Chapter 7 Exploding

• *Holly*
• I was feeling a lot of things. Between seeing the snow fall outside my window, my sweet little Carol setting her paw on my foot, and the oh-so-many thoughts hissing in my mind about the last week, I could not focus on my homework. Memories of the velvet-suited mystery man kissing me under the mistletoe kept popping up between every sentence in my Information Literacy assignment.
• I had talked to both Abigail and Gretchen about it, because of course I had to. Gretchen kept asking if the mustache and beard combo had put a damper on it while Abigail was strangely silent about it. Yes, the mustache was there, and it may have been a little tickly on my top lip, but it didn’t ruin the kiss, not in the slightest.
• In fact, in my memories, there was no mustache. It was all floating candles and angels singing and fireworks exploding in the background. But, of course, that could have just been the adrenaline of making such a move.
• Then, right alongside the little flits and airy tumbles my stomach was doing was the strange sense of guilt I felt because I had found another man attractive. And worse yet, I had even been a little disappointed that he wasn’t single. And while I knew I didn’t owe my mystery man anything just because of one magical kiss and a Christmas ball, it felt wrong to have my affections split.
• Actually, it was probably for the best that this Patrick guy had a girlfriend because that meant he was off-limits. I didn’t really need to think about him and his easy-going smile and his quippy, smart jokes. I really didn’t need to think about the way his jeans fit his thighs or imagine what his arms and shoulders would look like.
• I dropped my forehead into my arms and groaned. Carol looked up at me with a whine and pawed at my sweatpants.
• “What do you think?” I asked her. “When you met the golden retriever at the park and the next week you met the Australian shepherd, how did you choose between them? And then when you found out that the golden retriever was about to have a litter with another dog, how did you get over that?”
• I held a pencil to her like a microphone in a mock interview, but she just tried to eat it. I pulled it back quickly and pointed it at myself. “This is Holly Garland signing off before I have a mental breakdown from trying to get love advice from a dog.”
• What was I doing even thinking about getting hung up on a guy who had a girlfriend?
• I stood up suddenly from my chair as if I’d had a eureka moment.
• “I’m not going to!” I told myself. “You met the other guy first, and Patrick has a hot girlfriend anyway!”
• Not to mention, that exceptional connection I’d had with velvet Mr. Claus in a span of two minutes, with minimal talking and never his seeing face. We weren’t persuaded by outer appearances, though the velvet suit was an attention grabber. Still, that kind of closeness could rarely be felt in that kind of situation. Yet, it didn’t feel like a flat, superficial link. It was more like an enchantment.
• I couldn’t let something like that go so easily.
• Maybe I wasn’t sure what to make of it all, but I wanted to find him regardless.
• And the only way I could do that was if I continued to go out and went ahead with my lifelong love of Christmas, checking off all the things I wanted to do. Abigail had told me I needed to get back into my normal Christmas cheer, and she was right.
• Carol looked up at me, giving tiny little woofs. She probably thought we were going for a walk. And why let her down?
• I glanced outside and then looked down at my precious cairn terrier. She happened to love the snow just as much as I did, and we both needed a breath of that crisp, fresh winter air.
• “Wanna go out?” I asked her.
• She jumped up and turned in two circles before giving me a big, hearty bark. We walked to the front door, where I suited her up with her little winter vest and leash. The air outside had certainly gotten colder over the last week, but I welcomed the nip and the way it refreshed my senses. Carol seemed to enjoy it too because while she was generally good on the leash, she was pulling to get off the porch and into the snow.
• We walked along the snow-covered sidewalk and Carol pounced through some of the snowdrifts. I liked hearing the crunch under my boots and seeing the tufts of white hanging onto the evergreen tree branches. This was part of the season so many people overlooked—the quiet, everyday beauty that it brought.
• I enjoyed looking at people’s decorations, too. And I spotted several new snowmen sculpted in yards down the block. I smiled to myself.
• “It’s time to whip out your Santa costume,” I told Carol.
• She didn’t pay me any mind as she sniffed at the mailboxes decorated with holly and ribbons.
• Shortly after arriving home and making myself a cup of hot cocoa loaded with marshmallows, I received a call from my mom.
• “Hey!” I chirped.
• My mom and I were always close growing up. Of course, I was fortunate to have a good relationship with both my parents, but the older I got, the more I felt like my mom and I were best friends. The more I could see myself in her, the more I was proud to be able to say that.
