Page 132 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“It does.”
He nods. “Do you, uh, do you have any plans?”
“Not really. I was actually kind of thinking about leaving Kringle.”
“Leaving?” His head pops up. “What do you mean?”
I sigh and set my tray to the side. “When I first came here, I was struggling with my confidence, with friendships, with whatto do with my life, and... well, do you, uh... do you remember the conversation we had on your farm? It was outside the gingerbread house. You were talking about how if, as a proprietor, you don’t sell the Christmas experience, you’re out of business within a year.”
“Vaguely. I think that was the same day Dwight came up to me and told me to stay away from you or at least shortly after that.”
“Well, what you said actually hit me hard, and I know I shouldn’t be looking for any sympathy, given the circumstances, and I guess I’m not, but more so looking for you to understand.” I fully turn toward him and cross my legs. “Umm, I had to shut down my business this year. It was a year-round Christmas store in Fort Collins.”
“Oh shit, Betty. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Please don’t apologize. You didn’t know.”
“Still, I can’t imagine what that must have felt like.”
I offer him a shrug. “It wasn’t fun. I sank everything into it, including all my hopes, money, and relationships, and it didn’t do well, and I had to close down. It was really hard. The people who I thought were my business friends turned their backs on me. I had to sell inventory at near cost to try to get a semblance of money back, and the embarrassment of not being able to successfully keep a business open plagued me. So when I came out here for Thanksgiving, Dwight, or Uncle Dwight as I call him, told me he had a piece of property he wanted to show me. He had all these plans of me growing the land into something special. I was apprehensive at first, but somehow he encouraged me to give it a shot. So I started to dream up ideas, ideas that I had no right dreaming up, and then, well, our conversation on the farm brought me back down to reality, and I told Uncle Dwight I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be a part of his plan.” I look Atlas in the eyes and say, “I was scared to fail again.”
“Because of what I said?”
“Because of everything. Please don’t hear what I’m saying as this being your fault or anything like that, as you had no idea. It was just a culmination of our conversation, my already battered ego, and a lack of confidence and direction on my part.” I blow out a heavy breath. “Anyway, Uncle Dwight convinced me to stay and give my decision a week. He wanted me to soak in the town, and that’s when I started hanging out with you and Storee.”
“I’m glad you did.” He takes my hand in his.
“I’m glad too, because now I’m here... with you.”
“Youarehere.” His smile is so sweet. So genuine. He squeezes my hand and asks, “So what do you think you’ll do now? Do you want to go back to Fort Collins?”
I pull my legs into my chest and stare out the window at the wintery, snowy day, thinking about the time I’ve had here and how I’ve felt more alive in the last couple of weeks than I have in a while.
“Not really. I like it here. I like the community. I like Storee...” I meet his eyes. “I like you.” That makes him smile. “I just don’t know how to navigate the Uncle Dwight situation, especially since he’s done so much for me.”
“Yeah, I can understand that.” He lets out a sigh. “As much as it pains me to say this, because the last thing I ever want to do is something nice for Dwight, why don’t I bounce some ideas around with you? We can come up with alternate plans for his property that will not only benefit him in the long run but also... benefit the town.”
“You would do that?”
“If it means you stay longer, yeah. Yeah, I would.”
I smile at him. That’s extremely kindandselfless. Have I ever had a new friend be so generous with their time? Where were my friends when my life imploded recently?Silent.Which explains why I haven’t made an effort to keep up with them since I movedhere.Which is kind of sad.All I can do is thank him, as this sort of thoughtfulness is a rare gift. “Thank you. You have no idea how wonderful that sounds.”
He pushes some of my hair behind my ear, gazing at me with such an adoring look that the tension I was feeling quickly eases. “Tell me about the store you had. What was it called?”
I smile sadly, thinking about the store I put so much effort and thought into. “It was called the Christmas Box, and it was a collection of everything you could think of when it comes to Christmas. I specialized in ornaments, because those are always a big seller. But then I would sell items from crafters, personalized printed wrapping paper, just a conglomerate of things that I loved so much. It was like joy when you walked into the store. And I had this idea to do wreath-making classes and never got the chance to see it through, but I know it would have been a hit. I also had a workshop in the back where you could make your own Christmas sign. That was my favorite.”
“That’s a really good idea,” Atlas says. “Maybe that’s something fun you can offer in some way.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“And what about these so-called friends? Where are they now?”
I shrug. “Long gone. I met them at a small business meetup. They were super-supportive at the beginning, but I think it’s because they were trying to grab on to the success of something to help their business, you know? Like if I succeeded, they would have succeeded. But once things started to take a turn, they jumped ship, and I really didn’t hear from them.”
“Which makes them not friends at all.”
“I see that now.”
