I’m late.
Can’t be late.
Must be perfect.
Shaking away the stress, I announce, “Emergency meeting, everyone.”
The apartment is silent for half a beat. No one is speaking. I can’t hear their voices. What is happening?
Then…
‘What now?’Basil sighs from his perch near the window, his leaves quivering dramatically. ‘Did you see I was sunning myself?’
“It’s that time of year again,” I tell him as I scoop him away from the window. “The holidays are officially upon us.”
I stride toward the wall of closets where my color-coded calendar dominates the surface of a rolling whiteboard. Each square is still filled in from last year with sticky notes and little fabric flags, like a war map.
‘Ugh.’Fern drapes one feathery frond over the edge of her hanging basket like she’s fainting.‘People. Noise. Glitter.’
I tap the red circle from last year’s Friendsgiving, a green triangle from the lobby tree-trimming party, and a sparkling gold star sticker on Christmas Day.
“This…” I draw a wide arc over all of them with a purple marker “…is our busy season. This is when we shine.”
‘Shiny and busy,’Ivy echoes dreamily from her pot, her vines shaking in excited approval.
Basil snorts.‘If by busy you mean you get to dodge airborne germs and endure screaming children, have at it. I’m glad I’m ahouse plant.’
“This is when people need me.”
The plants go quiet, watching me while I transform the board with this year’s event dates with color markers that range from warm oranges to icy blues.
I slap a sticky note labeledJOY OR ELSEon the top of the calendar.
‘Question,’Basil drawls, more softly this time,‘WillHEbe going with you this year?’
I freeze, a marker hovering over Black Friday.
I then pretend to be deeply interested in straightening the December tabs. “Rhys will be too busy this year,” I say softly. “Like last year. And the year before.”
While I’m representing us at these events, Rhys will be sharpening knives or burying more bodies in the park or whatever else he does when he’s not around.
Ivy rustles.‘You want him to be with you, though.’
“Of course.” I nod, eyes tracing the neat calendar boxes that map out my whole season schedule. “Crowds, cheer, and mandatory merriment aren’t his kind of thing. He doesn’t do sparkle.” My chest tightens just a little. “I mean, I’d love him to just see it all. Feel what it’s like when everything smells like cinnamon and fresh snow. What it feels like when the world is smiling.”
‘Just ask him!’Fern pushes.
“No,” I snap, clicking the marker closed.
‘He’ll have a good time because he’s with you,’Ivy swoons.
‘Mistletoe is wasted on guys like that,’Basil mutters.
I don’t remind him how some people use basil instead of mistletoe. He’ll wilt right in his little pot.
“We’ll manage like we always do,” I say and start plotting the seating chart for Friendsgiving.
In the next two hours, I transform my living room into a command center. The whiteboard calendar dominates the room. It’s color-coded to within an inch of its life withsticky flags, tabs, and notes written with silver and gold glitter pens. Each square is packed corner to corner, the edges teeming with my microscopic handwritten notes and ideas.
