Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

“I love early Christmas sales,” I said to my best friend, Kay, who was shopping with me after our Saturday spin class. “It’s like a buffet of orgasms without all the complications of sex.”

I grabbed five packages of lights and balanced them atop the giant plastic Santa, red cookie tins, and rolls of foiled wrapping paper in my shopping cart. Ten percent discount, baby! Woohoo!

“Oh. I think I just came again.” I wiggled my hips. “I just wish my wallet were into it. He’s such a frigid bitch.”

“Meri, girl,” Kay groaned, “you do this every year, and then you’re broke for the next twelve months.”

Ooh. Santa swizzle sticks! I grabbed three packs.

“Well, yeah,” I replied to Kay. “But at least I pay off my credit cards before the next Christmas. Right?” It was how my parents raised me. Always pay your debts, and when it comes to the holidays, give until your eyeballs bleed. And then give a little more.

Okay, okay. That last part wasn’t what they taught me, but they did love Christmas, and growing up, they did such a good job of making the holidays feel magical that I became obsessed. I literally started planning Christmas in January, the moment my dried-out tree went to the curb of my charming, 1920s apartment building with adorable arched windows and stained-glass sidelights. I then started packing up my decorations to go into storage because I wanted to take advantage of the post-holiday clearance sales for the following December.

Well, November, really. Any self-respecting Christmas enthusiast had their lights twinkling, their manger manged, and their fake tree (aka my holiday warmup tree before the live one moved in) re-flocked by mid-November.

Me? I started decorating in October, meaning right about now.

I just loved everything about the season, and it couldn’t come fast enough—the smell of fresh cookies and cinnamon candles, the cheery music, the parties and lights and sound of laughter and the miniature reindeer display on my coffee table and my snowflake-shaped dishes and…deep breath, everything!

But most of all, I looked forward to throwing my famous, annual Christmas party. I usually crammed fifty people inside my one-bedroom apartment, but everyone got to experience a magical Christmas and went home with a belly full of decadent treats.

I also gifted everyone in my social circle a tin of my signature sugar cookies. You know, the ones shaped like angels with those little edible pearls and a layer of powdered sugar in a lace pattern—a trick I’d perfected, using a special sifter I’d ordered from France. Set me back fifty dollars, but worth every penny.

“Meri,” Kay growled, her big green eyes narrowing on the pile of treasures in my red shopping cart. She only had a bag of apples in hers. Loser. “You promised you’d scale back this time so the two of us can take that cruise next summer.”

The weighty nuisance of guilt appeared inside my stomach, instantly smothering my pre-holiday shopping buzz. I had promised her, hadn’t I?

For the last three years, I’d sworn up and down that we’d go, but every time she went to book time off from work, I’d tell her I didn’t have the money.

She’d gotten so desperate last spring that she’d offered to pay my way—three thousand dollars for a two-week cruise in the Caribbean. First-class cabin with a balcony, endless views of turquoise water, and five-star dining. It was a high nail on her bucket list, right up there with marrying a man who loved to cook gourmet dinners and give three-hour-long foot rubs.

Of course, I’d turned down her generous offer to pay my way, feeling ashamed of myself for being so broke. Again.

But honestly? She worked just as hard as I did, and I wasn’t about to mooch. She was in real estate, and I was an insurance analyst who specialized in insuring big developers. Yes, I made decent money, but it somehow ended up under the tree each year.

Anyway, after I said no thank you in the nicest possible way, Kay cried and declared she’d go without me next summer. I felt like garbage and swore up and down I would not be broke next year. I would save, and we’d go together.

But, gah! I love Christmas. I eyed the stuff in my cart and then looked at Kay’s crinkled lips preparing to unleash some choice words. She fully expected me to break another promise, and she’d be right.

Could I really do this to her—choose an amazing Christmas over Kay? We’d been best friends since middle school, ever since Kevin Foster started making fun of my freckles and frizzy brown curls. Every day he’d come up with a new name for me—fuzz butt, pork rind, rat’s nest, and pube head. Then one day, he’d called me “slutty tumbleweed,” claiming I just rolled from guy to guy like a “wild bag of hoes.” He added that each freckle on my face was a devil’s kiss for all the boys I’d banged. “Marks of shame,” he’d called them. I guessed his parents were super religious or something, and he’d improvised on their teachings.

Well, my parents were religious, too—super Catholics—which was why I knew he’d missed some major points about kindness. His words were truly cruel and most definitely intended for everyone to hear, which was why the other boys in class, and even some of the girls, had laughed.

The only one who stuck up for me was Kay, and though I’d gained a best friend that day—something I was eternally grateful for—the damage was done. From that day forward, I got the illegitimate reputation for being a ho bag. A slut. An easy score. My D-cups didn’t help defuse the situation either, so I also gained a phobia.

I was so terrified of even looking at a boy and being accused of sluttism that I didn’t have my first real relationship until college.

