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That was seven years ago, but every month he still puts a portion of his income into the joint account we never got around to closing. Every month I tell him I can’t take his money. So he’s got quite the nest egg growing there. If he really wanted to get out of the payments, he could stop. ‘Getting out of alimony’ is Saint code for ‘I’m a big sap who wants my best friend to be happy, even if it’s not with me.’
He loves me. And I love him, but there’s no romance there. No spark.
We stretch and take turns spotting each other and I ignore my dating woes for a little while, intent on counting reps and enjoying the time being Saint’s focus. He lives right next door, but I always appreciate our quality time together. After we’ve worked up a sweat, we typically go out for drinks.
But tonight, Saint grabs my arm and hauls me across the street to the quaint little Elk’s Pass Christmas Market set up in the town square. Main Street is icy and lit up with LED snowflakes hanging off all the streetlights. Holiday displays are lit in practically every storefront. The uniform booths of the Christmas market across the street are bursting with a riot of colorful decorations and a bounty of local artisan crafts. They sell everything from clothing to snacks.
“No!” I protest through a laugh. “Saint, it’s a week before Christmas. The market is going to be packed!”
“Yeah, but I still have to find the perfect ornament for Eliza’s party on Saturday.”
“You haven’t gotten one yet? I bought mine ages ago. It’s a cute little mouse in a tutu. Can’t you have your secretary order something?”
“For your sister’s big party? No, I can’t. You know it has to be something special or else what’s the point? I can’t win the ornament swap with something mass produced.”
I roll my eyes. “Um, you can’t ‘win’ an ornament swap, Saint. It’s not a competition.”
“Ha, you sweet, naïve soul, that’s what you think. There is always a winner. A best ornament of the swap that everyone wants to bring home as soon as they see it. Your cousin Oliver won last year and I will not be defeated again. Come on!” Saint tugs on my arm and levels me with his most irresistibly adorable pouty face.
“God, you know I can’t resist the puppy eyes. No fair.” I put up a final token resistance, shoving his face away.
Saint bats his big blue eyes at me, smiling against my fingers. “Please? Help me find the perfect Christmas ornament for your sister’s party, Carl? Pretty please with sprinkles on top?” he lifts his clasped hands toward me in supplication, the big dork.
“Ugh! You’re impossible.” I can’t hide my smile at his over-the-top charming antics. “Fine. Let’s go find you the winning ornament.”
“Yes!” Saint pumps his fist and whoops in triumph. Then he grabs my hand to cross the road, plunging us both into Christmas-themed chaos. Interlaced webs of garlands and lights hang between the array of craft booths, lighting everything in a festive glow as the bustling crowd of holiday shoppers swallows us whole.
Chapter 2
Nick—December 18th
Standinginthemiddleof a craft booth at the Elk’s Pass Holiday Market is not where I expected to be the week before Christmas. For one, I rarely venture back to my hometown these days. For another, the kitschy yarn crafts ranging from felt garland in nature-themed earthtones to rainbow hued crocheted hats and everything in between that I’m here to sell are as far from the sleek modern stylings of my condo as it is possible to get. But they’re my mother’s work so I catch myself beaming with pride every time a customer coos over the art on display.
Strangers appreciating her work makes me glad I let Mom convince me to run the booth instead of spending the extra time with her. If she had canceled at the last minute, she would have lost the prestigious slot it took her years to secure. I can see why, with the constant stream of customers filing past. There are more people than I’d have thought possible, considering Elk’s Pass doesn’t have a huge population. The market draws tourists from nearby Niagara Falls this time of year.
Returning home to Elk’s Pass, Ontario, when I found out my mom needed surgery was the hardest decision I ever made, even if it is temporary. I have a life in Toronto; friends, an apartment I barely see, a job I don’t hate most of the time, and a favorite coffee shop along my morning commute. My ever-growing bank account almost makes up for my utter lack of free time. Not to mention a string of failed relationships.
I make a mental note that I need to replenish the cute little display tree with more Mom’s felt gnome ornaments. They’ve been particularly popular this season. I can see why; they’re adorable. You can see the love Mom pours into every piece. She’s always been generous with her love, even when I don’t make the time that I should to spend with her.
I haven’t been home for the holidays in ages, but Mom needed me this year. I’ve told her and her best friend Beatrice for years not to rollerblade on the road for their morning constitutional. So I was mostly relieved that she wasn’t hurt worse when she tripped over someone’s badly placed trash when she was showing off her fancy footwork. It could have been so much worse, but the need for major orthopedic surgery took us both by surprise. Even though she was older than most of my peers’ parents growing up, she’s always lived life to the fullest. I don’t like thinking my mom isn’t indestructible.
So no matter how inconvenient the timing is, I’m not heartless enough to leave her in the lurch as she recovers from her hip replacement. It was either move home to help her out or put her in one of those facilities while she recovered. With all the horror stories I read about those sorts of places when I looked into our options—not to mention the ridiculous price tag—it quickly became obvious that I needed to take a leave of absence to be here for her.
Even if being here for her means tidying up the hats she’s got on display after a young couple tries on a dozen of them and leaves them in disarray once they settle on a matching pair.
My boss, Jim, isn’t thrilled that I’m out of the office, and I’ve fielded several calls asking when I’ll be back and requesting quick remote projects. Jim’s not used to me saying no to any amount of overtime. Mom’s not wrong when she says that I work too much, but I always figured she only said that because she wants me to visit more. It never registered until now that she’s getting older and I might have a limited number of Christmases left to spend with her.
I agreed to wrap up some loose ends for a big campaign remotely to get the time off. I didn’t count on needing to take over the craft booth. Mom tried to insist that she could manage the booth on her own with a stool. Tough as she is, there is no way she could be on her feet or even sitting out in the cold for hours on end each day less than a month out from a major surgery. So I had no choice but to handle her craft business for her as a compromise. Between the market and helping Mom around the house, it took me until this past weekend to submit the final files to Jim. We’re down to the wire if the client requests any more last-minute corrections on their boxing day social media ad blitz.
I’m exhausted from pulling double duty, but this is what I signed up for when I agreed to handle everything for Mom during her recovery. And the reminder of her mortality has me feeling guilty for all the years of putting my job over our relationship. At least she’s organized.
Mom had everything for her annual market stall packed up and ready to go, complete with a diagram of how to set up her booth. She even called me for regular video-chat check-ins to micromanage my progress as I was setting up her stall.
Mom’s made her little art pieces for as long as I can remember, but it wasn’t until she retired that she started to actually sell her work. Now she stays busy with a part-time reception job with a local nonprofit, and her crafts. All of her art is selling well. I’ve lost count of the number of people who remark that they’re here for a unique gift idea.
I’m just glad the market has a complementary wrapping booth staffed by volunteer elves. My wrapping skills are not up to the number of requests for gift wrap that I’ve gotten.
The whimsical forest creature tree ornaments that she spent months making by the score are still selling like hotcakes. I’ve barely had time to restock the table with all the sales. So I’m down to a final pair of kissing gnomes on the little display stand tree when two customers reach for the ornament at the same time.
