Page 6 of Emma and the Elf Next Door

Emma

Sunlight batters my corneas and I groan as I peel one sore eyelid open. I’m still lying cocooned in my throw blanket on the couch, the morning sun streaming through my living room window. The TV is on in front of me: Netflix is judgementally asking the “Are you still watching?” question.

“No, Netflix. I clearly fell asleep somewhere through the second watch-through ofLove Actually.”

I squint at my smart watch and groan again. It’s 9.45a.m. I’ve slept through most of the morning.

“Lucky, I have no work today,” I tell the empty room around me. In fact, I don’t have work for the next eleven days, with our firm shutting down over Christmas and gifting us enforced annual leave. Most of my colleagues rejoice in this time off work, but for me, it’s come at a bad time. I don’t even have the routine of going into the office every day and losing myself in work to distract me; instead, I have to sit alone with my emotions.

And watch sappy holiday movies on repeat.

“Coffee,” I say out loud. “No, run first. Then coffee,” I argue with myself.

My normal routine is to get up at 6.a.m., do a quick 5km run around the Tan (a path along the Yarra River filled with Melbourne runners) and then coffee. If I don’t do the run first, I haven’t earned my creamy, caramel latte.

Sitting up, I wince at the crick in my neck from the less-than-supportive couch cushion acting as a pillow last night. I never fall asleep on the couch like this, but last night, when the movie ended, I couldn’t find it in me to make my way to my lonely bed and opted instead to go back to the start of the movie and watch it all again.

With a shaky hand, I down a large glass of ice-cold water from the fridge, using it to wash down a couple of paracetamol tablets. Over the course of last night, both during the party and my own pity-party on the couch, I’d drunk more alcohol than normal, and my throbbing head is paying me back for my overindulgence. The thought of running in this state makes my stomach grumble in protest.

“No,” I lecture said belly. “If you give yourself a day off today, what happens tomorrow? And the day after? Pretty soon, it will be an entire week with no exercise.”

The idea has my inside singing with happiness, but years of training myself to ‘just do it’ as per Nike’s directive, forces me into my running shorts, top and shoes. Securing my hair into a high, messy ponytail, I tuck my phone into my running belt and pop my earbuds into my ears, opting for a reality TV recap podcast today; some mindless drivel to distract me from my aching head.

Now ready to go, I open my front door and stumble over something placed on my ‘welcome’ door mat.

“What in the world—?”

I hold on to the porch railing, the only thing keeping me from falling—tripping—to my certain death and peruse the gifts left splayed in front of me.

A box, a bottle and some sort of note.

Intrigued, all thoughts of running and coffee (or running to get coffee) falling from my mind, I bend down to examine the parcel. The small pink box has a transparent lid, and inside are four gingerbread cookies, beautifully decorated and professional-looking.

“Interesting,” I mutter, picking up the box and opening the lid, taking in a deep, appreciative breath. It smells like Christmas in a box.

Delicious.

Even more curious now, I cradle the cookies in one arm and pick up the bottle of wine. Barossa Valley Shiraz. A deep red wine that just happens to be my favourite.

“Even more interesting.”

I look around to see if anyone is watching. The gifter of this gift, perhaps? Finding no one lurking in the bushes, I read the note.

And then I read it again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Embarrassment floods through me and I rush back through my open front door, dropping the cookies and the wine on my kitchen counter, then re-reading the note again.

Dear Neighbour,

I know the holiday period can be a difficult time for some. Here’s a list of movies to help you regain your holiday cheer…

From the helpful elf next door.

I blink, reading through the list, my cheeks flaming with mortification. The hunky guy next door has left a list—a well-researched list—of Christmas and festive movies for me to watch! My eyes dart to the wall next to me, the wall I share with my neighbour, and I sink to the floor, my trembling legs now unwilling to support my sorry body.

“Oh my gosh, he’sheardme over the lastweek?”

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