The Christmas Fix

by Lucy Score

  “Cat! Hey, Cat!”

  Cat grinned at the frantically waving Sara Yates. Stylish as always, the girl was wearing a long flannel tunic over textured leggings. Her hair was pulled up on top of her head in a cute ballerina bun. She bore a striking resemblance to the woman next to her with a gingerbread man in her mouth.

  “Come meet my mom,” Sara said, waving her over. The gingerbread feet fell out of the woman’s mouth.

  Cat abandoned her carb concerns for the moment and joined them.

  “Cat, this is my mom, Mellody.”

  Mellody wiped her hands hastily on a napkin. “It’s really nice to meet you, Cat. I’ve heard a lot about you from my daughter who rarely stops talking.”

  Sara grinned, unaffected by the comment.

  “It’s great to meet you, Mellody,” Cat said, holding up her dirt-stained hands. “I’d shake but…”

  “That’s all right. I’m covered in icing and forbidden carbs that I’m not going to tell my personal trainer or the seamstress about,” Mellody announced.

  A kindred spirit in the carb department.

  Cat grinned. “Sara’s a pretty cool kid.”

  Mellody had rich dark hair like Sara’s and wide brown eyes. Cat could see more of Noah in Sara’s nose and jawline. But she clearly got her pleasantness from her mother. “She is cool if I do say so myself. I hope my ex-husband isn’t giving you a rough time while you’re here.”

  “Why would Dad give Cat a hard time?” Sara wanted to know.

  Mellody grinned at Cat in commiseration. “Oh, you know your father, sweetie. He likes to have everything a certain way.”

  “His?” Cat suggested.

  “That’s our Noah,” Mellody laughed. “Don’t let his stubbornness throw you. Deep down, under his crabby exterior, he’s a wonderful man. Isn’t he, Sara?”

  “Well, he’s no Drake or Henry,” Sara sighed dreamily, and Cat laughed.

  Mellody’s phone rang from the depths of her purse. She dug for it. “Oh, crap. The venue. Please don’t let this be bad news. Hello? Oh, no.”

  Sara looked at Cat and whispered. “Mom’s getting remarried. It’s making her anxious.” Sara circled a finger around her ear and then pointed at her mom. Cat bit back a laugh. They listened to Mellody’s side of the conversation, a series of “oh nos” and “what can we do about its?” followed by an “I’ll be right there.”

  “Mom,” Sara groaned when Mellody hung up. “We’re supposed to have Girl Day. I don’t want to go wherever you’re freaking out about going.”

  “Sorry, kid. I don’t think we have a choice. Your dad is working today, and the venue called. They had some water damage and need me to check out the secondary ceremony site.”

  Sara groaned, melting to the table like a dejected pat of butter. “But it’s an hour away!”

  “Sara,” Mellody said, going for stern but still sounding panicked. “You know how your dad and I feel about you being home alone by yourself for hours.”

  “I’m twelve, not four,” Sara pointed out. “Besides, Dad’s house is full of neighbors.”

  Mellody brightened. “Then maybe Kathy can watch you? You can hang out with April.”

  “Kathy and April are shopping to replace some of their stuff they lost in the flood. Ugh. This was supposed to be a fun day, Mom.”

  “Sara can come hang out with me on set for a bit if she wants—”

  “Oh, my God! Yes!” The acceptance was out of Sara’s mouth before Cat could even finish the offer. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “If it’s okay with your mom?” Cat finished.

  “That would be amazing and save me from dragging Pouty MacGee around on a wasted Girls Day,” Mellody said biting her lip. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be any trouble?”

  “Well, I’d have to put Sara to work. Getting coffee and donuts, maybe holding the boom for sound? The production assistants have lists a mile long with things that they need help with.”

  “Mom, please?” Sara squeezed her hands together under her chin. “This would be the most amazing Girls Day Present ever even though you bailed on me.”

  “Sure know how to make a mom feel special,” Mellody groaned, poking Sara in the shoulder.