After a year, my ex and I broke up because he said I was uptight and way too concerned about what other people thought. Also, he hated Christmas. Was never going to work out.

The strange part was, my last boyfriend, Mike, loved Christmas, but he’d said the same thing: I was too self-conscious. But who wouldn’t be after what I’d gone through in high school? The boys wanted to date me for all the wrong reasons, and the girls hated me for getting attention. Kay and a handful of other friends kept me sane through it all.

I was twenty-nine now—on the precipice of thirty—and I’d be single for the holidays again. If it weren’t for Kay and her unwavering friendship, I’d probably just give up on romance and marry a cucumber.

“You’re right,” I said and drew a deep, fortifying breath. What I was about to say next would not sit well with the hungry holiday monster inside. “I made a promise, and this year, I’m keeping it.”

Kay glanced at the stuff in my cart and folded her toned arms over her flat chest. “Then put it all back.”

I arched a brow. This stuff is ten percent off!

“I’m serious, Meri. Put it back. If you’re keeping your promise—which you’d better—then you won’t spend a dime on Christmas this year.”

“I said I’d scale back. And I will. But I still have to decorate for my party.”

“Then let everyone chip in for the food,” she suggested. “I’ll bake a big cake.”

“I can’t invite people over and then ask them to bring their own food.” How tacky. Plus, my food was always special and went with a theme.

“You can if you throw a potluck,” she argued.

I gave her a dirty look.

“Okay, then at least use the stuff in your storage locker. You’ll save a ton of money on decorations.” She grabbed the plastic Santa from my cart, sending the packages of lights tumbling to the floor.

Oh no! They’ll never twinkle now.

She went on, “And don’t even start, because I know for a fact that you have five of these Santas already.”

I went in for St. Nick, reclaiming him from her hands. “The red paint fades. I always get a new one. He deserves to look his best.”

She took back plastic Santa. “Then buy a two-dollar tube of red paint from the craft section and give the man a new coat. Saves you forty-eight dollars.”

Maybe she had a point. Also, my storage unit was getting pretty full. I hoarded everything from prior Christmases for when I finally bought a house. I mean, how else would I decorate a five-bedroom, four-bath, two-story country home with a red barn on five snowy acres without having lots and lots of Santas? The way I saw it, I was investing in my future.

Still, maybe I could scale back just once. For Kay. For the cruise.

“Okay,” I said, “but I still have to wrap presents.”

“Dollar store.”

I gasped. “You know I only use gold- or red-foiled paper. The lights on the tree make the presents sparkle. Dollar store doesn’t carry that stuff.”

“Well, you’ll just have to make do since that’s where you’re doing your shopping this year for gifts.”

A wave of nausea climbed up my throat. Not that I had anything against shopping there, but I already had handmade crafts picked out for everyone. I loved supporting the artists, the crafters, and the wood carvers of the world. I made sure that everyone on my list got a totally unique—and, yes, sometimes expensive—item to add to their own decorations.

Last year, I ordered reindeer sculptures from Norway, inscribed with each person’s name. Set me back one hundred dollars per person. With forty people on my list—parents, my two older brothers, their wives, my six nieces and nephews, my five aunts and uncles, ten cousins, and my closest friends—well, you do the math. That didn’t include the cost of my party, decorations, or masterful cookie gifts. I also made little gift bags for about twenty people at work. Nothing fancy. Just a cute ornament for their trees plus a custom-printed card of me.

In front of last year’s tree. Alone. But I was hopeful that would change. In the meantime, I had… Christmas to keep me happy!

“Are you really doing this to me?” I whined. “You’re taking away my Christmas?”

Her green eyes filled with rage. “You know what?” She grabbed the Santa and slammed it down inside my cart. “I give up.” She took her cart and started rolling away.

“You don’t see me telling you not to buy your stupid hair dye, do you?” Kay was a natural blonde, but loved coloring her hair the exact same shade every three weeks for uniformity purposes. She was a perfectionist when it came to her looks. Not an ounce of unneeded fat on her body or a flabby anything. I was pretty flexible when it came to all that, except for managing my frizz. I straightened my brown hair most days or wore it in a bun. “And you’re obsessed with your butt! That’s why it’s so tight. Tight ass!”

“Take me off your list!” she yelled after she turned the corner. “We are not best friends anymore.”

My mouth dropped. “Fine with me, you holiday hate…er…” My words faded with a sad little sigh. I knew she was right to be upset. She’d put up with me and my Christmas mania for far too long.

I just…I just couldn’t stand the thought of throwing anything but a spectacular holiday party or the idea of giving out presents that didn’t say, “I put a lot of time and effort into your gift.” It was an essential element to making everyone feel special.

But Kay neve r asked for anything. Well, except to borrow my red truck every once in a while when she moved. But aside from that, she only asked for friendship, and here I was shattering her dream of the two of us cruising around in the tropics.

I looked at the items in my cart. “Sorry, guys, but it’s you or Kay.”