Page 72 of Just for December

It feels like a feat to walk past the little boutiques and stores that previously have lured her in. Everything she’s talked about with Magda has landed with her this time: that it’s okay to be successful, it’s okay to feel proud in her work. She’s been thinking about it a lot since she found her dad online. He’s still alive, and for all intents and purposes still a drunk, and still angry. She found three articles about three separate arrests, and it hits her, as she walks, that he must have been a miserable son of a gun to tell a fifteen-year-old that she was worthless. A normal person does not do that. A sane, rational person, who you might be inclined to listen to, does not do that.

She sits on a bench by the Christmas market and watches a small merry-go-round with kids wrapped in warm coats and thick gloves sitting in little red cars or pink aeroplanes going around and around, their grown-ups clapping excitedly every time they circle back and come into view. She doesn’t hear the women next to her at first, when they say her name. They have to repeat themselves to get her to look up.

‘Are you Evie Bird?’

She looks at them. They’re about her age, mid to late thirties. One has long wavy hair down past her shoulders,with a lilac bobble hat and hopeful eyes. The other is wearing earmuffs and has a nose ring. They have their arms looped through each other’s, like how Evie walks with Magda. And it’s the damnedest thing, but instead of shying away, lying, or acting small, she looks them both in the eye and says, proud as she can muster: ‘Yes. I am. Hello.’

‘AH!’ says Bobble Hat. ‘We read online that you were part of the filming! We’ve been to set, but you know – it’s a lot, waiting to see your favourite author. Like stalking!’

‘We’re huge fans,’ says Earmuffs. ‘Honestly. Your books …’

The other ones supplies: ‘They’re our favourites. I can’t believe you’re here!’

Evie smiles. They’re so enthusiastic!

‘What are your names?’ she asks, and Bobble Hat says she’s Ingrid, and Earmuffs is Petra.

‘Can we join you?’ Petra asks, sweetly. ‘Just for a moment.’

Evie finds herself nodding. ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘I was just admiring the market. It’s so festive.’

‘We love Christmas,’ Ingrid says. ‘You’re part of our Christmas tradition! We …’ She breaks off here to ask Petra something in German, and Petra says: ‘Buddy-read’.

‘We buddy-read your Christmas book every December, when it comes out,’ she says. ‘And in the summer, on vacation, we take turns with your summer book.’

‘That’s so nice to hear,’ Evie says, and she means it. ‘Your English is good – do you read me in German, or do you get the American copy?’

‘German.’ Petra laughs. ‘I don’t want to miss anything.’

Evie likes talking to the women. They’re warm and friendly and laugh a lot.

‘Your bookTo the Moon, the Stars, and Back Again,’Petra says, as they all watch the ride nearby stop, a bunch of kids climb off, and then a new set who have been waiting patiently climb into their spots. ‘It changed my life.’

‘That’s kind of you,’ Evie says.

‘No, honestly, she’s serious,’ interjects Ingrid.

‘The protagonist,’ Petra muses. ‘Her best friend says something to her and look.’ She rolls up her coat sleeve to reveal a tattoo in German. ‘It sayscite your sourcein my language,’ she explains. ‘Like Lisa’s best friend says to her.’

Evie thinks back to the book. It’s a love story, as always, but the sub-plot is about how Lisa, the main character, is a small business owner in a small town, lobbying against developers who want to build luxury flats on the grounds of the local park. It would stand to make a small number of locals very rich, for various reasons, but a lot of other locals would be worse off. Lisa starts to believe the horrible things people are saying about her – the ones who don’t think she should be getting involved – and her best friend tells her to cite her source. Does the protagonist have to receive the criticisms on her personality or motivations from the developers? Actually no, because that is a faulty source. They don’t know her. Does she have to receive the affirmations and love from her best friend, and the people whose interests she is trying to protect? Well yeah, actually, because that’s a source close to her, and so it is more valid. There’s a second line, once she implements this, where she says:I get to decide which sources to cite in my own goddamn life!Evie hasn’t thought of that in ages. How interesting to meet these strangers who make her reflect back on her ownwords. She could almost believe she’s quite wise. Or, at least, her characters are.

‘I don’t get along with my mother,’ Petra says. ‘My sister does. But me? I never have. It’s like we are aliens to each other, and we make each other quite unhappy. And she has said some unkind things to me before, and I believed them, and then I read your book and I thoughtcite your source.She might be my mother, but we haven’t had a proper conversation since I was still at school. She doesn’t know me. So I am not going to cite her as a source!’

‘It was like a magic sentence for her,’ Ingrid adds, nodding in agreement. ‘A sort of freedom, really, I think. Petra?’

Petra nods. ‘I met my wife six weeks after I got it tattooed on me. Andsheis a source I cite often, because she loves me and knows me and sees that I am good.’

‘Whoa,’ Evie says, and she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing.

‘So thank you,’ Petra says. ‘And thank you for listening. I’ll bet people tell you their stories all the time,’ she says. ‘I know many people must feel how I feel.’

Evie holds a hand to her heart, and then takes the hands of both women.

‘I really,reallyappreciate you coming over and saying hi,’ she says, her heart swelling. She doesn’t want to run away, or make a silly self-effacing joke. She believes she wrote something that meant something to these women, and she is going to be gracious enough to let them tell her. It’s only later, once they’ve hugged and said goodbye, that she appreciates that they didn’t ask for a photo, or a social media tag, or anything like that. They just wanted to chat,and that, to Evie, feels like magic.Cite your source,she repeats to herself.

And then it hits her.

She’s lucky her dad is still a piece of shit.

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