Three Christmas Wishes

It only took her half an hour to go through every tissue in the box. She needed something sturdier. Paper towels.

There on the kitchen counter, next to the paper towel dispenser, sat the pumpkin pies. She wished she hadn’t offered to bring them. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. She loved to bake, and Mom had her hands full with the rest of dinner. She’d been excited to show off her culinary artwork to the rest of the family, imagined the oohs and aahs as everyone savored each pumpkiny bite.

No way did she want to go to the family dinner now, not when life as she knew it had come to an end. She put the pies in the fridge and called her sister.

“Hey, there,” Jo answered. “Gobble, gobble.”

Gobble, gobble. Happy Thanksgiving. “I can’t go to Mom and Dad’s,” Riley wailed.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You have to come get the pies.”

“What do you mean? Are you sick?”

“It’s Sean. He...he...”

“He’s sick.”

“No.”

“He’s dead!”

“Nooo.”

“Then what? Oh, no. He broke up with you,” Jo guessed, quickly arriving at the correct conclusion. There was only one thing as bad as Sean dying, and he had done it.

“Y-yes,” Riley sobbed.

“What’s his problem?”

“Emily.”

“Emily?”

“They’re...they’re...” Riley couldn’t finish the sentence.

“That be-atch,” Jo growled. “That sneaky little fake friend. I’ll be right over.”

The pie problem solved, Riley took the roll of paper towels and returned to the couch. Maybe she’d see if Jo could bring home some leftovers for her...in case she ever wanted to eat again. She hated to miss Thanksgiving dinner but the thought of facing everyone was more than she could bear. She’d be a real dinner buzzkill, sitting there like the world’s biggest loser, crying into her candied yams.

Ten minutes later Jo was at the door. And not only Jo but Mom and Grammy, too, neither of whom would leave the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day unless the world was coming to an end. Oh, no. This was so humiliating.

Until they rushed her and gave her a group hug, everyone standing in the entryway like a giant amoeba.

The amoeba slowly moved to the living room, Grammy and Mom flanking Riley on the couch, and Jo and her giant tummy settling in a nearby chair.

“That boy,” Grammy said in disgust. “I never liked him. He was selfish.” This was because at Thanksgiving the year before, Sean had eaten the last piece of huckleberry pie, which Grammy had planned on taking home and having for breakfast the next morning. It hadn’t mattered that he’d been unaware of her plans for that piece of pie. As far as she was concerned, he still shouldn’t have eaten it.

More evidence of how unworthy Sean was began to come out. “Remember how cheap he was on Valentine’s Day?” Jo reminded Riley. “A bag of M&Ms instead of a box of chocolates.”

“But I like M&Ms,” Riley said.

“It was still cheap. And he didn’t even take you to a nice restaurant. Bubba’s Bar-B-Q? Really?”

“You’re well rid of him,” Mom agreed. “Heaven knows who else he’s cheated with this past year.”

“Now, there’s something to be thankful for,” said Grammy.

“That he cheated on me?”

“That you discovered what a weaselly cheater he is before you got married.”

“He had to wait till three weeks before the wedding to do it?” The humiliation, the disappointment. Oh, the wrongness of it all.

“That is a little inconvenient,” Mom conceded. “But nothing we can’t handle. We’ll start calling the guests tonight.”

“I’ll text all the cousins,” Jo offered.

“See? It’s going to be fine,” Mom assured Riley.

“And look on the bright side,” Jo added. “Now you don’t have to work out at the gym.”

No. Emily would be doing that, right alongside Sean. Riley sniffed.

“One less Christmas present to buy,” Grammy said with a nod that made her glasses bob on her nose.

Christmas. Riley had been envisioning their first Christmas as a married couple—getting up in the morning and drinking hot chocolate, opening their presents. She’d already bought Sean’s, a tool set she’d found online with everything from wrenches to Phillips screwdrivers. Well, she needed a tool set. And she could still drink hot chocolate.

All by herself. She burst into fresh tears.

“We’re not going to let this ruin our Thanksgiving,” Mom said firmly.

Was she kidding? “I’m not coming,” Riley said.

“Not coming!” Mom and Grammy chorused.

“I can’t.” How could they expect her to face everyone after what had just happened?

“Now, baby,” Grammy said, putting an arm around Riley’s shoulders, “When you take a fall you have to climb back on the horse.”

