Recommended for You

by Laura Silverman

  “You can’t tell anyone else what you overheard. I don’t want to ruin the holidays. I haven’t decided if we’re closing, but if we are, I’ll tell them after the New Year. We’ll stay open for at least a few months so everyone has time to find new employment.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I promise. “I can just say that we’re… throwing a party! We can invite all of our customers and the holiday crowd. It’ll be this giant, festive celebration, and we’ll make a ton of profit. And if you still choose to close the store, at least the party will be something incredible to remember it by.”

  Myra gives me a long, hard look. I swear the clock ticks even louder. But eventually she nods and says, “Your budget is one hundred dollars. Not a penny more. Got it?”

  “Yes! Definitely!”

  “And I’m making no promises. Understood?”

  “Yes!” I mentally pump my fist into the air and dance around the room. “I totally and completely understand.”

  * * *

  From: Myra@OnceUpon.com

  To: Employees@OnceUpon.com

  12:34 p.m.

  I have given Shoshanna permission to throw a festive celebration tomorrow before we close on Christmas Eve. Participation is completely—completely—voluntary. If you would like to take part, she is holding a meeting in the break room at 1:00 p.m.

  —Myra

  From: Shoshanna@OnceUpon.com

  To: Employees@OnceUpon.com

  Which one of you nerds has a whiteboard?

  —Shoshanna

  From: SophieAnne@OnceUpon.com

  To: Employees@OnceUpon.com

  I have one in my car.

  From: Shoshanna@OnceUpon.com

  To: Employees@OnceUpon.com

  Really??

  From: Arjun@OnceUpon.com

  To: Employees@OnceUpon.com

  TAG ME OUT

  From: Myra@OnceUpon.com

  To: Employees@OnceUpon.com

  Tag us all out. Now.

  From: Shoshanna@OnceUpon.com

  To: SophieAnne@OnceUpon.com

  Please bring your whiteboard to the meeting!

  From: SophieAnne@OnceUpon.com

  To: Shoshanna@OnceUpon.com

  Fine.

  I stack five boxes of hardcovers, three on bottom and two on top, then climb up and stand on them. Huh. So this is what it’s like to look down on people instead of up at them. It’s a whole new world. Since it’s the busiest shopping day of the year, almost our entire staff is working. A few people are left on registers to keep the store afloat and because they don’t care about our festive celebration, but the majority of the Once Upon staff is gathered before me in the stock room, even Arjun, who e-mail-screamed TAG ME OUT.

  My coworkers are assembled before me like a superhero team, except not at all like a superhero team. Everyone is scrolling on their phones, tapping their feet, picking lint off of their sweaters, and looking all-around restless. Keeping staff off of the floor defeats the purpose of saving the store, so I need to get this done quickly. I tug on my necklace and glance at Jake, who’s on my left and not standing on a throne of boxes. He gives me a reassuring nod, and I straighten my shoulders with a little more confidence.

  “Okay.” I clap my hands together. “Thank you, everyone, for being here.”

  “You’re welcome!” Geraldine says.

  “She doesn’t even go here,” Arjun replies.

  Wait. Did Arjun just make a Mean Girls reference?

  “Why are we here, exactly?” Tanya asks, perennial mug of tea in hand.

  “Why are we here?” Daniel steps forward as he straightens his glasses. Daniel, who considers this store a home as much as I do. My heart squeezes. God, it hurts like hell that I can’t tell him that Once Upon might close.

  My throat tightens, and I’m worried I might start crying on my throne of boxes. I’m tempted to turn this meeting over to Jake, but I owe it to myself, to Myra, to the store, to get through this. I take a breath and force my voice to be bright. “We are here because we’re going to throw a party! A great party. A festive party. Um, a—”

  The break room door bangs open, and Sophie-Anne sidles in with a massive whiteboard, her skirt trailing behind her like a gauzy black wedding-dress train. The crowd parts for her and the whiteboard, but I still hear the ouch of a banged elbow.

