ONE
MARISSA
Finding a parking space at Trader Joe’s during the holiday season was basically the equivalent of landing a seat on a spaceship to get launched intoactualspace.
“Come on, you can do this.” Marissa waited patiently in her own car, nodding encouragement to the woman unsuccessfully attempting to back over a snow berm. It was questionable whether the spot she was vacating was a bona fide space, but at this point, Marissa would have parked at the summit of Mt. Bachelor and trekked through a blizzard just to get inside.
Tonight had to go well.
Her entire future was riding on the success of the Graff family Christmas party, and she had no time to waste.
A car skidded behind her. Marissa clutched the steering wheel and braced for impact. But, instead, the car screeched past, narrowly missing her bumper. As it passed, Marissa saw the driver, clearly overcome with the bustle of the holiday shopping season and the ridiculously narrow parking spaces, wincing in distress and waving an apology.
“You’re good. Happy holidays,” Marissa shouted over Bing Crosby crooning on the radio. She wished she could fully embrace the holiday spirit, minuscule parking spaces and all.This was supposed to be the happiest time of the year. But her business was weighing heavily on her mind; if she didn’t turn things around, she would be out in the cold—literally.
She shifted down and steered her car as the shopper in front of her finally vacated the space. One thing had to go right today. She needed a victory, even if it was just a parking space at the most popular grocery store in Central Oregon.
A frigid wind blew the snow sideways as she grabbed her reusable bags from the back seat. She tugged the zipper on her puffy buffalo plaid parka all the way up and trekked toward the front of the store. Pre-cut noble firs, blue spruce Christmas trees, and garlands of evergreen and fragrant wreaths adorned with dried berries and clementines flanked each side of the entrance. A youth choir serenaded shoppers with their rendition of “Jingle Bells” while a volunteer in a Santa hat shook his bell in time with the music, encouraging people to drop their spare change in his shiny donation kettle.
Marissa dug through her pockets, added what little she had to the pot, and made a beeline for the shopping carts. It was just her luck that the only available cart dripped with soggy, wet snow.
Classic.
She chuckled asshe wiped the handle with the sleeve of her parka as best she could and set off on her familiar route through the crowded aisles. Within thirty minutes, she was inching toward the cash register with a cart overflowing with Manchego, Brie, and cranberry goat cheeses, salami, prosciutto, crackers, baguettes, veggies, berries, pesto, chocolates, gingersnap cookies, and bouquets of Christmas lilies, holly, rosemary, and crimson roses.
She held her breath as the cashier rang up her total.
Please let me have enough to cover this.
She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and avoided eye contact with the cashier.
Tonight’s party was going to drain her bank account for sure. Thankfully, her client had paid half up front, so if she had added correctly while loading her cart and didn’t run out of gas on her way to the Graff mansion, she should be back in the black when they settled up later tonight.
The thought sent a twitch rumbling through her stomach. Her self-imposed deadline for vacating her parents’ house was looming.
The steady beep of her bill growing larger with each item the cashier scanned taunted her.
Please come in under budget.
Please come in under budget.
She offered a silent prayer to the universe.
This was Yes, Cheese’s last shot.
When she’d made the bold move to leave her stable yet miserable corporate job to follow her dream of owning a food-arranging business, her parents had been incredibly supportive. She had shown them her business plan and pricing guidelines for custom cheese boards, charcuterie, grazing tables, and specialty dessert and brunch boards. They’d readily agreed to let her move home while she got the business off the ground and established a clientele.
She had assumed it would take her six months to save enough to support herself, so she set a firm date of the end of the year to either make it on her own or drag herself back to her soulless corporate job. Her parents had been nothing but generous. They would let her stay indefinitely, but she refused to take advantage of their hospitality.
And frankly, she couldn’t stomach her bank account constantly hovering near zero.
“That’ll be five hundred and seventy-eight dollars and thirty-one cents,” the cashier said, shaking Marissa back into the moment.
Marissa swiped her debit card and gulped hard.
Come on, let there be enough cash to cover this.
The last time she had checked her balance, she had five hundred and eighty-five dollars in her account, but that was before she had splurged on a holiday peppermint-bark mocha and a double chocolate biscotti.
