Page 9 of Holidate Scramble
"I prefer 'delightfully challenging.'" She added another star, her tongue poking out slightly as she concentrated. "Besides, you like it."
"The house?"
"The sparkle. The spontaneity." She met my eyes directly. "Admit it—you’re having fun."
My throat went dry. Two days of knowing each other and was already breaching the walls I’d spent the past few years diligently erecting. I was still debating how to respond when she thankfully continued, saving me the trouble.
"So—tell me something real," she said quietly, still decorating my house. "Not about work or obligations. Something about you. I take it you’re not married—not now—do you have any kids?"
I should have deflected, maintained boundaries. Instead, I found myself placing a candy window with unnecessary concentration.
"Divorced. Three years ago." I kept my voice neutral, clinical. "Two kids—Eliza's twenty-three, in her first year of med school. My boy—Aiden—is twenty-one, finishing his senior year."
"Med school? Your daughter must take after you."
"She's smarter than I was at her age." A hint of pride crept into my voice despite myself. "Already knows she wants pediatrics, maybe family medicine. Aiden's getting a fine arts degree—definitely didn't get that from me."
Piper smiled, adding another jellybean to her increasingly unstable structure. "An artist and a future doctor. You must be proud."
"I am." I selected another piece of candy, avoiding her gaze. "Though I wonder sometimes if Eliza chose medicine because she wanted to or because she thought I expected it."
"Did you?"
"I tried not to. But when your father is a doctor..." I shrugged. "Kids pick up on things whether you mean them to or not. I wish I’d been more cognizant of that, looking back."
Piper waited, not pushing, just continuing her haphazard embellishing. The silence stretched between us.
"My father died three years ago," I said finally, still focused on the structure in my hands. "Lung cancer. After that, things... shifted."
"Shifted how?"
"Started wondering what the point was. All those hundred-hour weeks, missed dinners, conferences instead of recitals." I used a craft stick to scoot a peppermint shingle to a perfect right-angle. "My ex-wife didn't understand. Adrienne liked our life—the prestige, the social standing. I started wanting something... different."
"Different how?"
I finally looked up. She wasn't pushing, just genuinely curious. "That's the problem. I don't know."
She studied me for a moment, then went back to her work. "Well, not knowing is better than pretending you do."
"Speaking from experience?"
Her hands stilled. "My family thinks I'm playing at having a career. Every dinner comes with suggestions about law school or getting my MBA." She grabbed the edible glitter with unnecessary force. "My younger sister's the attorney, my older brother's in investment banking. Then there's Piper—the middle child—with her 'little hobby business.'"
"Running a marketing firm is hardly a hobby."
"Try explaining that to parents who announce my sister's cases at dinner parties but can't remember the name of my business." She shrugged, but the gesture didn't hide the hurt.
The tent fell quiet except for the sounds of the market—vendors calling out deals, children begging for treats, a brass quartet playing "Silver Bells" near the gazebo. We both focused on our projects for a few minutes.
"Piper!" A cheerful voice broke the silence. Two women in their sixties approached, wearing matching "12 Days of Christmas Challenge" sweatshirts.
"Janet, Marlene—perfect timing," Piper said, brightening. "Ready for the afternoon shift?"
"Absolutely," Janet said, surveying the organized supplies. "Looks like you've had quite the morning."
Piper walked them through the system—which icings were running low, where extra supplies were stored, how to handle the donation box. I found myself cleaning up our sample houses while she explained everything.
"You're all set?" Piper asked, untying her apron. "Call if you need anything."