“I didn’t fall,” Riley protested. “I was dumped.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mom said. “Your grandmother’s right. You don’t want to be alone at a time like this. You need your family. And besides, if you sit here and mope, think of the power you’re giving him.”

“I’m not giving him any power. I’m just... Guys, can’t you let me mourn?”

“Absolutely not,” Mom insisted. “Now, go shower and dress. We’ll wait.”

Once Mom and Grammy made up their minds, arguing did about as much good as trying to stick to a diet in a bakery. Riley trudged off to the shower.

As she went, Grammy started singing some old song about washing that man right out of her hair. Funny.

After Riley was cleaned up, Mom and Grammy loaded her and the pies in Mom’s car and hauled her back to the house while Jo went home to put the finishing touches on her cranberry salad.

“How’s my girl?” her father asked, folding her into his big arms.

“Miserable.”

“Don’t be. Forget about that clown. Anyone stupid enough not to want to be with you doesn’t deserve you. I never thought he was good enough for you, anyway.”

And that was the general consensus as the family gathered for their annual Thanksgiving feast.

“Men are beasts,” said Aunt Gertrude, making Uncle Earl frown.

“Good riddance,” said Riley’s brother, Harold. “He’s a tool.”

“That’s bad,” explained his seven-year-old daughter, Caitlyn.

Harold worked out at Sean’s gym a lot. “Did you know he and...” Riley couldn’t bear to mention her false friend’s name. “Did you know what he was doing?”

“Would you pass the stuffing, Aunt Gert?” Harold said, trying to dodge the question.

“Harold, did you?” She knew the answer before he even spoke. Guilt was painting a red flush on his face.

But he shook his head. “Not for sure. There was a lot of flirting going on and I thought that was tacky. You’re well rid of him, sis.”

Maybe she was, but the loss hurt all the same and it was hard to be thankful.

Still, by the end of the day she felt somewhat better. Everyone had complimented her on her pumpkin pies. Her aunt Ellen told her how nice she looked and asked her if she’d lost weight. She’d played Go Fish with Jo, her sister-in-law and her niece and had actually managed to forget her miseries for an hour or two.

Until she got back home to her empty apartment and realized it was going to stay empty for a long time to come. Maybe forever. Oh, there was a comforting thought.

Mom had sent home the last piece of pie with her, along with some stuffing and gravy and turkey. She’d planned to have them for lunch the next day. But, like the saying went, life was uncertain. She decided to eat dessert first. Maybe tomorrow she’d bake pumpkin squares. To heck with never eating again. She was going to eat away her sorrows, turn herself into a blimp. Who cared?

She took one bite of the pie and then tossed it in the garbage. Pumpkin pie was a poor substitute for a fiancé.

She was working up to another good cry when her sister called. “I know you’re feeling sorry for yourself again.”

Sometimes older sisters could be real stinkers. “I’d say I have a right to.”

“Yeah, you do, but I have a better idea than sitting around feeling miserable for the next six months.”

She wasn’t planning on feeling miserable for the next six months. More like the next six years. “What?” Riley asked suspiciously.

“Girlfriend party. Pack a bag. Noel’s on her way to pick you up.”

“You told Noel?”

“Yeah, since she’s your oldest friend and your maid of honor. Thought she’d need to know.”

Yes, of course, Noel had to be told. Still, this felt as if her sad news was spreading faster than gossip on Twitter. In fact, it would probably be on Twitter before the day was over. Maybe it already was. Maybe Sean had tweeted. Happy Thanksgiving. Dumped my girlfriend. Gobble, gobble.

“You wanted to give her the happy news yourself?” Jo retorted.

Good point. She supposed she should be thankful her sister was telling people so she wouldn’t have to.

“Come on, we’ll drink eggnog and play Farkle. Then tomorrow we can hit the Black Friday sales and get you some new clothes, give you a break-over.”

A breakup makeover; that did sound tempting.

“You don’t really want to be by yourself, do you?” Jo continued.

“No,” Riley admitted. She had enough of that being-by-herself stuff looming in the future.

“Older sister knows best,” Jo teased.

“Sometimes.” In this case she probably did. Who better to help Riley recover than her sister and her best friend?