  “Why do you have a whiteboard in your car?” Daniel asks.

  “I tutor kids,” Sophie-Anne replies.

  “You… tutor?” he asks.

  “Yes,” she replies, breaking through the crowd to where I’m standing.

  “You tutor… children?” I clarify.

  Sophie-Anne ignores my question as she props the whiteboard up against the wall. “Why do we even need this?”

  “For party planning!” I say.

  “And we’re throwing a party… tomorrow?” Tanya asks, her brow creased. Tanya’s husband works one of those fulltime nine-to-five jobs with benefits, but with two young boys at home to support, I’m sure Tanya doesn’t work at Once Upon for the fun of it and to supply her coworkers with emergency tampons. I’m sure she needs this paycheck. She needs this store.

  My eyes sweep across the room and take in every familiar face, and it fully hits me then. It’s not just Once Upon, my happy place, on the line here—it’s on the line for all of us. I can’t imagine a world without Once Upon, without its endless stacks of curated books, without Mr. and Mrs. Murillo hosting story time for kids curled up in beanbag chairs and Ms. Serrano puttering around with her cup of coffee, handing out recommendations left and right like she’s an employee, without Daniel and Tanya and even Arjun and Sophie-Anne. Because this place isn’t just a store. It’s a home. And I’m going to do my darn-all to keep it.

  “Yes,” I say, drawing in a breath. “We’re throwing a party tomorrow!” I step down off my throne and up to Sophie-Anne. “Marker me,” I tell her, holding out my hand.

  She slaps an Expo marker into my palm. Hard. Ouch. But good. I uncap the marker and turn to the whiteboard. Okay, brainstorming. I’m brainstorming a party. I have about ten seconds before I lose the attention of these employees, and it’s hard to think when the store Christmas music is on full blast today. If that cheery reindeer song plays one more freaking time, I swear I’ll fully empathize with the Grinch, and—wait!

  “That’s it!” I say.

  “What’s it?” Daniel asks.

  I turn back to everyone and shout, “The Grinch who Stole Bookmas!” The plan forms so quickly in my head it must be a Christmas miracle. Yes. This is going to be epic! Some of my coworkers are looking at me with concern, perhaps worried the holiday retail rush has pushed me past the edge of sanity, but I ignore those alarmed looks and say, “We’ll tell everyone the Grinch stole Bookmas! He ran around and stole everyone’s favorite books and hid them all over the mall. It’ll be like a scavenger hunt!”

  Tanya raises her hand. “How does that get people into the store, though?”

  I nod. “Right. Good question. Well, we won’t hide actual books. We can print out vouchers for the books, hide those, and then people can redeem them for the actual book at the store. And it won’t just be the scavenger hunt—we’ll have snacks and drinks, and maybe we can get some stores to donate gift certificates for raffles, and…”

  “Ooh!” Geraldine jumps up and down. “Elliot and I can do more face paint.”

  “Yes, perfect!” I say. “And maybe I can get Santa to come—I know him!”

  Jake narrows his eyes. “You know Santa?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I wave him off and turn back to the whiteboard. “Okay, people. More ideas! Hit me!”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, we have a whiteboard of ideas and a full plan of action for the party. Most employees have returned to the store floor, but Daniel is still back here, and Sophie-Anne and Arjun are as well. They’re both drawing in the corner of the whiteboard. I guess it is her whiteboard.

  I let out a giant yawn as Daniel walks ov
er to me. It’s going to be a twenty-four-hour marathon of tireless effort and little sleep, and I’m already exhausted, but this has to work. We have to save the store. And I think with this plan, it’s possible.

  “You okay there?” Daniel asks.

  “Yeah.” I muster a smile. “Just tired.” And completely overwhelmed at the thought of my favorite place in the world closing forever and racked with guilt that I can’t tell you about it, but other than that, yep, totally and completely fine.

  “Hmm,” Daniel says. Then he turns and calls out, “Hey, Arjun!”

  “What?” Arjun whines. He’s drawing what looks like a duck exorcism.

