Page 33 of Not Another Christmas Movie

Annie scrunched her eyebrows in contemplation. She would have loved to share this sentiment with Marsha, considering they worked together on this “fashion job.” In the past three years, they had gone from conducting business out of their West Hartford apartment to a garage in Newington and, finally, to renting an actual (though tiny) office space courtesy of Grant’s connections.

Annie had been employed as a personal assistant to a monstrous man who ran a local travel website. While she had often enjoyed the perks of featuring new places in the Farmington Valley and surrounding areas, no amount of free food could make up for the late-night calls Annie had received from her boss, screaming at her to deliver yet another highly personal item to his home or the barrage of rageful texts he’d explode her phone with when a rose ceremony on The Bachelorette didn’t unfold the way he wanted (which, spoiler alert, was every time). Marsha had been working as a store manager for Bath & Body Works. A job she had fallen into after having worked there during her college breaks from UConn. She had come to completely despise it. She hated being directed to micromanage the staff of mostly older, exclusively part-time women, who would knit on their breaks, while under constant scrutiny and pressure from the off-site corporate offices to sell more A Thousand Wishes body splash.

After a particularly brutally cold and cruel New England winter and a messy breakup on Marsha’s end (that had actually unfolded in the Bath & Body Works break room and resulted in a few sympathy knit items), Annie had suggested selling their used underwear for money to put toward visiting a warm beach, with an unlimited cocktail package to survive the season. The actual suggestion had come out of an exceptionally bothersome evening when some frozen pipes near their washing machines had flooded the apartment building’s basement, making it impossible to do laundry. Annie had even gone so far as to put up a detailed and very descriptive ad on Craigslist, assuming they’d get a good laugh reading a response or two while taking another spoonful of peanut butter and handful of popcorn for dinner and debating which of their parents would be more helpful in lending them access to their washer and dryer. What followed were fifty-three emails of interest within the hour. After a quick trip to retrieve a six-pack of Bud Light Lime (the beverage of choice at the time for sharpening their minds and loosening their morals), Marsha and Annie drafted a proposal that would eventually become their business plan.

It hadn’t been the easiest road during those early years. Until they could hire people to help them with it, Annie and Marsha had to oversee all of the customer operations, website design and maintenance, and ensure quality content. No, they never sold their own underwear; they were merely the middle women of the operation, but most of their friends and family thought they were absolutely insane. When Annie and Marsha were both able to go full-time with LaundryBae after a year of steadily and safely simplifying sales between used underwear sellers and satisfied buyers, they celebrated with an all-inclusive vacation to Mexico featuring an elaborate food and drink menu.

Marsha met Pete Cohen in line for iced coffees and sour gummy worms before even boarding the plane. Pete was heading to the same resort for a bachelor party, and Annie eagerly enjoyed harmlessly flirting with all of his (mostly married and all agreeably dorky) friends at the gate. It had been love at first flight, and Pete had proved to be the perfect souvenir for Marsha to bring back home after a week of tipsy bliss. Within a few months, Marsha had moved in with Pete, leaving Annie in the one-bedroom they used to share. For the first time in her life, Annie was living alone. But it allowed them to conduct their business in Pete’s garage before they had the means to move to an office. Aside from spending their days focused on the best practices and policies for facilitating the sale of dirty panties to (mostly) men in need, it all felt rather professional and grown-up.

Annie blinked back to the present, catching Chris’s expression. He seemed suddenly more serious, his eyes dark and debonair. He slowed down so they were almost at a standstill and was about to say something when Annie’s skate caught a rogue candy cane on the ice, sending her body into another graceful, slow-motion fall. This time, Chris caught her and allowed her to stay momentarily suspended, his arms holding her up and his face mere inches from her own. And then when he glanced at her lips, Annie almost choked in surprise. Wait, was this their almost kiss? Was it happening right now? What do I do, Annie wondered, instinctively seeking out Nick, hoping he could guide her through this, but instead of Nick’s eyes, she landed on a much more familiar pair, and her heart stopped.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Marsha!” Annie yelled, breaking free of Chris and blindly skating her way through a small crowd. She knew those eyes from the deepest depth of her soul—she had seen Marsha! This was it, her best friend was here to save her, save Christmas, save everything. “Marsha!” Annie called out again, desperately trying to get another view.