Noel, who had gone through a breakup a few months earlier, understood exactly how she felt. “It sucks,” she said as Riley dropped her overnight bag in the trunk of Noel’s old clunker. “I swear there aren’t any decent men left out there,” she said once they were in her car and on their way. “Jo got the last one. No, I take that back. My sister did. Which is great, of course. I’m happy for Aimi.” Noel sighed heavily.

Great. She was almost as depressed as Riley. Before the night was over they’d probably both wind up stretched out on Pine Street in the middle of downtown, praying to get run over by a reindeer. Except it was too early for Santa and his reindeer to be out cruising.

“I think the male population in Whispering Pines is shrinking.” Noel heaved another sigh. Then she cast a guilty look in Riley’s direction. “But you know what? We’re not going to think about that tonight,” she said with a determined nod.

“Thirty-one, and there’s still no one, not even a glimpse of someone on the horizon,” Noel said a millisecond later.

Jilted brides and empty horizons—oh, yes, this was going to be a fun evening.

Another guilty glance shot Riley’s way. “I’m sorry. Listen to me, going on like Princess Pitiful when you’re the one who’s suffering. I’m sorry, Riley. I’m sorry Sean was such a jerk and Emily was such a rotten friend. But like I said, we’re not going to think about that. Tonight we’re going to have fun.”

Fun.

Noel pointed a finger at nothing in particular. “You know, I never really liked her. Remember when we were at her place and she had that box of chocolates on the counter? She never offered to share. And they were Godiva! What kind of friend doesn’t share her chocolates?”

That had been last month. Had those chocolates come from Sean?

They drove through downtown (which took all of five minutes). Santa’s elves had already been busy because twinkle lights now dangled over Pine Street, and the light posts were decorated with giant candy canes and red ribbons. Everything looked festive and happy. Happy holidays. Bah, humbug.

“But you know what?” Noel continued as they turned the corner onto Jo’s block. “Tonight is all about forgetting your troubles, and we’re not—”

“—going to think about it,” Riley finished with her. She was glad when they reached Jo’s house. Maybe now they really could stop thinking. And talking.

Jo was still looking picture-perfect in her maternity jeans and black sweater, an Italian charm bracelet dangling from her wrist. No matter how tired she got, she always managed to look perfect. The eggnog was ready, spiked for Riley, alcohol-free for Jo and Noel, who wasn’t much of a drinker.

“Eggnog!” Noel cried happily. “That’s enough to make us forget our troubles.”

“Until we step on the scale tomorrow,” Jo cracked and took a sip of hers. “Except I’m drinking for two. Probably for another nine months at the rate I’m going. This baby’s taking her own sweet time.”

“She’ll be here any day,” Riley said. Her sister was having a girl and had the ultrasound to prove it. She also had a dresser full of cute outfits so her little girl could be as stylin’ as she was.

“I’m ready. I’m more than ready. I have cleaned this house from top to bottom.”

“It looks great,” said Noel.

Jo’s house always looked great. It was like an ad for Crate & Barrel. Chocolate-brown leather sofa and matching chairs, an expensive, thick throw rug over hardwood floors, her cupboards stocked with artisan stoneware. Tonight an arrangement of fall flowers in a long vase sat on her antique dining table, and she had a balsam-scented candle burning.

“I even cleaned the grout in the shower,” she told them. “Mom says it’s that final burst of energy before the baby comes. I sure hope she knows what she’s talking about. I’d like to see my feet again.”

“I thought expectant mothers were supposed to, like, glow,” Noel said with a frown.

“I left glowing behind two months ago,” Jo informed her.

“But you’re going to have a baby!”

Jo did smile at that and rubbed her bulging belly.

Wait a minute. What was wrong with her sister’s smile? The lips were in the right position but something was missing.

“Are you all right?” Riley asked her.

“Me? Of course I’m all right.”

“Are you sure?”

Jo’s chin went up a notch, a sign that she wasn’t all right at all.

Riley’s stomach started churning her eggnog. She set down her mug. “What’s going on?”

Jo shrugged and downed the last of her drink. “Nothing.”

“Okay, something is definitely wrong,” Riley said.

“Not really wrong, just...not right. I don’t know if I want to stay married to Mike.”

Riley could feel her eyes bugging. “What? You and Mike have a great marriage. What are you talking about?”

“There’s nothing great about him being gone all the time,” Jo snapped. “He wants to re-up.”

