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“Guilty as charged,” Ben answers with another deep chuckle. He clicks around on his desktop a few times, then turns his screen so I can see. It’s a beautiful cruise ship decked out with Christmas lights and decor, images of a holiday feast mixed in with what looks like classic holiday musicals redone as drag shows.
“That looks so fun!”
“Oh, girl, it will be. My husband and I got married five years ago on New Year’s Day, and we’re celebrating with a tropical Christmas cruise.” Ben scrolls through more photos, his sweet and excited smile melting my heart. “How about you? A pretty little Christmas elf like yourself must have lots of festivities planned.”
My smile drops slightly, but I recover before Ben can see. My heart sinks to my stomach thinking about spending this holiday season without my grandma for the first time. I can’t think about that right now, though. No crying in front of clients or their assistants. That’s a basic rule of professionalism, right?
“Of course!” I say in my cheeriest voice. “Starting with the King’s Holdings Holiday Extravaganza.”
Ben smiles, but there’s something else behind those perceptive. “It’s going to be amazing. I can already tell.”
“Thanks,” I say as I hike my purse further up my shoulder. “I should probably get going. I have a feeling we’ll be getting to know each other a bit over the next few weeks. It’ll be nice to see a familiar face, and even nicer if that face isn’t frowning or growling.”
Ben chuckles again and waves me off. I don’t want to risk another incident with the bear-like Mr. Bowman, so I take the hint and hop on the next elevator down to the lobby.
A crowded subway ride and three blocks of walking in the snow later, and I’m finally home. Well, I’m at my apartment. Even after four months in this little studio apartment, it doesn’t feel very much like home. Will I ever feel at home again, or did my grandma take that comfort with her to the grave?
Once I step inside, I kick off my boots and wiggle my toes, hoping to get some blood flow and sensation back into my cold little nubbins. Looking around the cramped space, I try to see the good things and not the chipped paint, cracked drywall, and the bars on the sole window.
Christmas lights frame the window, and a small wreath covers most of the wrought iron bars welded across the window. I’m not allowed to have a real tree—not that I have the space for one—so I have a little two-foot fake tree with ornaments I picked up at a local thrift store instead.
My couch doubles as my bed, the red, green, and white pillows piled high and accented with gold thread around the edges. The snow globes my grandma and I collected over the years are displayed on my bookshelf, the window sill, the coffee table, and the kitchen counters. I don’t have enough space for all of them, but I picked out my favorites.
Collapsing on the couch, I snuggle into my mountain of pillows and peer around the room at the various pieces my grandma and I have treasured for so long. My favorite is of a little girl and an older woman decorating a pine tree outside. They have lights and tinsel, and the woman is helping the little girl reach for a branch that’s a little too high for her to reach.
I’m crying before I realize it, my tears cooling as they drip down my cheeks.
God, it aches. I knew this Christmas was going to suck. It’s the first holiday season since my grandma passed away this summer. She succumbed to breast cancer after three long, hard-fought years. Knowing her battle was coming to an end did little to ease the pain of losing her.
My grandma and I adored all things Christmas, and yes, we were the people who could hardly wait for Halloween to be over so we could start decorating. Some years, we didn’t make it to Halloween before the Christmas items found their way into the decor.
I thought moving to a new city with a new fancy job would distract me from the grief, but now I’m alone in a strange place with nothing and no one familiar. One thing no one tells you about the stages of grief is that they come and go in no particular order. I didn’t start with denial and end with acceptance. I started with depression, which morphed into anger, back to depression, then on to bargaining. Denial popped up during brief moments when my grandma had good days, but then shock and anger reared their ugly heads.
I still vacillate between overwhelming sadness and intense anger at the universe and cancer. However, on rare occasions, I get glimpses of acceptance.
Sniffling into my Peace on Earth pillow, I try shoving those sad, miserable thoughts to the back of my mind. It doesn’t work, but I can’t keep crying myself to sleep every night. My tears will run out eventually, right? Even then, I’m not sure this hole in my heart will ever be filled.
I wipe off my face and sit up, digging through my bag to find my laptop. Opening it up, I create a new mood board on Pinterest for the King’s Holdings Holiday Extravaganza and begin adding photos and notes for inspiration.
I keep replaying the conversation Kingsley and I had earlier. He doesn’t think he likes the holidays, but that’s because he’s never celebrated the right way.
One thing he said is stuck in my brain, and it makes my heart twist painfully every time I think about it.
… just excuses to spend money and numb the feeling of being alive for a few months.
Does he really believe that? How tragic.
The more I search and plan for the party, the more determined I am to make it incredible. Not only for the sake of the season, but for Mr. Bowman. I may not have the warm, fuzzy, magical Christmas I’m used to, but I can give that to Kingsley.
3
KINGSLEY
Iswipe my key card to open the executive elevator that goes directly to the top floor, stepping inside and brushing the snow off my coat. I only live a few blocks from the King’s Holdings building in Manhattan, but it was a rather brisk walk this early in the morning.
The alarm on my watch beeps as the elevator doors open, letting me know I’m right on time. My life runs on a strict schedule. One that I’ve perfected over the years.
Wake up at five, hit the home gym, shower, breakfast at six-fifteen, and out the door by six-forty-five, which leaves me enough time to get into the office by seven o’clock sharp. The only other souls here at this early hour are the security guards and my long-time executive assistant, Ben Sherman.