She stopped mid-skate when a movement caught her attention. Annie marveled at a woman performing a series of axles and spirals on the ice. She was dressed in a lilac-colored coat and a matching knit hat. When she completed what looked to be another double axel, she found Annie’s eyes. Again, Annie could see it was Marsha. Well, her face looked like Marsha, but the woman was clearly wearing a wig of strawberry blonde curls.

“Marsha!” Annie said for a third time, but her voice wavered in confusion now. The woman cocked her head to the side.

“Hello, have we met?” the woman asked kindly, skating closer, Marsha’s familiar “professional” smile plastered on her face.

“Marsh, are you in on this whole thing? Was this some elaborate prank?” Annie asked, skating closer to meet the woman.

“Oh, are you Annie? I’ve heard all about you from Grant. He says you’re very funny,” the woman said. “I’m Eve,” Eve continued in an accent Annie couldn’t quite place. It was sort of British, but it sounded like the attempt of a formal, stylized voice more than anything else.

“No, I’m not doing this,” Annie shook her head. “Marsha, stop, please,” Annie begged.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” Eve said. “Are you alright?”

Annie didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. She looked at Ferguson and now it clicked why he looked familiar. Ferguson was Pete, Marsha’s boyfriend, wearing his own weird wig and costume.

“Pete?” Annie asked, looking up at him. He stared back, unmoving.

“You okay, Mrs. Claus?” Nick asked loudly, skating up behind her. “I saw you almost fall … again … and then rush off. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Nick continued more softly.

“Nick, that’s Marsha. And her boyfriend Pete,” Annie urgently confided; she needed Nick to make this stop, to make sense of another absurd ornament on their farcical tree. Nick gave Eve a scrutinous glance, his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“I can certainly see a resemblance,” Nick murmured to Annie. Annie wanted to argue and insist that the person standing with them was her lifelong best friend and that she practically knew her face better than her own. “Your skating … It’s incredible. Are you an Olympian?” Nick asked Eve in an attempt to uncover their true identities.

“Oh, you’re too kind. No, but I did train with our country’s Olympic coaches from an early age as part of my exercise regime,” Eve said as Ferguson offered an encouraging nod.

“Your country? Where are you from?” Nick asked.

“May I please formally present Princess Eve from the kingdom of Wintermore,” Ferguson said in his low baritone voice. Eve committed to a deep, graceful curtsy on skates, showcasing impressive flexibility. There was an awkward moment when Nick and Annie were unsure if they were supposed to do the same; they silently eyed each other until they wordlessly agreed to attempt their own curtsies on skates. Nick moved slowly, first tucking his head, and managed to pull off a half-decent bow, all things considered. His right skate glided gracefully enough behind his left, and using his right arm to cross his center, he folded downward. Annie’s venture was another story. She quickly tried to get one leg behind but hurled her body too quickly and was about to topple forward when Nick wrapped both arms around her.

Annie was so startled by the movement that it almost caused them both to go down hard on the ice, but thankfully, perhaps with the extra heft of the Santa suit, Nick centered them, and they made their way back to a standing position.

“I’m oh so very grateful the storm landed me in such a lovely, quaint American town,” Eve cooed, as if she hadn’t just witnessed the completely ridiculous scene. “When my private plane was forced to land here in the snowstorm, I thought it would be the worst Christmas of my life,” Eve explained.

Ferguson took an ornate handkerchief from his coat pocket to give her, and Eve dabbed at dry eyes, crying on cue without a single tear. “But the people here have truly taught me the importance of the holiday season!” Eve finished with a flourish.

“I’m sorry, what? What’s happening right now? What is this?” Annie asked Nick. She was baffled but not in the mood to entertain this ridiculous charade. Nick could only offer a small shrug. “Why are they here? Why are they like this?” Annie hissed angrily. She had no intention of simply accepting that her best friend was here being introduced to this world under the guise of a new character.

“Movie storylines often include a best friend,” Nick considered. “They usually show up to, like, give a boost of encouragement or give some advice without overshadowing the protagonist. And often, they’re introduced as a ‘Christmas cheerleader’ who also doubles as an emotional anchor—”

“She’s my Holiday Hype Queen?” Annie asked, desperate for an answer.

“Oh, I’m not a queen, I’m a princess,” Eve bashfully interjected. When Annie turned to her, desperation practically dripping off her face, Eve skated backward, ready to escape this strange interaction.