  “Come on, Mom. You know what I mean. If I can’t spend the day hanging out with you, maybe I could hang out with Cat. I might learn things about responsibility.” Sara dangled that morsel in front of her mom.

  “For the record, that argument would work better with your father. Cat, if you’re absolutely positive she wouldn’t be a bother...” Mellody looked at her pleadingly.

  “I could use an extra set of hands on set. Let me give you my number in case you need to check in. We’ll be filming at the diner all morning, and then we’re touring the Hai house. Sara can be there for moral support for April.”

  Mellody looked elated as she entered Cat’s number into her phone. “Thank you, so much! You don’t even know. And you.” She pointed warningly at her daughter. “None of that really annoying squealing. Don’t tackle any of Cat’s co-stars and profess your love for them. Be helpful and quiet. Got it?”

  Sara threw her arms around her mother. “You’re like literally the best human being on the planet, Mom!”

  Mellody pumped her fist in the air. “Score one for Mom!”

  --------

  Sara turned out to be an excellent addition to the set. She ran water and coffee service for Reggie while field producer Jayla walked him, Cat, and Drake through the opening sequence. She stood guard next to the sawhorses and made sure no Merry residents accidentally walked onto the scene when shooting started. She even grabbed Cat a carrot and hummus snack to go along with her protein shake when they broke for a late lunch.

  “You get yourself something?” Cat asked, slipping into a heavier jacket to ward off the chilly breeze. Her on-set wardrobe was a little too light. She made a mental note to switch off to her Duluth branded coat for the shoot this afternoon.

  Sara held up a panini and a Coke.

  “Awesome. Let’s eat.” Cat led the girl to the curb so they could sit. “So, what do you think so far?”

  “I think your life is so cool, and there’s a lot more that goes on behind the camera. Like everything takes forever. Seriously, how many times does it take Drake to say, ‘We’re going to get this done for you.’?”

  Cat snorted and took a long pull of unsatisfying smoothie.

  “Drake’s used to working with more of a scripted story,” she explained. “It’s a huge transition coming from ‘read this, say this’ to winging it. But we’re on a tight timeline, and we need the before shots so we can jump right into construction.”

  Sara nodded and took a generous bite of sandwich. “Makes sense,” she said through her full mouth. “You work a lot harder than I imagined. It’s a lot less glamorous than I thought being a TV star would be.”

  Cat grinned. “It is, isn’t it? But if something’s worth doing, it’s worth working really hard for.”

  “I like that. But I bet a lot of people don’t realize how hard you work.”

  Cat shook her head, bit into a carrot. “They don’t. But the point of working hard isn’t really getting people to notice how hard you work. It’s about giving it your all and being able to walk away with no regrets. Doing a good job shouldn’t be so someone else tells you that you did good. It should be about you feeling good about your effort.”

  “That’s deep,” Sara grinned.

  “It’s all about effort, sacrifice, and reward,” Cat said, straightening her legs out in front of her and brushing at some of the dirt streaks. “You have to decide how much you’re willing to sacrifice and how much effort you’re willing to put into something. And those two things usually add up to the reward you get.”

  “Give me an example,” Sara demanded skeptically.

  “Okay, sometimes it means enduring some pain now so you can enjoy yourself later.” Cat wiggled her smoothie. “Now, I don’t partic
ularly like smoothies. I’d much rather eat three slices of greasy sausage and green pepper pizza. But part of my job involves me staying in shape—not just for looks mind you. Beyond making good-for-you nutritional choices, you shouldn’t be worried about food, weight, or diet. Got it?”

  Sara nodded earnestly.

  “In my case, I’m older than you, and my metabolism doesn’t want me to eat pizza for lunch and fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner. Because I’ll fall asleep in four seconds. So, I’m choking down my carrots and hummus and this disgusting smoothie because I know that it will fuel me for the rest of the afternoon, and then I’m going to have a couple of glasses of adult beverage with my leftover fettuccini tonight. So, I’m enduring a little pain now for a bigger payoff later.”

  Sara laughed.

  “Ah, you laugh, but it applies to much bigger lessons. It’s all about keeping your eyes on the prize.”

