“Bobby is going to be here tonight,” she admits in a small tone.
He’s my ex-boyfriend, but when I say I don’t care, I really mean it. Bobby wasn’t a bad boyfriend, but there was no spark or chemistry between us. The only reason we dated was because my mom and his mom were in love with the idea. We broke up two weeks ago. It was my day, but Bobby seemed relieved when I called it quits.
“I figured he would be. Why does that matter?” I ask. Even if Bobby brought a date, I wouldn’t be jealous. We only make sense as a couple in the holiday movies we star in together.
“Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this,” she says, and her voice gets quieter, the sounds behind her muffled now. “He’s going to propose.”
I gasp, the idea both repulsive and unbelievable. “He isn’t!”
“Well, mom is all for it,” she says.
“And she’s OK with me just being ambushed in public?” I ask and instantly wonder why I even brought it up. Of course, she is. She would love nothing more than for her oldest daughter to get engaged in front of half of North Carolina’s most elite.
Hmm, I wonder if it’s too late to stage a big scene. Two years ago, there was a bit of an uproar because the much older, silver fox who played Santa Claus went outside for a breath of fresh air and kidnapped one of the elves.
He threw the curvy girl onto the back of his bike and took off into the night. Is it crazy that I want that kind of passion when I meet someone?
“I thought you should know,” she says quietly. I don’t miss the sadness in her voice.
I can’t figure out which one of us she’s sadder for. Me who’s about to be proposed to in front of everyone or herself whose boss doesn’t seem to acknowledge that she exists despite the fact that she’s wildly in love with him. Ugh, why are guys like this?
“Thanks for the heads up,” I manage even though the too-tiny-for-my-curvy-frame elf costume suddenly feels much tighter. How can this be happening to me? Am I too young to have a heart attack? Would having a heart attack get me out of this? Or would my mother slip the ring on my finger even as the surgeon performed a triple bypass?
“Are you still coming? I can tell everyone you’re sick.”
It’s an appealing option. But I’m not leaving Joy to fight my battles. It’s always been the two of us together ever since we were kids. “I’ll be there.”
We say our goodbyes, and I sigh heavily. By the end of the night, I might just be an engaged woman if I don’t figure something out. Sure, I could tell him no. But news of my public rejection will make the rounds in a matter of minutes thanks to social networks.
Next, there will be interview requests from the media, countless videos from fans analyzing the “tell-tale signs” in our movies, and of course, the worst thing of all–a devaluation of company stock.
The dash for the car dings, interrupting my spiral. I’m not sure what that little symbol is. It’s definitely not gas since this is an electric car, a rental because my own convertible is in the shop.
“You should still be good for a while,” I say out loud. The guy at the rental place insisted the tiny vehicle was fully charged and capable of going for three hundred miles, far less than I actually needed.
The car retaliates by sputtering to a slow stop. I guide it to the side of the mountain. For a moment, I sit in silence. I watch the snow flurries and wonder what would happen if I walked away from it all. Will the world collapse if I’m not there to keep it spinning?
Frosty makes another impatient noise, and I know his little bladder has to be getting close to maximum capacity.
“You can potty then I’ll get on the phone. We’ll be out of here in no time,” I tell him with more confidence than I feel. I’m not sure where I am…or if I want to be found.
After Frosty has relieved his bladder and I’ve given him extra snuggles, I reach for my phone. It had plenty of bars and connection a few minutes ago, but now, there’s nothing.
Despite the fact I know it won’t work, I still try to call my sister twice before admitting defeat. I debate using emergency services then decide this isn’t an emergency. There are real people who need help. I just need to walk back down this mountain and find someone to give me a ride.
I’ve only passed one other vehicle on this mountain road. It was a pickup truck.
“Well, if there’s a truck, then someone lives on this road. We can hike to their house and ask to use a phone,” I say to Frosty, trying to think through my plan out loud.
He makes a growl, and I sigh. “Yes, I know that’s how urban legends start, but I don’t have any better ideas. Do you?”
He puts his head down on his paws, which I take to mean no.
“All right then, it looks like we are going on foot.” As soon as I say that, I glance down at my feet. I’m wearing green slippers with jingle bells glued to them.
My poor toes are going to be cold and wet before this is over. But I don’t see that we have much of a choice. Hopefully, if I’m lucky, we’re close to the house where the driver lives.
I put Frosty back in his little booties to protect his paws then the two of us start down the road. My shoes jingle with every step, mocking me and making me hate Christmas a little bit more.
