CHAPTER THREE
Over the weekend, I was treated to silence from Celia. And itwasa treat; her previous attempts at the cold shoulder have never lasted long, probably because she’d burst if she kept her snarky comments to herself. This time, though, from the moment I arrived home on Friday and asked how her meeting went—“Fine”—and what she wanted for supper—“Don’t care”—she didn’t utter another word. It allowed me to make plans without feeling guilty, so I spent most of the weekend with Bridget and her mom watching movies and eating junk food. It’s always been our thing, even though it’s become less frequent in the last year. After feeling sorry for myself over my lack of recent girl time with Bridget, it was exactly what I needed.
On Monday when I arrive home from work, Celia is sitting on the couch. Her stiff body language—as if she’s ready to spring to her feet the moment I walk in—paired with the way she whips around at the sound of the door tell me she’s been waiting. That in itself would be enough to make me wary, but the Jack O’Lantern grin she plasters on her face turns the wariness to suspicion.
“How was your day?” Her voice is pitched so high it sounds like she inhaled a dose of helium.
“Fine…” I say slowly, setting my purse down and bending to undo my boots.
Celia jumps up from the couch. “Wait!” I jerk upright so fast I nearly wrench my back. “Don’t take off your boots and coat. I was thinking we could go out for a bit. I know I’ve been difficult lately and I’d like to make it up to you.”
I bite my tongue to keep from correcting her about the ‘lately’ part. “That’s not necessary, Celia.”
“I want to, though. An apology and a thank-you rolled into one.” She comes around the couch and leans against the back, studying me. “Do you remember that time my mama took us to the fair? She told your aunt she was taking us shopping for back-to-school clothes, but we went to the fair instead and completely ruined our dinner with slushies and cotton candy?”
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “I remember.” I’ll never forget that day. It’s one of the few happy memories I have from my teens, likely because it doesn’t involve my aunt and uncle. It was even worth the hour-long lecture from Aunt Fan when I got home.
“I was thinking maybe we could go spoil our dinner,” Celia says. “I know just the place. My treat.”
It’s clear she’s up to something. Celia and I don’t hang out. We spend a lot of time in each other’s presence because we live in fairly close quarters, but I wouldn’t say the time we spend together is necessarily by choice. By some miracle, we like a lot of the same TV shows and movies, and since there’s only one television in the apartment, we both end up in the living room a lot. We don’t go shopping together or out for lunch or any of the things I do with Bridget. Still, maybe she’s actually trying and I should stop always thinking the worst of her.
“I suppose having dessert first is one of the perks of being an adult,” I say. She squeals in response and hurries over to grab her coat and boots.
*****
“This is some kind of joke, right?” I put the car in park and stare with wide eyes out the windshield.
“Of course not!” Celia says, her voice taking on that high pitch again. “Why would you think that?”
I scoff. “Celia. Seriously?” I wave my hand toward the window. “This is where you want to eat?Here?”
‘Here’ is Santa’s Village. Celia wouldn’t tell me where we were going when we got in the car, instead simply directing me as I drove. We had made it almost to the outskirts of Bellevue before she motioned for me to get off the highway. When we pulled into what looks like an elaborate movie set of the North Pole, I thought I must have been hallucinating. I know about Santa’s Village—a whole holiday theme park set on several acres of land and open from November through December—but I’ve never seen it firsthand. Now that I think about it, I’m surprised Bridget, being the Christmas lover she is, hasn’t dragged me here before.
“Isn’t this place for little kids and families?”
Celia shakes her head quickly. “No, plenty of adults come without kids. It’s a great date spot or a place for groups. They have the best hot chocolate you’ve ever tasted.”
“How do you know?” I ask, unable to keep the suspicion from my voice.
Ignoring my question, Celia unhooks her seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. “You coming or not?”
A clear sign I’ve been spending too much time with Celia: my first thought is to respond ‘or not’. My sense of adventure wins out over my desire to be contrary, though. I also have to admit I’m curious what Celia is up to. I unbuckle myself, stuff my keys in my purse, and follow Celia to the front gates. We approach a small red hut, where I expect we’ll have to buy tickets, but the elf inside—yes, elf, a young woman bedecked in red- and white-striped stockings, green and red dress, matching hat, and red pointy-toed booties—simply greets us with a hearty welcome and tells us to enjoy our visit.
We step through the gates and I have to force my feet to keep moving instead of stopping so I can stare in awe. I feel like I’ve been transported to the North Pole. An open space inside the gates is home to various food carts advertising everything from hamburgers and hot dogs to funnel cakes to eggnog and hot chocolate. Past that, several street-like lanes branch off with shops lining either side.
“This place is unbelievable.” I spin in a slow circle to take it all in. Given the fantastical sight of this place, the people rushing past us, and the Christmas music filling the air from unseen speakers, I think I’m about thirty seconds away from sensory overload.
“That’s one word for it,” Celia says. She gives my arm a tug and sets out in the direction of one of the food carts. “Ice cream?”
“It’s November.”
She shrugs. “We’re Canadian.”
She has a point. There’s a chill in the air, but as we draw closer to the food carts, I feel heat coming from…somewhere. Like the music, the source of the warmth is a mystery. Celia orders a chocolate cone for herself and a mint chocolate chip one for me. I guess I’m predictable enough she doesn’t need to ask. I feel like a little kid as we begin to wander, my head whipping back and forth to take in everything around us. There are shops with toys and games, an arcade, a chocolatier, and even a store dedicated to Christmas tree ornaments.
Smiling elves roam the street, stopping to take selfies with people and hand out candy canes. Laughter and happy voices fill the air, making me feel lighter than I have in weeks. This place is magical. What I can’t understand is how Celia is tolerating all this merriment. Just a few days ago, she was fired for complaining about Christmas music, and now she’s here in this fairytale-like place, surrounded by cheerful people, which usually makes her gag and roll her eyes.
“Why are we here, Celia?” I ask, stopping abruptly.
