Page 5 of Holiday Star
It’s the first time I’ve laughed in a long, long while, and it leaves me feeling lighter. Like all my worries are bubbles in a champagne glass, rising to the top to burst and float away into the night.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes at him. “It’s fine.”
The song ends, as if it thinks we’ve said enough, and we pull apart.
“Well.” There’s a hint of awkwardness. “Thanks for the dance.” He gives me the tiniest bow.
“Yeah. See you around.” I don’t know why I say that. He’s a busy man. I’ll probably never see him again.
We go our separate ways.
I very deliberately don’t think about Caleb Lawson again for the rest of the night. And I’m sure he doesn’t think about me either.
NEW MOON
1
Six months later, New York
The hospital is the most depressing place to spend a holiday. Of course, it’s worse for the patients who are sick and hurt, but it’s almost as bad for the staff.
As a medical student, and now as a resident in the Emergency Room, I’ve spent countless holidays working in the hospital. The last two Christmases, last New Year’s Eve, and today, Thanksgiving.
We try to make the best of it. There’s a huge potluck dinner in the breakroom. A smorgasbord of sliced turkey, stuffing, and store-bought pumpkin pie.
It’s not the same.
I comfort myself, remembering that I just have to make it through this evening. One last shift here at my Manhattan hospital before my big one-month academic sabbatical, when I get to travel home to my mom’s house in Los Angeles. I will finally spend Christmas with my family and work on the research paper I’m hoping to publish in the spring.
I can do it. A few more hours.
The automatic double doors that lead out to the ambulance bay slide open, letting in a flurry of snow and a stretcher with a thin woman strapped on it. She’s unconscious, the EMTs working on her frantically. I run to her, my stethoscope banging against my shoulder with each step. Trampled snowflakes melt into puddles under our feet.
The next few hours go by in a blur. There’s a five-year-old with a ruptured appendix, a mother who burned herself pulling the turkey out of the oven, and, the craziest patient of all, a mall Santa Claus who’s having a heart attack. Thanksgiving isn’t even over yet, but already the Santas are out.
At around nine p.m., I get my twenty-minute dinner break. I rush to the doctor’s lounge and make a FaceTime call to my family. My mom picks up on the first ring, like she was sitting there with the phone in her hands, waiting for me.
“Gwen! Happy Thanksgiving.” She pushes her blonde hair, the same color as mine but shorter and with more curl, out of her face. Her voice is happy, relaxed. It still gets me to hear her this way, rather than the stressed clipped tone she had in the years after my father died, back when the money was tight and grief was thick around all of us.
“Hey, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving. How’s it going?”
“Good, honey, but I miss you.” A small pucker between her brows. Mom lifts her hand to the screen, almost like she wants to touch me through it.
“How’s Pip doing with all those people in the house?” I ask about our tiny, timid Chihuahua. Pip is our nickname for her, short for Pipsqueak.
Mom laughs. “You know Pip. She spends most of her time cowering under the sofa.”
We smile at each other, warmth and affection reaching through our phone screens. The moment is interrupted by the sound of a jackhammer in the background. Mom winces.
“How’s the construction going?” I ask, then add, “I still can’t believe you paid extra for them to work on Thanksgiving day.”
The house that Mom and Seth bought together after they got married is a 1950s two-story bungalow in the suburbs of West L.A. I had been ecstatic when they got it because it’s in the same neighborhood that my best friend, Jenny, lives in. Unfortunately, after they moved in, they discovered asbestos, a deadly material used to insulate older homes in the walls and ceilings.
This led to a whole-house gutting to remedy the situation. For a couple of months, they lived in a hotel because it was too dangerous to return home. That part of the renovation is complete, and they have moved back in. Now they are in the phase where the house has to be rebuilt, including replacement of the outdated plumbing and electrical lines.
Seth and Mom had focused first on getting the master bedroom, kitchen, and living room into shape in time for Thanksgiving. The remainder of the house is still in shambles, forcing the rest of our family to stay at a nearby hotel.
Mom grimaces. “I know. I feel awful, asking them to work on a holiday, but we simply have to get this project finished. It’s taking longer than expected since a lot of materials were on back order. Some bad news. We’ve been pushing the workers, but your room isn’t finished.” Her face falls in disappointment. “I’m so sorry, honey. I was hoping it would be ready. I even dug out the boxes that hold your old things so I could unpack for you and put up some of your posters on the walls, but it will have to wait.”
