Chapter 1
Valerie
Thewhitepuffsflutteringpast my window are the most recent thing to mock me and my hatred for this time of year. Wreaths and garlands decorating this tiny town I call home have been doing it for weeks.
It’s all just another reminder of Gram’s holiday party, which is fast approaching. This will be the fourth year in a row I show up without a date, and the fourth year in a row I get to hear Gram begging me to “hurry my little ass up” because she’s “not going to live forever.”
Bullshit. I’m convinced that tough old broad is going to outlive usall.Death could show up at her doorstep and she’d laugh in his face.
Constant reminders that time is ticking away are the only part of Gram’s party that I don’t love. She’s fully incorporated our whole family into the festivities. She's mastered both our Christmas and Jewish traditions, not to mention all the delicious cooking to go along with them. Her Latkes are almost better than my cousin, Sarah’s, even though she was the one to teach Gram. But that's just how she is when it comes to any food she's tried her hand at.
Not just our traditional Italian, but everything. Chinese, Mexican, Irish, traditional English breakfast. Hell, she even rolls her own sushi like a pro. She’s quite talented in the kitchen, and few things are more of a delicacy than her soufflé, which I’ve never seen turn out any less than perfect.
I may hold her on pedestal, but she's earned her place there. The fact that she’s been a staple in my life since day one may have a little something to do with it, too. I can’t remember a single holiday or birthday that Gram wasn’t right there next to me, the biggest smile in the whole room on her face. She’s always shown up to any of my events, always cheered the loudest as one of my biggest supporters. It’s hard when she has ten grandkids to do those things for, but I always felt special, like her favorite.
Which is why it’s extra frustrating that she’s on my case about finding a “suitor,” as she likes to call it. When I try to remind her this isn’t the same as when she was younger, that we don’t call them that anymore, she tells me it’s nonsense, because any man showing up at my door and wanting to woo me is, in fact, a suitor.
I watch the flakes fall as I chew the inside of my cheek. Showing up alone, again, will surely lead to some sort of trouble. I don't think I can hold myself together five years in a row. But what does one do when you’re more single than ever before?
A heavy sigh leaves my lips and fogs the window in front of me. I can’t help the urge to make a sad face in the condensation.
It’s not like I don’t talk to Gram regularly, but being told I’m wasting my precious time in front of family adds a little extra pain to the situation.
Without pulling my gaze from the falling snow, I take my phone from my back pocket and call my best friend. “Abbs. I need help.”
“What’s up, Val? How can I be of assistance tonight?” Pots bang around in the background, and I know she’s busy prepping dinner for her family. Just another reminder of what I could have, but don’t.
“Do you or Brad know of any single guys who may be available to come with me to Gram’s on Christmas?”
“OnChristmas? Are you nuts?” The way she says it, I can practically imagine her putting down whatever she’s doing and resting her hands on the counter.
“No? Come on, Abbs, I’m desperate.”
There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again. “Desperate, you say? How desperate?”
Suddenly, I don’t like where this is going. “Um, very?”
“Have you heard of the Holidates app?”
“No.” My hesitation makes it sound more like a question.
“It’s a dating app designed specifically for finding a date for the holiday, whichever one you need. You just create a profile and look for somebody who’s available and meets your likes and needs. If you’re that stuck, give it a shot.”
“I don’t know about that, Abbs. I’m not big on those dating app things.” Which is an understatement. She’s been trying to get me to sign up for one for years, and I’ve always said no. She even went so far as to create me a dating profile once, but I never did anything with it.
“Do you really have much room to complain, or be picky? I mean, youarestill single. Maybe you shouldn’t be so selective about how you find men. Or about the men, in general.” That last part is a very specific jab about my last boyfriend, whom I had about six months ago and lasted all of two months.
“He wasn’t for me. I couldn’t string him along.”
“Nobodyis for you, apparently.” A scream in the background makes me pull the phone from my ear. “Listen, I gotta go before all hell breaks loose, but try the app and try not to be so damn picky while you do. Love you.”
The phone clicks dead before I get a chance to respond. That’s often how our conversations end these days.
The Holidates app. I pull it up in my phone store and give it a look. I really have no other choices if I don’t want to be alone at the get-together this year. With one quick tap, it's downloaded and without any more hesitation, I quickly hit open before I can change my mind.
“Well, here goes nothing.”
Chapter 2
