Page 4 of Holiday at Home
Pop in. He wanted topop in.
After years of silence, he thought today, the reopening of the bakery we once thought we’d run together, was the day to reappear in my life.
“Thank you?” The question mark at the end of that sentence sounds ruder than I like to be, but I don’t know what else to say.
Part of me, the stupid, wounded broken part that will always love Simon Holiday, wants to ask how he’s doing. What he’s been up to. How his life has been since he called me on Christmas Eve to say he wasn’t coming home and he was calling it quits on our relationship.
The rest of me is annoyed that he thinks he can just show up, out of the blue, like we’re old friends with a lot of catching up instead of two people with a whole lotta history.
“Any chance I could get a cinnamon roll?”
“We’re fresh out.” I practically shove the last pastry into Nash’s little hands, but my nephew’s sweet, unburdened heart gets in the way of my mini retaliation.
“S’okay,” he murmurs, “he can have mine.”
“Looks like it’s your lucky day.” I eye Simon as I bag the pastry.
Something’s up. There’s more to this visit than him justpopping in. He’s nervous. Fidgety. Like he’s got something to say he knows I won’t like. Which, after the way he ended things, describes anything he’d have to say to me. Ever.
I hand him the bag. There’s a momentary brush of his fingertips against mine and I pull my hand back quickly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Strangely, it never does.
Instead, Simon pays, then heads for the door, turning slightly over his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Violet.”
“Sure,” I answer grudgingly, “if you say so.”
As the door swings closed behind him, I turn to my sister and release my death grip on Nash’s shoulders. Behind her, the lights on the Christmas tree blink and dance, somehow making the moment even more surreal.
“What’s that about?” I mouth and Nora shakes her head.
“Simon’s always had a big set of b—” My sister’s eyes go wide as she glances at her son. “A big set of… golf clubs,” she finally finishes.
I choke back laughter as Nash looks on innocently.
“The man always did love… golf.”
“Isn’t he some big investment banker in New York City now?” Nora peers out the big picture window where Simon’s stillstanding on the sidewalk, peering down Main Street like he’s lost.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” I tug on my apron then straighten the garland of fresh pine and red bows draped around the counter. “I don’t have a lot of room in my life for people who can’t keep their promises.”
After one last glance at Simon through the window, I do what he did to me three years ago:
Turn my back and walk away.
2
Simon
Instead of the chill of winter, the bite of frost, and the snow-covered New York streets, I step out of Sterling’s into sunshine, blue sky, and the constant rush of waves hitting the shore. The people of Stillwater Bay, Florida have done everything they can to bring the Christmas vibes. Twinkling lights on palms, a giant pine tree erected in Town Square, all awaiting tonight’s tree-lighting ceremony. Garlands spiral around streetlamps with big red bows on top. The chalk signs outside every business have mistletoe or reindeer drawn in the corner.
But, after seven years living up north, I’m not feeling it. Wearing a T-shirt and shorts just gets in the way of the holiday spirit. I mean, I’ve really come to enjoy snow.
Shocker, right?
Who woulda thought?
Certainly not the Simon Holiday who left Florida for college.