“Reenlist? You guys already talked about that,” Riley said.

“We did. And I thought we had it settled. Obviously, we don’t, not according to the email I just got.” Jo frowned. “All he can see is that big bonus he’ll get. He thinks we need it now that we’ve got the baby coming.”

“Well, his motives are good,” said Noel.

“No, they’re not. He’s just being greedy.”

“Maybe he’s worried about finding a job once he gets out,” Riley suggested. Mike was a nice guy. He would never cheat on his woman. Jo had no idea how lucky she was.

“He’d have no trouble getting a job. He’ll be in high demand. That’s why they’re offering him such a big signing bonus. I told him it’s either me or the navy. If he re-ups it’s anchors aweigh. We’re through.”

Jo had dashed all over the emotional landscape during the last few months. Riley was sure this was simply one more case of whacked-out hormones. “You shouldn’t make any big decision like that right now. And anyway, Mike loves you. And you’re about to have a baby, for crying out loud.”

Tears started leaking from Jo’s eyes. “I don’t want to raise this baby alone.”

“You won’t be,” Riley assured her. “Yeah, Mike goes out to sea but he always comes back to you.”

“He’s gone for months at a time,” Jo said, wiping her eyes.

“But we’re all here.”

“It’s not the same. In the end it’ll be me and Annabelle alone in this place. It’ll be me up all night when she’s sick, just me at the PTO meetings and the school plays. He’ll be off...somewhere, keeping the world safe. Super Squid in a sub,” Jo said bitterly.

“But think how noble—he’s serving his country,” Noel pointed out.

“I know, but he’s been doing it for eight years. Isn’t that enough? Can’t he let someone else take a turn?”

This was obviously a rhetorical question, so Riley didn’t respond. Instead she said, “You really need to think about this, sis. If you split with Mike you’ll be even more alone.”

“I’ll replace him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Riley said sternly.

Jo sighed. “I don’t know what I mean. I’m just so...mad.”

It was all Riley could do not to tell her to get over it. But that would be unkind and not very helpful. This was hormones talking. Had to be. So she decided to say, “Mike’s a good man, and it’s darn hard to find a good man.” This was something she was now an expert on.

“Yeah, he’s practically perfect,” Noel added.

“There’s no such thing as a perfect man,” Jo said in disgust.

“I’ll settle for almost perfect,” Noel said.

“I’ll settle for playing Farkle,” Riley said. Sheesh. This was supposed to be a girlfriend party to cheer her up. At the rate they were going, they’d all be lying down in the middle of Pine Street waiting to get run over by a reindeer. “Come on, let’s have fun. No more talk of men. Okay?”

Noel nodded. “I agree.”

“Me, too,” Jo said and fetched the game.

For the next two hours they played games. Then they turned on the Hallmark Channel and watched a Christmas movie. “The guys in these movies are all so great,” Noel said with a sigh as the ending credits rolled.

“That’s because they’re not real,” Jo said. “If you sit around waiting for the perfect man you’ll be on your buttsky for a long time.”

“Thanks,” Noel muttered. “You sure know how to inspire a girl.”

“Just sayin’.” Jo heaved a sigh. “Oh, never mind me. I’m cranky. And I’m pooped. You guys feel free to stay up as long as you want, but my daughter and I are going to bed so we’ll be ready to hit the mall tomorrow.” She waddled off to her bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “Leave the mess. We can clean it up in the morning.”

“I’m tired, too,” Riley said. It had been a long day and she suddenly felt the weight of all her misery. She stacked the empty popcorn bowls and grabbed a couple of glasses.

“Me, too,” Noel said, picking up the rest of the mess. “Do you think your sister’s right?” she asked as they loaded the dishwasher.

“About what?” Not about Mike, that was for sure.

“About there being no such thing as a perfect man.”

“Well, none of us is perfect, but I hope there’s such a thing as the perfect man for me,” said Riley.

Maybe someday, somewhere, she’d find him.

Chapter Three

The problem with writing children’s stories was that the only men you met were A) editors, who were either married or gay; B) happily married stay-at-home dads who brought their children to author appearances (where were the single dads these days?); and C) little boys who came to those author appearances (all those adorable little boys—where were the big ones?). Even Noel’s landlord was a woman. Mrs. Bing was fifty-something and you’d think she’d have had a son but no. Actually, considering what Mrs. Bing looked like, that was probably just as well.