  “You grown-ups really like to deliver the life lessons, don’t you?”

  “Kid, if I had someone giving me this life lesson at your age, I’d be a lot further ahead. You should probably be taking notes.”

  Sara mimed scrawling frantic notes, looking enthralled, and Cat laughed.

  Paige wandered over, her long legs wrapped in festive reindeer leggings to ward off the chill in the air. “Mind if I join you, ladies?” she asked, holding up a hoagie.

  “Just the perfect woman to join the conversation,” Cat announced. “Sara and I were just discussing hard work and dreams.”

  “Oh, my fave! What do you want to do with your life, Sara?” Paige asked.

  “Mmm, well. I’m really into fashion,” Sara shrugged. “But I think my dad wants me to find something serious to get excited about.”

  “Fashion can be serious,” Cat argued.

  “Dad doesn’t think so. He’s all like ‘Why don’t you try accounting or neuroscience or physical therapy?’” Sara mimicked.

  Cat snorted and Paige elbowed her in the side.

  “Ouch! Fashion can be very serious. What parts of the industry do you like the most?” Cat asked, rubbing her ribs where Paige’s bony elbow connected.

  Sara furrowed her brow. “You know, it’s not so much the modeling that I like. It’s like the stuff that goes into magazines and commercials and when you see someone wearing it on Instagram or TV.”

  “Ah, the branding,” Cat nodded. “Fashion branding and marketing is a huge, serious industry.

  Sara brightened. “Really?”

  “There’s so much more to fashion than just clothes and accessories. There’s art and business and accounting and international relations.” Cat counted each one off on her fingers. “It’s a huge, important industry.”

  “My dad doesn’t think so.”

  “Well, maybe your dad just doesn’t understand how much work goes into fashion,” Paige pointed out. “Sometimes it’s our job to educate people on what they don’t understand.”

  Noah Yates didn’t understand anything he didn’t want to, Cat thought uncharitably.

  “What if they don’t want to be educated?” Sara asked.

  “Then you do it anyway and rub their faces in your success in a really graceful way,” Cat told her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Noah glared at the message on his phone. He stabbed the call button.

  “Tell me you didn’t leave our daughter in the care of a TV star,” he growled.

  He heard what sounded like static from the other end. “Mellody, I know that’s you blowing into the phone. Don’t even try the tunnel trick on me.”

  His ex-wife and sort-of friend sighed. “Noah, you make it sound like she’s a porn star. I met Cat. She seemed like a reasonably responsible adult, more so than that babysitter you hired a few years ago who broke into our box of wine and passed out on the couch while our five-year-old watched The Shining.”

  “This is basically the same thing, but it’s your fault this time.”

  “What’s been going on with you? Since the flood, you’ve been wound tighter than a helicopter mom on the first day of kindergarten.”

  The truth of his ex-wife’s words wasn’t lost on him. “I just have a lot going on.” He did, he reminded himself. The fact that his life flashed before his eyes as he envisioned muddy brown waters closed over his head a half dozen times a day… well, that was a little distracting, too.

  He found himself fixating on those handful of seconds over and over again. And then the tattoo, the boat. Safety. The woman who’d dragged him out of the water like a half-drowned dog had very likely saved his life. And he had no idea who she was. A stranger he’d never forget. One he’d probably never get the chance to thank.

  Noah blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just not Cat King’s biggest fan. She’s a reality TV celebrity. Is that really who we want our daughter spending time with?”

  Mellody laughed. “It’s a home renovation show, Noah, Not the Weird Housewives of Wherever. She’s nice, she’s smart, and she volunteered. Sara would have been inconsolable for a week straight if I’d said no.”

  “I get that. It’s just…”

  “Noah. She’s twelve, almost thirteen.” He could hear the gentle firmness in Mellody’s tone. He’d heard it millions of times during the course of their relationship. “We’re going to have to start accepting that. She’s old enough to stay home alone. She’s old enough to pick her after school activities. She’s old enough to be her own person.”

