Page 2 of Better Not Pout
A laugh erupts out of me before I can even stop it, and then we’re both laughing so hard that tears coat our cheeks, cuddled in a heap on my old, comfy couch, surrounded by the half-hung Christmas decorations that I attempted to put up earlier in the day.
I lift a finger and point to the nutcracker on my mantle. “Honestly, the nose on that nutcracker kind of looks like his dick.”
“Oh my God, would you please, for the love ofChristmas, stop!” Kennedy screeches. “I cannot handle it.” She taps away at her phone, then tosses it onto the couch. “I blocked him. It’s done. We’re never talking about it ever again.”
“Dang. I was kind of interested to see what he’d come up with for New Year’s.”
Would there be fireworks… onhisfirework? Sounds dangerous.
“I don’t even want to know where your brain is going right now. I can practically see it spinning. Keep me far, far away fromit. Did Grams and Gramps finish getting all the decorations up?” she says, changing the subject.
My mind drifts to the twelve-hour days that I’ve been putting in at work, trying to make sure everything’s ready for the holiday season, which is nowofficiallyin full swing.
Long hours during the holidays,specificallyChristmastime, which is by far our most busy time of the year, come with the territory when your family owns a candy store. Not just any candy store, but one where we still make ninety percent of the candy in store.
It’s what makes us unique in a sea of chain stores.
Sweet Sullivan’s has been my entire life for as long as I can remember.
It’s been in our family for three generations, and one day, it’ll be mine.
My grandparents adopted me when I was four, after my parents passed away in a boating accident, and all of my favorite childhood memories take place inside Sweet Sullivan’s walls, along the old checkered tile floor that I used to play hopscotch on.
It’s the place where I feel the most at home. Where I feel safe. Where a piece of me will always belong, no matter how old I am. Even though I’m no longer the little girl who played hide-and-seek between the displays or a pretend game of candy shop on the vintage register before I even understood what the numbers meant, it’ll always be the magic of my soul. It’s why I chose to live in this adorable little apartment above the store.
So truthfully, the long hours and all of the love I’ve poured into it really don’t feel like work at all.
It feels like I’m exactly where I was always meant to be. And I know how much of a blessing that is. To never feel like you’reactuallyworking.
“Mostly,” I say as I set my now empty wineglass onto the coffee table in front of us, then turn back toward Kennedy. “There’s a few strands of garland and lights left to hang, but I can do that when I get there first thing in the morning.”
A dreamy look passes over her face, her eyes dancing with excitement. “I’m so glad it’s almost Christmas because I’ve been dreaming about Gramps’ chocolate caramel Christmas trees. Don’t ask me why the Christmas-shaped candiesalwaystaste better, but they do.”
“You and me both. He said he was going to do an early batch for us, so I’ll ask him about it tomorrow.”
My mouth waters at the thought, but I push it down because the very last thing I need is more sweets. It’s been the hardest thing in the world trying to keep myself from tasting every single thing that comes out of the kitchen.
I’m trying to lose weight… again, and the constant temptation is exhausting.
This isn’t anything new though—it’s been a pattern my entire life. I’ve always been the “pretty, fat girl.” The one people assume eats everything in the candy store just because I work there, when that isn’t at all true. Kids used to pick on me in elementary school and call me Round Rosalie, and it’s one of those things that I’ve never forgotten.
Hence, the constant fad dieting. The desperate need to be slimmer because of my perpetual wavering confidence.
It didn’t make things any better that my ex was constantly criticizing my body, what I ate, how I carried myself. But now that I’m older and there are thousands of miles between us,literallyandfiguratively, I’ve finally gotten to a place where I feel slightly more confident with my body, more comfortable in my own skin, but admittedly, it’s still an everyday struggle. I think it always will be, no matter how much weight I lose.
I still see the same insecure girl in the mirror who was once sixty pounds heavier, despite what the number on the scale says now.
“Question,” Kennedy says, nearly bouncing from the couch and pulling me out of my head… which is probably a good thing after where it’s been. “You’re going to do the Santa mailbox again this year, right?”
My brow lifts as I stare over at her. “Yes? Duh. Aside from the chocolate trees and cinnamon candies, Letters to Santa is the most popular thing at the store. As long as Sweet Sullivan’s is open, the mailbox will be there. Gramps put it out this morning.”
Her eyes shine with something… something I can’t exactly place. “Perfect. Exactly what I needed to hear.”
She must read the confusion lining my face because her lips spread into a wide smile. “I’ve just decided that we’re going to write a letter to Santa asking for ourdream man.Our wish list for the perfect man.Andnotthe one who sent me a nude with his dick wearing a Santa hat.”
A beat of silence lingers in the air between us before I toss my head back and laugh, shaking my head.
“I’m sorry,what? How much wine have you had?” I lean closer. “Are you drunk? Because you do realize thatI’mthe one who responds to the letters from the mailbox, right?”
