afraidof hard work. Plus, this paycheck comes with a chance to make someone’s holiday brighter, even if it’s for people I don’t know.
I tie a satin ribbon around the gold box and daydream about being able to afford gifts like this for my family someday. Seeing my mom unwrap this necklace? Or getting to treat my sisters with designer labels? That’s part of my dream, too. It makes it easier to keep going, thinking that someday I’ll be able to spoil them.
“Happy Holidays,” I say to the necklace guy when I hand him his gift, and I mean it.
By the time the line thins out, my back aches, and my fingers are sore from scissors and tape. The ornate clock on the wall chimes nine, signaling the end of my shift. I clock out and bundle up against the winter weather with a hat and pair of gloves I got from the drugstore dollar bin.
Outside, snow falls softly, snuggling the city in a sparkling blanket. It might not be the mild climate of California’s Central Valley, but it’s beautiful in its own way. I set off toward the bus stop, trying to ignore how the sidewalk slush is soaking through the toes of my work shoes and the wind is blowing through my jacket.
Maybe I’ll find some boots on sale after Christmas. Maybe I’ll get a new coat to reward myself when I book my next shoot. I rub my arms and stomp my feet while I wait for the bus that will take me home to my little apartment.
A cab zooms by too close to the curb, splashing me with a dirty, icy spray that washes away all my good attitude.
“Feliz Navidad to you, too,” I mutter under my breath, trying not to cry.
Tomorrow, I’ll be back at Hoardstrom’s, wrapping gifts for Christmas shoppers who probably don’t think about how the person who ties their bows is going to celebrate. And I’ll do itwith a smile, because sometimes a smile is what gets you from today until tomorrow.
Chapter 2
Myrran
Hoardstrom’s gleams like a pile of treasure, all polished marble and glittering displays. But something shines more brightly than all of it.
