Page 41 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
I let out a large sigh and stare down at my hands, not sure I believe him.
“At least just take a week,” he says. “Give me seven days of research, and see if watching the other proprietors around town sell the experience invigorates you to do the same. Can you at least give me that?”
Ugh, I hate to admit it, but it’s the least I could do for him after everything he’s done for me. And even though I’m feeling at my lowest right now, he’s right. I should at least observe and see how everyone else is doing it.
Because if there’s something I learned from my first business venture, it’s that I didn’t do comprehensive research onwhyother Christmas stores thrived in certain areas. I was just so determined for my store to succeed.And here, in this town, I will be able to analyze so many different ways to “sell” Christmas.I owe it to myself and Uncle Dwight to do that.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll take a week to research.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
He smiles. “Good, and take the time to really immerse yourself, okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
Looking genuinely relieved, he says, “Thank you.”
I lightly smile. “No, thank you for believing in me.”
“You know I always will.” He nods toward the door. “Now get out of here. I have work I have to do.”
I chuckle and stand from my chair.
“Also, if you ever call me just Dwight again, I might very well have a heart attack.”
I let out a heftier laugh. “Sorry. That mistake won’t be made again.”
“Good.”
Max
“Could you help us with our tree?” a woman in a snowsuit asks. Only her eyes are showing.
“Sure can,” I say as I push up the sleeves to my flannel. It’s a solid thirty-five degrees today, but I’ve been chopping down and lugging trees all over the farm, so I’m warm.
Can’t imagine wearing a full snowsuit right now. I’d be drenched in sweat.
“Where is it?”
“Over there,” she says, pointing to a tree that is right next to a green Buick Electra station wagon with wood paneling. Man, can’t tell you the last time I saw one of those.
“Not a problem. Would you like it on top?”
“Inside actually. We have a tarp in the back, and the seats are down. The car’s open. We’re grabbing some cookies for the road if you don’t mind just putting it in there.”
“Not at all. Hope you had fun at the farm today.”
“Uh-huh,” she says and then takes off.
“Okay,” I mutter and then head over to the station wagon. I pick up the tree and carry it to the back only to be startled right out of my fucking boots by Dwight, squatting down behind the car.
“Jesus fuck, what are you doing?” I ask as I attempt to catch my breath.
He pops up to his feet and gets close enough so he can whisper, “You listen to me, and you listen to me good. You are to leave my niece alone?—”
“Dude, she’s like a few years younger than you, so stop calling her your niece.”
