I mutter, “Come on, girl. We’re getting out of here.”
Pookie yips—a sound like a squeaky toy—and burrows into my arms.
Lilith’s key fob is on the table next to the crystal bowl of chocolate-covered raisins she insists I have on my rider—candy she claims is her favorite but doesn’t eat.
I don’t think. I just go.
Practically dashing through the labyrinthine halls of the venue, I find my way to the parking garage. This is the first time I’ve been alone—well, I have Pookie—in as long as I can remember. I pass a few employees clad in black, but no one looks twice at me. Likely, because seeing me out of context, that is, not surrounded by an entourage, doesn’t tip them off that THE Rebecca Rios just hustled by, practically at a sprint. Or, they’ve been trained not to interact with the talent. Lilith has scolded more than a few well-meaning staff at events for “bothering” me. To be fair, she’s more of a pest than someone who wants a signature or selfie for their granddaughter.
After clicking the button on the key fob a few times, causing the door lock beep to echo in the underground space, I locate Lilith’s rental.
It’s been a while since I’ve been behind the wheel, but I press the accelerator and take off like Rudolph on his first trip leading Santa’s sleigh.
The city lights blur past as I drive, Pookie perched on the passenger seat of the hybrid car, her tiny body shivering despite her rhinestone-studded jacket.
“I know, Pooks. I know.”
We’re on the run and I’m not mad about it, but it’s enough to rattle my mini pug’s nerves.
My phone buzzes incessantly in the cupholder. Lilith. My publicist. My social media manager. Everyone wants a piece of me, needs something, and demands my time.
As if I’ve been chewing on tinsel, suddenly I can’t breathe.
Can’t think. It’s like I have my twinkle lights in a tangle.
“I just want one normal Christmas. Is that too much to ask?” My voice bounces around the car’s interior.
Pookie looks up at me as if that’s doubtful.
My mouth literally waters at the thought of baking cookies with Mom. The idea of sitting by the fire my dad builds with our stockings hanging on the mantel is as cozy as a greeting card. Watching my brother try to assemble toys on Christmas Eve without the instructions because he’s so stubborn makes me look forward to laughing with Lindy, his wife. Being Auntie Becca, not Rebecca Rios, for a day sounds like a dream.
The phone buzzes again and again. Each time, I keep driving. I don’t look back. Before I know it, several hours have passed.
The phone rings, trills, beeps, barks at me some more.
Pookie, having given up on me making a U-turn, snores softly in the passenger seat. I tune the car’s radio to a Christmas station, but the incessant demand of my phone interrupts the cadence of “Oh Holy Night.”
Without thinking, I roll down the window and chuck my phone into the darkness. The dog rouses and sits at attention, scowling at me for letting in an arctic blast. I roll up the window.
The immediate silence is glorious. Then terrifying.
“Oh no. Pookie, I just threw my phone out the window.”
She tilts her head with concern.
Alone on the road, I pull over, retracing my path, squinting into the snowy darkness. Fat flakes drift through my headlight beams, and the faraway glow of an urban horizon suggests that I’m somewhere in the mountains. When did that happen?
Rapidly turning into a chilly penguin, I manage to search for five minutes, pacing up and down the road’s shoulder, before giving up.
I’m not equipped for this, never mind dressed for it. My stage outfit—a sparkly pale blue and white dress Lilith dubbed “sexy snow princess” that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent—offers zero warmth. My heels are veritable skyscrapers. I’d be better off wearing ice skates. And Pookie’s rhinestone jacket is outrageous, even for a spoiled little pug.
I get back in the electric car and keep driving before it conks out.
The phone is gone, buried under fresh powder or smashed on the freeway. Either way, I’m officially unreachable.
“Well, Pookie, looks like we’re going old school. No GPS. No maps. Just us and the open road.”
Except the open road is quickly becoming a winter wonderland.
