Page 2 of Mistletoe Mistake
“You missing us already? We only left yesterday.”
“Did I say anything about missing you? I said it was quiet. Ilikethe quiet.” She raises an eyebrow at me and I roll my eyes. It will be a cold day in hell before she admits to anything as sentimental as feelings.
“You’re an ass. But thank you for bringing me this.” I tap the tongs and then give my wavy brown locks a tug. “My hair is a nightmare without it.”
“Not a problem.” She shrugs. “So, how long?”
“Just a week. Brandon and Amy get back on the twenty-third.” I pull a face. “They couldn’t miss the Christmas party.”
“Speaking of which, your dad asked me to tell you that he got your email about the party and he regrets to inform you that boycotting Christmas is not a valid reason to miss it this year.” She shakes her head at me and a strand of fiery red hair escapes her low bun. “Just like it wasn’t last year. Or the year before that.”
I scrunch up a Post-it note and throw it at her. “I thought you were here as my roommate, not as Dad’s assistant.”
“I hate to break it to you, but we are one and the same. I’ll let him know that you’ll be there and you couldn't be more excited.” She stands up and stretches before heading out.
“He’ll never believe that,” I call out behind her. Her only response is to flip me the bird.
I laugh lightly and turn back to my computer, trying to remember where I was with the birthday card design I was working on before Troy interrupted me.
Before I can get back to work, my phone rings. Noting it’s the internal line, I answer with my attention still mostly on the design in front of me.
“Holly, sweetheart.” My dad’s voice booms down the line.
“What’s up, Dad?”
“Your brother’s trying to get in touch with you, but he said your phone keeps going to voicemail.”
I groan and grab my cell phone out of the desk drawer, only to discover it’s completely dead. “I forgot to charge it last night. Did he say what he wanted?”
“No, just that he wants you to call him.”
“Okay, was that all?”
“Your email was very entertaining,” he replies dryly, and a small grin plays on my lips.
“Why thank you, I try my best.” I giggle.
“You know, you’ll have to get over this Christmas hatred thing eventually.”
“That’s not going to happen. Christmas sealed its fate on my tenth birthday when no one turned up to my party because they were suffering from post-Christmas exhaustion. I was ten, Dad. Ten! Then there was the yea—”
“I remember it all, sweetie,” he cuts me off mid-rant. “But Christmas is such a wonderful time of the year. It’s about love and family and everything that’s important.” His voice softens, gaining the sentimental tone he gets when discussing any holiday.
My father is unapologetically emotional about special occasions. It’s one of the things that led him to opening a greeting card company with my mother so many years ago and, while I would never say this to his face, his sentimentality has only gotten worse with age.
“I know, I know,” I sigh, tiredly. We have this same argument year after year. But seriously, if your birthday was December twenty-fifth, you would resent sharing your special day too.
“I have to go, Dad, I’m in the middle of a project, but I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
He relents and we say our goodbyes.
It’s moments like this that I don’t entirely love working atGreetings from Avondale. Originally a small boutique greeting card company, my parents started the business before my brother was born. It has grown and expanded over the years and is now one of the most successful greeting card companies in the US.
I always loved coming here as a child. It felt like a second home to me and when I graduated with a degree in graphic design three years ago, it was only natural I start working for the company that was such an intrinsic part of my family.
Plus, despite how I feel about Christmas, I did inherit my father’s love of holidays and special occasions, and there is something almost magical about creating a keepsake for people to celebrate the most important moments in their lives.
I may hate Christmas, but I love my job.
