Page 80 of The Hanukkah Hoax
She would not be the person people walked on eggshells around, no matter how fragile she felt. “Just say it. I know you want to.”
Eden rubbed her calf, but the sadness in her friend’s eyes was laced with the kind of regret veterinarians must feel whenever the phrase euthanasia came up on their patient schedule. “Any word from Monica?”
Monica. Now there was another Christmas wreath-wrapped boulder Marisa had been crushed beneath.
“Not since I spoke to her at the Ball.”
After the news broke about the video, Monica had expressed concerns about what had happened and how it may have impacted the event and the recreation board’s (re: her) reputation. With no suitable words of explanation or even understanding, all Marisa could do at the time was hide behind the standard millennial response given to all boomers when it came to clarifying such Internet scandals. Handling West Meadow’s premier boomer benefactress was no different.
“Technology is weird, and no one ever really understands it.”
“Social media is finicky. Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”
“Short-form video is so fleeting. No one will even remember this in a week.”
Yeah, well, it had been a week, and Marisa still hadn’t heard whether Monica had made a decision about including Sweetest Heart’s Desire on her vendor list.
The silence was speaking volumes, though.
“I’m so sorry.” Eden reached across the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing it to impart the comfort Marisa needed.
And, God, she hated that she needed it, but she did. Because, as delicious and warming as the bagels and her best friend were, they still couldn’t touch the frigid chill that had iced over her heart.
Marisa sat back in her seat, removed the to-go lid from her cup, and took the biggest scorcher of a sip her mouth could take, hoping to get any infusion of heat that might stop her lips from shivering in sadness.
Instead, the only thing that seemed to worm its way through was more bitterness.
Chapter 31
The email that came through early the next morning had been the last thing Marisa would have pictured herself receiving, let alone responding to.
Let alone agreeing to.
But curiosity had a funny way of yanking a person out of whatever equilibrium they’d managed to work up. Even if that equilibrium was still just barely balancing sanity with survival.
Marisa trudged along the street, with her chunky scarf and tasseled wool hat serving as the only armor she had left against the situation she was about to walk into.
Pretty pathetic, but all things considered, she couldn’t imagine anything hurting her more than what she’d already endured.
The coffee shop she entered wasn’t one she normally frequented. Not only was it on the complete opposite side of town from her usual haunts, but it featured drinks that never sounded like coffee. Marisa was more than happy to get on board with fun foams, flavored roasts, and alternative milk choices—hello, sensitive tummy—but she tended to say no thanks to any drinks that were crayon-box colored with prices that rivaled her car payment.
But she wasn’t there for a drink. She was there for one reason and one reason only.
Marisa’s steps slowed once she laid eyes on who she was meeting with. Not just slowed but came to a complete stop. She was half inclined to run outside and double-check the signage to make sure she hadn’t gotten the location wrong.
Nope, she hadn’t, but that didn’t make her any more comfortable.
Red hair she had only ever seen perfectly frizz-free and infuriatingly defiant of the elements sat arranged in an artfully messy bun. A few wisps had broken free here and there, framing a face that looked far more gaunt than glowing. Gone were the carefully lined lips and smug expression, along with whatever haute couture had usually been called in to pinch hit for perfection.
A pair of mauve sweatpants and an oversized gray sweatshirt swallowed the woman who had her unpainted fingers curled around a steaming cup of something.
“Phoebe?” Marisa waited for confirmation that the scene before her was real and not a mirage.
Sure enough, the Plant Nanny herself lifted her head and immediately got to her feet. “Hi. Thank you for meeting with me.”
Marisa didn’t say anything, and even though she had driven all the way over there before she had to make the schlep to her parents’ house, she still couldn’t make her feet go farther. “Your email caught me off guard.”
“I can imagine. Would you like to sit? Um, with me?” Phoebe stepped to the side and gestured to the chair opposite her.
