Hey, a girl can dream.
Humming “Let It Snow,” I get to work tidying up my classroom—a surprisingly daunting task, considering I just cleaned up last night and today was only a half day. There’s bright green cupcake frosting on the desks, crushed candy canes on the floor, and endless scraps of construction paper, courtesy of this morning’s holiday-card-making session.
For a second I consider taking down some of the holiday decorations adorning the walls, since class doesn’t resume until January 3, but I just can’t do it. Taking down Christmas decorations before the holidays is just wrong. I’d rather come back in late December to clean up than kill my holiday mojo before it’s even started.
Instead, I tidy up my desk just enough so Principal Mercedes can’t find something to complain about if she checks in later.
I’m locking up the cabinets, my song selection now on to “Deck the Halls,” when a lower alto joins my fa-la-la-la. What it lacks in on-keyness it makes up for in enthusiasm.
I turn and see Jessica Trenton, first-grade teacher and work best friend, hopping up onto my desk.
There’s a pretty gold-wrapped present in her hand, a suitcase by the door. Jessica and her fiancé are both from Chicago and are heading home for the holidays.
“See? I told you your flight wouldn’t be canceled,” I tell her.
“Yeah, I had immense faith in your tea leaves,” she says.
“And yet they were right!” I gesture toward the window. “Rain, but not a snowflake in sight.”
“Fair point. Are you aware that you have glitter on your tits?”
I glance down at my black sweater and gray slacks. Sure enough, Madison’s snowflake has left its mark.
“Third-grade hazards,” I say, swiping pointlessly at the glitter.
“I hear you. I found an open container of Elmer’s in my purse the other day.”
“You carry glue in your purse? Very badass.”
“I didn’t put it there. I don’t know which of the little monsters managed to get it into my bag, but my money’s on Hillary Garrett.”
“The sweet little redhead?”
“You’re just saying that because her dad’s hot. She’s beastly.”
“You love the tricky ones. And I thought her dad was gay.”
“He is. Still hot, though.” Jessica waggles her eyebrows. “But on to more important things. Are you going to open your gift now, or are you going to insist on being that weirdo that refuses to open gifts until Christmas morning?”
“I stand by my weirdo policy,” I say, pulling a forgotten jacket off the coatrack. “Opening presents before the actual day lessens the Christmas magic.”
“Or does it merely extend the season?” Jess taunts, picking up the shoebox-sized gift and shaking it enticingly at me.
I purse my lips. It’s not a terrible point. And I could really go for a present right now. . . .
“Let’s ask Magic 8,” I proclaim.
She rolls her eyes but obligingly reaches behind her and pulls open the first drawer of my desk. Her hand emerges with a Magic 8 ball.
“Remind me,” she says. “How many of these do you have? Fifty?”
“Just three.”
“Three too many, Kell. Three too many.”
It’s an old argument, so I don’t bother to point out that it’s not too many—I need one for home and one for work, and the small one fits on my key chain for when I’m out and about. Obviously.
You never know when you’ll need fate’s assistance.
“All right, Magic 8, let’s hear it. Should our girl open her present now, or wait until Christmas morning?”
“Yes-or-no questions,” I remind her, setting the tiny peacoat next to my own so I remember to drop it off at the lost and found on my way out.
“Right, how could I forget all these strict, scientific rules? Should Kelly open her present before I leave for the airport, like a normal best friend?” she asks the Magic 8.
She shakes it, and I wait patiently, already knowing the answer.
Jessica wrinkles her nose at the answer. “No way.”
“Told you.” I pluck the ball out of her hand and place it back in the drawer, locking it. “And in case you’re wondering where your present is, it’s already in the mail. To your parents’ address. Not to be opened until Christmas Day, or Christmas Eve at the very earliest, because I’m nothing if not flexible.”
“Yes, so flexible,” she says, hopping off the desk and handing me the gift.
I set Madison’s snowflake carefully on top of Jessica’s present, then pull on the white J. Crew coat I got on clearance last year.
“You’re sure you don’t want to come home with me?” Jessica pleads as I lock my classroom door. “Erik can get you a ticket using his miles. And my parents are dying to meet you in person.”
I link arms with her. “You’re sweet and I appreciate it, but I promise I’m going to be fine.”
“You’re going to be spending Christmas alone,” Jess says gently. “You. The Christmas nut.”
“I know, but it’s just one year, and I’m actually kind of looking forward to it. For the first time ever, I can do Christmas my way.”
I know it’s going to be a great Christmas, because the Magic 8 Ball, home version, told me so. I don’t tell Jess this, though. She’s mostly tolerant of my superstitious nature, but she has her limits.
And really, don’t feel all bad for me on the Christmas-alone thing. I’m not an orphan, my parents don’t belong to a cult.
It’s like this: My parents, who are pretty much the perfect parents, got married on December 22 thirty years ago. Normally they keep their anniversary pretty low-key, not wanting it to interfere with holiday festivities, but this anniversary is number thirty for them, and I saved up many a meager teacher’s paycheck to send them on their bucket-list trip: a two-week Alaskan cruise over Christmas.
And I’d done the nonrefundable thing so that they couldn’t stay behind out of guilt.
So, yes, technically I’m spending Christmas without my family, but it’s not some sad Dickensian story up in here.
“What time are you leaving?” I ask Jess after we detour to the lost and found to drop off the coat, then step out into the rainy afternoon. The kids are long gone, hopefully off to building gingerbread houses or shopping for the perfect Christmas tree, and the schoolyard feels unnaturally quiet.
Jess pops open her red umbrella and, propping her purse on her roller-bag suitcase, digs around for a cellphone. “I’m getting an Uber from here, then swinging by Erik’s office to pick him up on the way to JFK. And you’re sure you won’t come with?”
“Positive. Besides, my horoscope says I’m due for a brush with bad luck today. I’m pretty sure it was dropping my mascara into the toilet this morning, but I’d be nuts to get on a plane with that sort of forecast.”
Jess gives me a bland look as she pulls up Uber and calls a car. “Hold up. Our birthdays are four days apart. Aren’t you the one that’s always telling me we’re best friends because we’re both . . . Gammas?”