• “Hey, cookie,” she said. At one point I thought I’d outgrown that nickname, but eventually, I started to find it endearing. “What are you up to?”
• “Carol and I just got back from a walk because I couldn’t focus on my homework. I have this assignment to do about how to help users access information more easily and efficiently that I just cannot get into. Why do they assign all the boring stuff at the end of the semester when people are having a harder time focusing?”
• My mom chuckled. “Well, every job has its boring parts. For instance, that’s why I make your dad do all the financial stuff, and that’s why I do all the baking stuff, but we both hate cleaning up.”
• “Isn’t that what Jack is for?” I said jokingly.
• “Well, yes, but I can’t pawn those chores off on him forever or he’ll never learn the business.”
• I knew she was right. But part of me didn’t want him to learn the business because that would mean that my parents were giving it up. I knew that they deserved the extra time to relax and do things they hadn’t made the time for over the last twenty-two years, but it was hard to accept that they were letting go of so many sentimental things, so many memories.
• “Well, I know Jack will eventually take over, but why haven’t you hired anyone to do the trivial things like run the register or wash the dishes?” I asked.
• “Oh! Speaking of hiring people to help out,” my mom said, ignoring my question. “What are you doing this weekend?”
• “I don’t have any plans set in stone yet,” I explained.
• “Well, if you’re free, the church ladies and I are planning on going to the toy drive, but I’ll admit I’ve fallen a bit behind on my end of the deal. Would you be willing to come help your poor old mom out?”
• I chuckled. “You don’t have to self-deprecate to guilt me into coming,” I said. “I’m always willing to come help out. I love that place.”
• My mom let out the kind of hum that told me she was smiling but that she might feel a little sad or bittersweet about it. And for some reason, that made me feel less alone in my feelings about them handing off the bakery. Part of her probably felt a similar way.
• “Anyway!” I said to break the growing silence. “You can sign me up. Maybe I’ll even come for the weekend if Abigail is okay with hanging out with Carol.”
• “You don’t want to bring Carol with you?” my mom asked.
• Carol tended to get a little carsick if we drove longer than ten minutes. “I’ll think about it,” I said. “What time do you want me to come help you out?”
• “Oh, I don’t want to distract you from your schoolwork,” she said. “I’d really just appreciate any time you could give me.”
• I wandered back to my room, blowing on my steaming hot chocolate and nabbing a slightly softened marshmallow between my lips. I used to eat all of the marshmallows right away so I could add more, but I’d gotten better at that over the years. I was a grown-up now.
• I sucked up another mushy marshmallow.
• Well, I was mostly grown up.
• “Don’t worry about the schoolwork. It’s mostly final projects that we’re working on all month. I have a lot of time to do them,” I said. “How about I come the day before? That way, we have plenty of time?”
• My mom hummed again, this time more hopefully. “Okay, if that’s not a problem for you. Then let’s plan on that. Really, you can come whenever you want.”
• My mom shared the details of the toy drive with me, when and what time. We chatted for a few more minutes about school and Christmas plans before she got interrupted by my dad needing assistance with a customer’s order.
• I tried to get back into my assignment, but my mind kept getting dragged away again. So instead of finishing my assignment, I researched the toy drive and read a couple of little news articles about it from the last few years. It was a nice charity that strived to give every child not only a suitable toy for Christmas, but they also supplied them and their family with all the food and home supplies they would need for the entire winter.
• It seemed like it had become pretty big in the area, and even other cities donated items or funds to purchase the items. It was a noble cause that I was happy to be a part of. Before now, I’d been away at college, so I hadn’t heard of it.
• While I was searching, I saw several opportunities for charities, and the Christmas spirit moved me to join. In the middle of rearranging my whole calendar for the month of December, Abigail arrived home from her job and became a victim of my planning. I talked her into going to a few events with me, and she made me schedule some “fun” things too.
• But it was all fun–it was Christmas, after all.
• With my mind and my heart felt overjoyed with my new plans, I almost forgot about my mystery man.
• Almost.
• But between Abigail nagging me and getting a reminder from my professor about the due date of the assignment as well as a pop quiz the next day, I figured that the rest of the night needed to be spent with my fingers on the keyboard or my nose in a textbook.
• I forced myself back into studying while sugarplums danced in the back of my mind.