Page 3 of Emma and the Elf Next Door

Great.My swift exit has been thwarted, not just by Lilly but now Oliver, who has joined the conversation, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s tiny waist.

Merry, merry Christmas to me.

“Hi Oliver.” I force out another smile and glance at my phone. It’s the Friday night before Christmas, so every bar and club seems to be hosting a Christmas event, and it seems like every Uber in Melbourne is unavailable.

I can’t catch a break.

“Is everything OK over here?” Oliver’s big brown eyes are stuck on Lilly with such fierce protectiveness. I swallow a lump of regret in my throat. He’s rushed over to her to make sureshe’sOK, whenI’mthe one he dumped, only to get together with his sister’s best friend a mere handful of weeks later.

“We’re fine, Ollie.” Lilly gazes back at him like he has hung the moon. I take this as my cue to get the heck out of here.

“My ride’s here.” I wave my phone in their direction and offer a weak wave. “Have a Merry Christmas, you two.”

They spare me a brief glance, mumbling a festive wish, before gazing lovingly at each other again. Their devotion is like salt on my gaping, broken-hearted wound.

I have to get out of here.

My heels clickity-clack over the concrete floor of the trendy bar our firm had hired for the Christmas party, keeping my head down to avoid any further interactions. At this point, I don’t care if my Uber never shows up and I have to walk the ten kilometres home. I just know I have to get out of here.

A notification lights up the phone in my hand. My Uber is pulling up to the kerb just as I make my escape. I jump in, leaning back against the head rest. I’d ordered a ‘quiet Uber’ and as per my request, after confirming my address, my driver hasn’t said a word. And during the silent ride home, I let out the breath I’d been holding all day. I’d known this Christmas party was going to be difficult. I’d known he was going to be here withher.I just hadn’t realised how much it would hurt. In my heart, I know Oliver was not the right man for me; his heart had always belonged to Lilly. I just long for someone to love me like that. To adore me, to see only me.

When will it be my turn to be loved?

“This is you.”

My perfectly quiet Uber driver signals the end to our ride home and I give him a smile and a five-star rating as I slip my shoes off and walk the few metres to my front door barefoot. As I always do, I pause at my porch and a small sense of satisfaction washes over me as I stare at the townhouse in front of me. My townhouse. At the ripe old age of twenty-five, I’m the proud owner of a two-bedroom, one-bathroom house of my very own.Well, almost all of my very own. I do have to share a wall with my neighbour, but apart from that, it’s all mine.

I peek over to said neighbour’s house, the layout a mirror-image of my own, and as per usual the place looks dark and still. When I’d moved in twelve months ago, it had been occupied by a lovely older lady who looked after both of our front gardens and brought me jars of jams on the regular. Unfortunately, her health was declining, and she moved out to live with her daughter two months ago, and since then I’ve only caught a mere glimpse of the person I share a wall with.

All I know of him so far is that he’s tall and broad, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and a bum that fills in a pair of jeans just right. He’d moved in at the beginning of November and though I’d seen him behind several large moving boxes, I’d yet to meet him properly. It’s like he took ownership of the place and then became a ghost. If I wasn’t so heartsick and stressed about having to work with my ex-boyfriend, I’d definitely be intrigued by the fit-looking neighbour who kept to himself, made no noise and brought me exactly zero jars of jam.

“Time for some self-care,” I mutter as I let myself in, turning the AC up full blast and sinking onto my couch with a groan. It’s already a scorching hot summer—how Lilly had survived in her ugly sweater is a mystery—and for the next few days I plan to be here on this couch, a bottle of wine at the ready, with my favourite Christmas movies on rotation.

I flip through my Netflix watchlist and let out a chuckle.Who am I kidding?I know which movie I’m going to watch. It’s the same one I’d watched every night this week and will probably watch every night for the next week.

“Love Actually. There is no better Christmas movie.”

With the air conditioning kicking in, creating a frosty environment around me, I pull the muted grey blanket from the back of the couch and wrap it around me. Once I’m fullyensconced in my blanket, I tip sideways, resting my head on a plush (also grey) cushion, and sigh anticipating the wonders of Hugh Grant and his merry band of misfits washing over me.

I’m just about to press play when my phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of me. My hands are wrapped tight around the remote, buried in the blanket cocoon and I’m loath to answer the call and ruin the Zen I’ve just found. But it’s my best friend Carly’s face flashing on the screen in front of me, and if I don’t answer, well, she’ll just keep calling.

“Hey,” I say after swiping the phone with my nose and balancing it on my legs so I can see her.

“How bad was it?” She’s worried and for good reason. I’d been moaning about this party and Oliver and Lilly for weeks now. My bestie had offered to come with me, as an emotional support person, but the poor thing was three hundred weeks pregnant and finding it hard to move. I couldn’t drag her from her house in this heat, as much as I’d wanted to.

“Eh, it wasn’t the worst.”

She frowns. “Was she there?”

My friends know well that Oliver dumped me and promptly got together with the girl he’d always loved. It was brutally painful, and I’d been a mess in the weeks ever since. Having to see them together again tonight was just the icing on my terribly heartbroken cake.

“Yes. She wore an ugly Christmas sweater.”

Carly snorts. “She would.”

“And she looked beautiful. And he doted on her. And they’re going to get married and live happily ever after, while I’ll die alone with a bunch of cats.”

“You’re more of a dog person.”

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