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There’s no response.
I turn and look at the male lounging on the bed, who’s paying no attention to me. Apparently I can’t compete with the reindeer squeaky toy.
“Rigby, baby.” The dog lifts his head and wags his stubby tail. “Am I looking adorable or veering toward absurd?”
I hold my arms out to the side to show off my elf costume, turning back and forth so the dog can get the full effect.
Rigby gives me a sad look and rests his snout on the comforter, tail wagging even faster.
I sigh. “I was afraid of that. Is it too tight?”
I look over my shoulder at my butt in the mirror.
On the model online, the costume had striped tights with a cute green dress and a jaunty little hat.
On me? The dress barely covers my butt. Bending over is completely out of the question, as is breathing.
“Size medium my ass,” I say, pulling futilely on the snug belt.
It wasn’t this tight when I tried it on a couple of weeks ago. My five holiday pounds have officially arrived.
Upside? The ensemble makes my waist look tiny, boobs look perky. At least I’m pretty sure it does.
I glance over at my dog, who’s rolled onto his back, happily chewing his toy upside down.
Maybe I need a second opinion.
I finish up my makeup, taking a bit of extra care with my eye shadow. I’d thought I wanted to go with a bright red Christmassy lip, but at the last minute, I’d opted for a smoky eye and nude lip. And instead of the red manicure I’ve been visualizing for weeks, I paint my nails a bright snow white, with silver sparkles on top.
The shoes are different, too. Instead of the sexy platform heels, I’m going with my red rain boots.
I know it’s weird, but it feels important to change up my expectations for the evening. When I first envisioned this whole silly elf thing, I’d had a very different vision of my situation.
We’ve discussed this, right? My way too vivid daydreams of being up on that float, looking adorable and irresistible while one of my ex-boyfriends looks on and thinks, Damn, I was so dumb to let that one get away.
And of course I’d look down at him, thinking, That’s him. That’s The One.
At this point sometimes my fantasy would go off the rails: for example, that the fortune-telling lady from the train station would come out of the shadows, turn into, like, a beautiful enchantress, and beam happily as The One and I kiss.
There’d probably be music.
Maybe a proposal…
Rigby’s toy squeaks, jolting me back to the present—to the real world. Yeah, so that’s not happening. And to remind myself, I’ve adjusted my outfit accordingly to match my change in mindset.
The whole second-chance-at-love story is a good one, I’ll grant you that, but it didn’t work out for me. And I tried, I really did. With everyone except for Colin, but if I can’t find him, I can’t find him, right?
Rigby rolls back onto his belly and gives me a judgy look. Did you even try?
“Yes, Rigby. I tried. Now come on, let’s go see your dad, see if we can talk him into a ride to the parade so we don’t have to park two cars.”
I grab my coat and purse and head across the lawn to Mark’s house.
It’s snowing, just a little, which is kind of lovely. Even better, the forecast promises flurries but no accumulation. Enough to add a bit of Christmas charm to the evening for the kids (and, okay, the grown-up kids) without turning into a wet mess.
I knock once on Mark’s back door and let myself in. He’s at his kitchen table, looking at his laptop, and eating a sandwich. He gives me a quick glance, then a second, more lingering, as he sets the sandwich on the plate.
“Well?” I say, holding out my arms and spinning.
