“Are you in the technology sector too?” a woman with a sleek black bob and a delicate crystal wine glass in her hand asked me. She was wearing slim tuxedo pants, a flowing gray top, and heels.
I gritted my teeth and tried to smile.
“No, I run a Christmas tree ornament shop.”
Matt’s mother laughed. “You couldn’t possibly be making any money. What on earth?”
“To be fair,” I said, feeling the sweat start to pool under my sleeveless dress, “I had to pivot to selling cookies.”
“She sells out every afternoon,” Matt said, coming to my defense.
“Quite a lot of money to pivot quickly in the middle of the Christmas season,” Matt’s father said, eyes narrowing like he was daring Matt to confirm what he had been thinking.
They are going to think you are a gold digger!I inwardly shrieked. I very much needed a glass of wine. And probably a slice of cake.
“I helped her,” Matt said, leveling his gaze at his father.
I mentally face-palmed.
Appreciate the sentiment, but maybe a white lie would be better given the situation? Like, pretend I have a rich aunt or put it on a credit card.
His parents’ already low opinion of me dropped even lower.
“That’s great that Matt was there to help you fix your business,” the woman with the black bob said. “He’s always been a businessman.”
“Speaking of,” Diane said, “a few people here were asking about you.” Matt kissed my cheek then followed his parents into the house.
“Feel like helping a sister out and telling me where you found that wine?” I asked weakly, turning to the woman with the black bob. “Also”—I hefted the éclairs—“do you know where I should put these? Is there a dessert table?”
There was a dessert table near the wine station. However, everything was carefully curated and decorated in the large living-dining area that had been converted to the party space.
The dessert table held a three-tiered crystal platter with delicate macrons. The rest of the empty space on the table was taken up by garlands and expensive, Christmas-themed knickknacks.
I carefully pushed some of the garlands aside so I could set down my éclair Christmas tree. But then one of the metal ornaments fell on the polished hardwood floor with a clang.
“Whoops, I’ll just grab that,” I said, mouth feeling dry. The ornament was a little dented, so I stuffed it back among the garlands, dent side down, then stood in line for a glass of wine.
“What can I make for you?” the smiling bartender asked.
“Literally anything alcoholic.”
I wandered around the large house as I sipped my wine. Most people ignored me like I was the Ghost of Christmas Present.
Maybe I’ll just put the éclairs in the kitchen, I decided.Then I’ll find Matt.
I didn’t see him as I trekked through the house. It was a historic house, and as such, the floor plan consisted of several interconnected smaller rooms. I kept walking in circles and passing the same people, who were starting to give me weird looks.
They are so talking about me with their friends, wanting to know who that crazy girl is and whether she was even invited.
My arms ached from carrying the heavy box.
Surely you have to find the kitchen eventually; the house isn’t that big.
I finally found a doorway with a rich stained wood door—a closed one.
Maybe this is it.
I opened the door, expecting to see a kitchen worthy of a magazine spread.