  Logically, rationally, he got that. But when he looked at his little girl? He wasn’t ready to release her into the world. She wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready.

  “I’ll take it into consideration,” Noah said, grudgingly. There were reasons he was the way he was. Reasons he’d never really delved into with Mellody.

  Mellody laughed. “You know this is a partnership, right?”

  “I do vaguely recall it being something along those lines. But if I find our daughter in a tube top and big hair talking about manicures and greased up pool boys, I’m blaming you forever.”

  He heard the distinct sound of fake static. “What’s that? I can’t hear you. … going through… tunn—”

  His ex-wife the comedian.

  Noah tossed his phone on the seat next to him and headed toward Merry. He’d spent his lunch hour and the better part of his afternoon in New Haven meeting with state officials who marched through what aide Merry could and couldn’t expect. There were dozens and dozens of federal programs that dealt with recovery. And now it was his job to parse through the thousand pages—barely an exaggeration—of resources and figure out which programs fit Merry’s recovery needs and which ones they could qualify for.

  It wasn’t ideal, but at least Merry could count on something outside of A Soggy, Sad Christmas of Destruction or whatever the hell moniker Cat’s network decided on for the show.

  He spotted the fleet of production vehicles parked all over Mistletoe Avenue. He could add parking etiquette to his list of issues to discuss with Cat, Noah decided as he slid out of the vehicle and slammed the door.

  Tired and frustrated, he was spoiling for a fight, and he knew Cat would give him what he wanted.

  He spotted that mass of caramel colored hair spilling over a forest green vest. She was sitting on the front porch steps next to April. Pretty as a picture, of course. Because that’s what her life was. One big show for the cameras. His Sara was on April’s other side, her slim arm around her friend’s shoulder. April was crying.

  What had been a slow, churning anger exploded into full-blown temper.

  “Babe, it’s okay to feel upset,” Cat was saying to a twelve-year-old in her infinite TV star wisdom. “It’s tough to see your house like this and watch your parents worry. But you know I’ve got your back, and Sara does, too.”

  April nodded, tears still sliding down her round cheeks.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” Sara announced confidently. “Cat’s going to fix it all.”


  That unwavering faith in a woman who had just made her best friend cry for the cameras made him snap.

  “Sara, go wait in the car,” Noah snapped. His daughter’s eyes widened, but she recognized the temper in his tone and, after squeezing April’s arm one more time, high-tailed it down the sidewalk.

  “I need a moment,” he said pointing a finger at Cat.

  She rose, and he thought she deliberately put herself between him and April as if he were the one the girl needed protection from.

  “April, why don’t you go on inside while I talk to Mr. Yates for a minute?”

  April sniffled and nodded. “Okay.” She plodded up the stairs and into her ruined house where the ruckus of an entire production team throbbed.

  “What exactly is your problem?” Cat demanded, hands on hips. “Are my permits expired? Did I look at someone sideways? Did I get too much work done?”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit,” Noah said coldly. “You’re the one who just made a twelve-year-old cry for the cameras. How do you sleep at night? Doesn’t it bother you? Using people to get where you want to go?”

  “Excuse me?” He saw fire ignite in those hazel eyes.

  “You drag this kid through her soggy, moldy childhood home and make her cry on camera. Oh, I’m sure the heart strings will be singing, but you just emotionally scarred a child. Where are her parents? Do they even know you have her?”

  Cat stepped up to meet him, the toes of her dirty work boots brushing his loafers. “Do you see any fucking cameras out here?”

  Noah blinked and spared a glance around the sidewalk. There was no camera crew, no sound guy with a boom. No director watching playback. He opened his mouth, but Cat held up a hand.

  “Don’t bother. There are no cameras out here because we took a break because April was feeling emotional. She volunteered to give the cameras a house tour. And yeah, I was all for it because the audience loved her two years ago, and she’s only gotten cuter and smarter since then. I need people to connect with this story emotionally or your goddamn Christmas Festival will look like a half-assed Easter Egg hunt in a trailer park. I’m not going to apologize for doing my job.”