Chapter 43

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MOLLY

I don't stay in Elk Lake long enough to see Henry. In fact, I don't even tell Ellen that I'm leaving. I just pack up and roll out of the room while she's in the shower. I do, however, leave her a note, so she won't think I disappeared into thin air.

The train ride back into the city is nothing short of depressing. Happy, festive people are everywhere. They're smiling and wearing Santa hats and animatedly discussing holiday plans. Couples are walking hand in hand and carrying shopping bags that are surely full of presents for loved ones. Meanwhile, I'm going home to my boringly sterile beige apartment that hasn't even been decorated.

When the train pulls into Union Station, I'm overwhelmed by a horrible sadness. I have no idea why I'm so bent out of shape over Blake. Yes, I had high hopes of a possible future together, but we didn't know each other well, and certainly not for long. There's no reason I should let his treachery affect me like it has.

Blake is handsome, lovely, funny, and nice, but I probably just saw those characteristics amplified. Maybe I did that because I was finally ready to get back into the dating scene, and not because he was as perfect as I thought he was.

Taking a cab to my apartment, I stare out the window and try to force myself to enjoy all the decorations. It's my favorite time of year in Chicago. I need to stop letting thoughts of Blake take center stage in my brain and ruin that for me.

When the cab pulls up to my building, I get out and briefly drop my suitcase off with the doorman. Then I head to the market on the corner where I buy a fresh wreath for my door, along with a poinsettia plant and some staples for my refrigerator. I'm going to go home and force myself into the Christmas spirit, even if it kills me.

When I get back to my building, Martin, the doorman, tells me, "I'll bring your suitcase up for you in a few minutes. You have a delivery at the desk you might want to pick up."

I stop at the desk and find that I've been sent a giant vase of red roses. There must be fifty of them. I open the envelope with my name on it, but the card isn't signed. There's just a simple message.

Christmas is a time for miracles.

Tears spring up in my eyes. That's the same thing Ellen told me right before I left for Elk Lake. I line my grocery bags up my arms so that my hands are free to carry the flowers.

I love my sister's optimism, but there are no Christmas miracles for me this year. Maybe next year, if I'm really good. Once I get to my apartment, I open the door and discover a Christmas tree has been set up in my living room by the window. Flipping on the light switch causes hundreds of tiny colored lights to flicker on and illuminate the glass ornaments that adorn it.

I pull my phone out of my purse and call Ellen. "What have you done?" I ask her.

"What have I done?" she flings. "What have you done? Why is Henry here?"

"He's there so that the two of you can work things out before too much distance makes everything weird." Then I tell her, "I love my tree and flowers."

"I'm glad you love the tree," she says, "but I didn't send flowers."

"Are you sure?" I ask her.

"Of course I'm sure." I hear her giggle before she says, "Henry says thank you."

"Are you going to thank me, too?" I ask her.

"Maybe," she says. Her voice lowers. "I'm just really scared, Molly. I mean, what if things go spectacularly wrong?"

"Like they did with Don?" I know that's what she's really worried about.

"Yes, like that."

"You can learn from the past, Ellen, but you can't stop taking chances. You can't stop believing that good things can happen to you."

"You did," she accuses none too kindly.

"I may have stopped believing in a fairytale ending for myself, but I've decided that it's time to give love a chance again."

"With Blake?" she asks excitedly.

"No, not with him."

"Not with Kyle?" She sounds horrified.

"Not him, either," I tell her. "I've decided that next year is going to be my year to make some big changes." I list the few that I've come up with. "I'm going to start dating again. I'm going to travel less and accept more jobs closer to home. And I'm going to go see every romcom that comes out. Because honestly, if things can work out for a hooker and a billionaire, then surely, they can work out for me, too."

"Ah, Pretty Woman ," she says dreamily before telling me, "You can't call them hookers anymore. They're sex workers now."

"How is that any classier?" I want to know.

"I don't think it's a matter of class. More an accurate description of the job they perform. "

"Fine. If things can work out between a sex worker and a billionaire, then there must be hope for me."

"You might not even have to wait until the New Year," Ellen says mysteriously.

Kicking off my loafers, I curl up on my couch in front of my beautiful Christmas tree. "I'm not going to go on a date before then," I tell her. "Plus, New Years is less than two weeks away."

"Just keep an open mind, Molls," my sister says. "Remember what I told you before I left."

"Christmas is a time for miracles," I repeat. "Which was the message on the roses that I received."

"Truly?" She sounds surprised, so maybe they weren't from her.

"Truly," I tell her. "And you know what, maybe it is. Maybe there's a miracle with my name on it. I'm just not quite ready to get my hopes up. This has been a tough week."

"The good thing about fish," Ellen says, "is the sea is full of them. Maybe Blake isn't your guy, but there's definitely someone out there who is."

I hope she's right. "I think Henry's your guy, Ellen. He loves you, his kids love you; you need to trust that love."

She's quiet for several moments before saying, "Maybe. I guess that's what we're going to spend the next few days figuring out."

After hanging up with Ellen, I go into the kitchen and put away the groceries I just bought. Then I pop open the bottle of champagne I picked up on a whim and carry it back to the couch.

Sitting down, I raise my glass toward the tree and toast, "To Christmas miracles!" Not that I think I'll get one this year, but I think it's a solid possibility for next year.

Kyle may have taught me not to trust easily, but I've also learned that I can't let him ruin future encounters for me. If Ellen can come back from her tough road—which was honestly much worse than mine—then surely, I can put on my big girl panties and get on with things.

I continue to toast in front of my Christmas tree all the sentiments I hope will come true in the coming year. I toast, "To Ben! May his clinical trial kick cancer's butt so he can live a long and happy life!" I toast to Ellen and Henry. Then I add my parents and various friends to the list. I finish off with one that I almost can't say out loud.

In the barest of whispers, I say, "To Blake. Thank you for helping me to figure out it was time to move on."