Page 5 of Christmas in Watch Hill
SCOTT
“You’re in a good mood,” Peter Lewis said the next day after a quick tap on the door frame of my office at Crestview Design, the graphic design firm where we both worked. After ten years of employment, I had a small office and a street view to confirm my status as one of the leading designers. “At least you seemed to be happy in the staff meeting.”
“I am.” I motioned for my coworker and closest friend to sit in the open chair across from my desk. “Just thinking about the holidays. It’s not going to be so bad this year. Not as bad as last year.”
Nothing could be as bad as last year.
“I’m glad it’s getting easier, man.” Peter clapped a hand on my shoulder, squeezed. “Time, huh?”
“Heals all wounds.” I shook my head and the subject away. “What about you? When do you leave?”
“Just have to get through today and tomorrow, and then I’m on the plane to St. Lucia.”
“You’re going to have a great time.”
“Not sure if I told you this, but I’m going to propose to Nicole while we’re down there.” Peter smiled. “I decided that’s the best place to do it and planned the whole thing out with her parents.”
“That’s awesome. She’s going to be so surprised.”
“Glad we decided to shut down this year. I think the rest of the team appreciates it, too.”
“They seemed happy this morning. Hard to believe that was our last staff meeting of the year.”
“Went fast.”
“Listen, I was thinking . . .” Peter hesitated and looked away for a beat. “If you feel like you want to get away, you can still come down to St. Lucia with us. You don’t . . . I mean . . . you always have an open door down there.”
“Thanks.” I took a deep breath. Since Monica’s death, Peter had tried to be there for me, and even though we didn’t say much, I knew he cared, and that was all that mattered. “I appreciate that, but I’m going to be okay. I’m going to Dayton to see my parents, and I’ll be . . . I’ll be fine.”
“Good,” Peter replied with an air of finality that both of us knew came from relief that this conversation wouldn’t get too deep, too heartfelt, or too heartbreaking. He stood, clearly ready to leave the room before he hesitated again, as if remembering the real reason he’d stopped in my office. “Also, before I forget, Nicole’s mom wanted me to give you these.” He took an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the desk. “Two tickets to the Junior League’s Winter Escape Fashion Show tomorrow. Just what you’ve been waiting for.”
“Yep.” I didn’t pick up the tickets. “Now my December is complete.”
Peter laughed to himself. “They are so thankful that you designed the invitation for the event.”
We spoke a little more before Peter left, mumbling about some spreadsheets he needed to update. I turned back to the desktop. There wasn’t much work left to do—a few emails, some out of office settings, and edits on the presentation for Chadwick Properties that was due after the first of the year. I liked this feeling—the way the holidays presented an air of “wrapping things up” that really meant winding down the hours until we had a few weeks off from the morning commute and the daily grind of life. Another hour or so, and the company Christmas luncheon would begin in the break room, the smell of honey baked ham and potluck macaroni filling the office with even more cheer.
I picked up the envelope and took out the tickets. The Junior League hosted the fashion show every year, and even though I never attended, the wives and girlfriends of my friends and coworkers often talked about it, emphasizing how an afternoon spent staring at expensive clothes and drinking spiked cocoa wasall for charity, with the proceeds going to different local organizations. This year, the Cincinnati Children’s Hospital would benefit from largesse of the city’s most well-connected ladies.
Fingering the tickets, I admired what I’d created in the ticket design—a mix of scripted font, mistletoe, and a few throwback cocktail glass clip art designs that somehow came together for a vintage-yet-glamorous feel. On the back, a list of names laid out hosts and hostesses for the event, as well as the sponsors and donations the organization had received to maximize the impact of the fundraiser. One name stood out under the list of “presenting designers and boutiques.”
The Pink Box.
I hadn’t paid attention to who was doing what when I created the design. I did it several months ago during the span of an afternoon, fitting the creativity required in between projects for clients who paid more than the Junior League ever could. Point, click, scan—the whole thing hadn’t taken long at all. Anything to help Nicole and her mother, who considered the Junior League an important part of their lives.
Of course, if The Pink Box was a presenting designer, that meant Nora Shaw would likely attend the event.
I tucked the tickets back in the envelope.Even more interesting.