So, naturally, Noel had been thrilled when Donny Lockhart walked into Java Josie’s one rainy fall morning. Noel had been seated at a table, working on her latest project with her gingersnap latte within easy reach. It was a Saturday, practically the only day of the week besides Sunday that she got out of her jammie bottoms and got out of the house. The coffee shop was packed with people. Tables were scarce. He’d asked if he could share hers. Donny was tall and cute with red hair and freckles and trendy glasses. Of course she’d said yes.

He’d taken out his tablet and gotten to work, typing away. There was no “Hey, we’re both redheads.” No “Crappy weather we’re having, huh?” No “What are you drinking? It looks good.” No “Wow, are you an artist?”

She could’ve asked him what he was working on, but she didn’t have the nerve. All kinds of clever words poured out of her when she was working on her Marvella Monster books but when it came to picking up guys, she was more of a Timid Tillie Titmouse.

It wasn’t that she was ugly. She was okay-looking. She just...well, all those years of wearing glasses before they became a fashion statement, coupled with braces and a few extra pounds (the kiss of death when you were in high school) had messed with her self-esteem. That, plus being a bit of a nerd. Who wanted a nerd when you could hook up with a cheerleader? That had become her belief and she’d kept it all through college, which left the shelves in the boyfriend department pretty bare. If a guy got things started, she was fine, but it was hard to put herself out there and make the first move, even though the glasses had been replaced with contacts and the extra pounds had long since disappeared.

So she’d sighed inwardly and gone back to sketching the illustrations for her latest Marvella book, Marvella and the Monster Under Mary’s Bed.

She’d just finished sketching Marvella pulling a protesting green gremlin out from under the hapless Mary’s bed when someone spoke. “Are you an artist?”

Mr. Cute Glasses was talking to her? “Yes.” Now, there was an area where she had complete confidence. “I’m a children’s book author but I illustrate all my own books.” That in itself was quite an accomplishment, if she did say so herself. Not many people could do both well.

“Yeah?” He’d leaned over and checked out Marvella, who was upside down. She’d turned her sketch tablet around so he could see her creation better.

“You’re really good.”

She’d smiled modestly and thanked him. Now that the conversational gate was open, she’d had no problem asking, “What about you? What do you do?”

His cheeks had turned a little pink. “I’m between jobs at the moment. What I want to do is be a writer.”

A kindred soul! “Really? What do you want to write?”

“Legal thrillers. You know, like John Grisham.”

“I love him.” Something else they had in common. “So is that what you’re working on right now?”

His cheeks had gone from pink to red. “Actually, no. I’m, uh, writing something different, along the lines of Fifty Shades.”

She’d felt her own cheeks sizzling. She’d tried to watch the movie, but her eyes had started to melt five minutes in. Her life was more like fifty shades of white.

“I heard there’s big money in romance novels,” he’d said, “so I thought I’d start there.”

“That sounds like a plan,” she’d said, at a loss for anything better. She knew quite a few writers, and none of them were in it for the money. They wrote because they loved to write. Still, she supposed it was good to be practical.

Donny had introduced himself and they’d wound up talking for twenty minutes until he’d checked his cell phone and announced that he had to go. Writers group meeting.

But before he left, he’d gotten her phone number and promised to call.

Lo and behold, he had. They’d dated hot and heavy for six glorious months. Six months of foreign films at The Orpheum. Lunch at Lettuce Love, since lunch was cheaper than dinner and Donny was on a budget...so of course she always offered to pay and he always let her. (Very secure in who he was as a man.) Six months of open mike on Monday nights at Java Josie’s, where aspiring writers read their work. (Donny always read. His stuff was...well, he was still a beginner. He had room to grow.)

Six months of Donny asking her if her agent represented romance novelists, if she could edit his latest chapter, what she thought of his new scene. Six months of Donny talking about Donny and his dreams and very little talking about Noel and hers. Six months of him looking for a job to support himself while he finished his novel and finding nothing and continuing to live in his parents’ basement. Of him asking if he could borrow ten bucks and then forgetting to pay her back. Six months before she finally realized that Donny was cute and creative—and self-centered and a user. After six months, Donny was history. The last time she saw him at the coffee shop he was hitting on a blonde in a business suit. So much for true love.