Page 8 of Holiday Star
“Yes. That’ll be fine.” Forcing a smile, I lie and say, “Don’t worry. It’s going to be a great Christmas.”
3
California
Jenny picked me up at the airport. When I saw her waiting for me on the sidewalk with a sign in her hands, posterboard with glitter paint that read, “Welcome Home BFF,” I dropped my bag at my feet, threw myself into her arms, and burst into tears.
Now, Jenny and I sit in my mother and Seth’s empty house, sipping eggnog and working on the puzzle while I grumble to her. “I still can’t believe they left me alone for Christmas. And what about next year? Where will we meet if Mom and Seth are still in Japan? At Brandon and Liv’s place? Liv is great, but not really the Martha Stewart type. I can’t imagine her hosting everyone for the holidays. Mom’s the glue that holds us together.”
“I’m sorry.” Jenny’s gaze is full of sympathy. “I know how much you were looking forward to being home. Are you sure you can’t come with me and my family to Hawaii for Christmas? My parents would love to have you.”
I sigh, simultaneously grateful for the offer and regretful that I can’t take her up on it. “It’s not an option for me to be gone that long. The construction crew is taking off Christmas day, but they’ll be working every other day that week. Seth promised a bonus if they finish on time.”
I already feel a little better, having poured out all of my fears and frustrations to Jenny. As usual, she understood exactly when to stay quiet and when to talk. Just being with her felt like my homecoming wasn’t totally in vain. At least one person had been waiting for me.
We’ve been best friends since sixth grade, when she moved to California. Visually, we couldn’t look more different. Jenny is tall and curvy while I’m short and slim. She has smooth dark skin, inherited from her parents, who immigrated from Nigeria when she was a baby. My skin is pale and lightly freckled, prone to flush and sunburn easily. Her eyes are brown like the center of a sunflower, while mine are such a light blue that they’re almost translucent.
No matter how dissimilar we look, in my heart Jenny and I are one and the same. We like the same corny horror movies, romance novels, and boy bands. We like spending time just the two of us rather than in a large group, although if I was forced to choose, I’d say that she’s the more outgoing one.
The only thing we disagree on is school. I always liked science while she was drawn to English and literature. At UCLA, where we went to college, I did biology as my premed major and Jenny studied journalism.
When I started medical school at USC, she had gotten a job as an intern at theLos Angeles Times,her dream newspaper. Even though she’s been at it for four years, she still mostly fetches coffee for reporters and does research for them, but someday she wants to be an investigative journalist.
Another swallow of eggnog and then I refocus on the puzzle before me. My family hadn’t made much headway on it before they all had to leave. It’s only about 10 percent complete.
“Five thousand pieces might have been a bit ambitious,” I gripe, scanning the nearly identical pieces spread out on the table and noting how every piece is the same shade of blue.
Pip lays in my lap, her body light as a hollow-boned bird. I can’t stop petting her. My hand rubs from her forehead down to her feet. I scratch behind her ears, under her chin, and over her belly. She’s in dog heaven, her tail thumping like a metronome against my thigh. I’ve missed her so much.
“I don’t think this puzzle is so bad,” says Jenny cheerfully.
She’s crazy. For the past forty minutes, I’ve been working on a shark with rows of pointy teeth. “Hand me that one by your elbow,” I tell her, gesturing to a puzzle piece that looks promising.
“What happened with that editor? The mean guy?” I ask as I fit together a portion of the shark’s tail. When she doesn’t answer immediately, I look over. She’s twirling a strand of her dark curly hair around her finger. I know that hair trick means she’s nervous.
“Jenny? Is that editor still giving you a hard time?” I repeat, trying to get her attention.
It’s been awful, being away from her, but we’ve talked on the phone almost every day, even if it’s just for a few minutes while I change my scrubs or walk the short three blocks from my apartment to the hospital. At least I’m caught up with what’s going on in her life.
“Yeah,” she admits, looking my way. “He’s still bossing me around. Yesterday, I pitched this idea to cover the jazz festival down in San Diego. Next thing I know, he’s talking about it in our section meeting like it’s his idea. There’s nothing I can do, though. He’s the senior editor of the entertainment section.”
She taps her chin with a slim finger, musing. “You know, he kind of reminds me of Jax. They have the same curly dark hair…” Her mouth snaps shut, and her eyes cut over to me.
I bend my head to the puzzle and grind my teeth. Hearing my ex-fiancé’s name knocks the wind out of me. Usually, Jenny is careful not to mention him. We have an unspoken agreement to pretend he never existed.
“Sorry,” Jenny murmurs, guilty about her slip of tongue.
“It’s fine,” I reassure her even though it’s not fine because now I’m thinking about the back seat of his car, how the windows steamed over. How his eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles.
“At least we have almost a month together before I go.” She changes the subject and snaps a puzzle piece into place. “I don’t leave for Hawaii until the last week of December. I just wish we could spend the entire holiday with each other.”
She pouts, sad I can’t join her. But maybe that’s not the only thing she’s upset about because then she says, “Too bad your mom and Seth had to go. I was kind of hoping your specialcousinmight come visit for Christmas.”
I roll my eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I think Caleb’s off filming a movie somewhere. I’m sure he’s way too busy with his jet-set lifestyle to swing by.”
Jenny scoots her chair closer to mine and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Did you hear about him and Lola Monroe?”
“Who’s Lola Monroe?” I whisper back, not sure why we’re whispering in an empty house. Okay, not really empty. The sound of hammering rings out, reminding me of the construction workers, but it’s not like they can hear us.
