Page 78 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
I look around the office, desperate. Then I remember the Boone’s Farm box where I find a discarded mitten, a T-shirt from an adult kickball league, two mangled water bottles, a few lighters, and…
“Bingo!” I say.
“What?”
I pull out a long cardigan sweater—furry, beige, like someone skinned Fozzie Bear from the Muppets—and put it on. “What do you think?”
“Nice,” she says. “Still sexy…but with a library card.”
As Zoe drains the last of her beer, I decide to take that as a compliment. Then she asks if I’m ready to party. I slinked in here through the delivery door before anyone arrived, and I’ve been here since.Based on the volume coming through the door, it sounds like things have ramped up. I tell her yeah, but I must sound unsure because she asks if I want to do a shot.
“What?”
“A shot,” she says. “It’s a small, highly concentrated glass of alcohol.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Should one ever, though?” she asks.
It’s a valid point. I’m typically the least drunk person at the Edgar Allan’s employee holiday party, and I plan to continue that tradition. Walking out there with nothing but anxiety and one Diet Coke in my system seems like a bad idea, though. “Okay,” I say. “But nothing too gross.”
Sixty seconds later, Zoe returns with two small, highly concentrated glasses of alcohol. “Baileys, with a little something to get us started,” she says. “Cheers, sexy.”
I don’t generally like shots because I’m a grown-up, but this one tastes like sledding and nostalgia. Like being young and happy. Like setting out presents at midnight with Tim under our tree. Like Christmas.
Zoe takes my glass and opens the office door. The crew has dimmed the house lights and put on a rock and roll holiday mix. The windows are mostly fogged over, but I can see flurries outside.
“Yo, nice legs, boss!” shouts Hector from across the bar. He is, indeed, dressed like a rabbit.
“You can fire him later,” says Zoe.
Edgar Allan’s usually smells like beer and French fries. Tonight, though, it smells like the Italian Embassy, which I realize just as I spot Dom. He’s standing alone by the spread of food wearing a dark suit and a dark shirt with no tie. When he sees me, I can tell he’s been looking for me, and my stomach flutters.
“Oh,” says Zoe, putting her arm around me. “I forgot to mention. He’s obnoxious as hell and generally very irritating, but Scorsese lookshottonight.”
There’s a neighborhood in Baltimore called Hampden, and every year for as long as anyone can remember, the residents there on 34th Street have gone absolutely crazy with Christmas lights. Known locally as the “Miracle on 34th Street,” it’s the most Baltimore place you can be this time of year, maybe any time of year.
Meredith called last night and said she was ready to be taken there.
“Oh,” I said, surprised.
“Sorry,” she said. “I hate the passive voice. Let me rephrase. I’m ready foryouto takemeto the Miracle on 34th Street. You know, as my unofficial tour guide. What do you think?”
I nearly said no—my default. I was tired and depressed still from being at the row house. But then I heard Grace’s voice in my head.You said she’s pretty, right? And nice?Meredith is those things—cool and smart, too. Maybe that’s what people do: They go look at Christmas lights with attractive, nice, cool, smart people. Grace would be at her holiday party. Maybe I could at leasttryto get into the spirit of the season.
“Okay,” I said. “Yeah. How about tomorrow night?”
So now we’re in my car approaching Hampden. We pass abookstore called Atomic Books and a 7-Eleven that looks like it narrowly survived an apocalypse. Some light snow has started.
“You’re a very cautious driver,” Meredith says.
“You never know where the icy parts are,” I say, because, well, you don’t.
“I did some research on this,” she says. “The lights.”
I turn right, then ease around a double-parked car.
Meredith is bundled up for the cold, but it’s warm in my car, so she sets her gloves and scarf on the dashboard.