  Sophie-Anne glances down at his creation and says, “Aw! Cute, babe! Your craft is really improving.”

  He beams up at her. “Thanks, hon!”

  Daniel and I exchange a look but say nothing. Then Daniel asks, “Arjun, can you come over here?”

  Arjun sighs but caps his marker and walks over to us. Daniel slips him a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. “One peppermint mocha with extra cream and syrup, and then one more extra pump of syrup just to be safe.”

  “Sophie-Anne and I don’t like coffee,” Arjun responds. “We like whole-grass wheat juice.”

  “And vodka,” Sophie-Anne chimes in.

  “And vodka,” Arjun agrees.

  “The order isn’t for you.” There’s a long, stretched-out silence until Daniel gets the hint and digs another bill out of his wallet. “Here, get your grass juice or whatever.”

  Arjun takes the money. “Okay.”

  As he leaves, I turn to Daniel with a grin. “You really don’t have to do that.”

  “Hey.” Daniel raises an eyebrow. “How do you know that peppermint mocha is for you?”

  “Because your mother is a dentist and would murder you for drinking something that cavity-inducing.”

  “Fair enough.” Daniel laughs, then removes his glasses and cleans them with the bottom of his T-shirt. I notice a slight tremor in his hand. My muscles tense at the sight of it. “Shoshanna…” He looks up at me. “Are you sure this is just a party? Is something else going on here? You can tell me, you know.”

  His eyes lock with mine, and my pulse races.

  What if the store closes? Will I see Daniel again? Will he get a job at his college campus bookstore with the notoriously terrible predilection for dead white male authors? Will I ever again sit on the floor with Lola and him and eat our way through an entire bag of Hi-Chew candies? Will we ever have another hourlong conversation about the merits of superfluous food porn in high fantasy novels? The thought of never seeing Daniel again, the thought of that potential loss, hits me hard, and I take a sharp breath.

  I can see his nerves—I can feel them—from his tense jaw to his tapping foot. I want to tell him the truth, but I can’t. It’s not my secret to share, and I’ve learned my lesson about overstepping boundaries. So instead I stuff my hands into my pockets and force a smile. “Yeah, everything is great! Just a party to celebrate the holidays. It’ll be fun!”

  “Right.” Daniel eyes me. “Okay, then.”

  His foot taps harder.

  * * *

  “Is this about to get X-rated?” Geraldine asks.

  We’re in the food court. Geraldine is done with face painting and about to start her shift at Bo’s Burritos, and I’m about to ask her manager, Vincent, to “sponsor” the Bookmas event by donating a gift certificate. But it’s hard to focus when in a corner booth Cheyenne and Anna are in the midst of a hardcore make-out session. Like fully wrapped around each other, fused into one being, tonsil-hockey hardcore. Looks like those cheddar chive scones worked wonders.

  “I guess they made up,” I observe.

  “Yup,” Geraldine agrees. “Looks that way.”

  “We should probably stop watching.”

  “Yeah.” Geraldine tilts her head. “But the athleticism is extraordinary.”

  “Masterful breathing technique. Truly.”

  Geraldine laughs. “Okay, this is getting creepy.”

  “Definitely weird,” I agree. “Let’s, um, let’s go talk to your manager.”

  Geraldine clocks into work, and I ask to chat with Vincent. Ten minutes later I’ve convinced him that sponsoring our Bookmas event is truly a once-in-a-lifetime branding opportunity for Bo’s Burritos that could cement the moral foundation of the company forever, and there’s a twenty-five-dollar gift certificate in my hand as I walk back into the food court. Cheyenne and Anna have pulled apart and are now using their mouths to instead talk and giggle.

  “Hey, y’all!” I walk over to them with a wave. “Chey, is your dad working today?”

  Cheyenne puts her face in her hands. “Not until later.”

  “Hey, Shoshanna!” Anna greets me. Her short hair is mussed from the make-out, and her cheeks are reddened. She picks up a bottle of water and sips.

  “Hi, hi!” I slide into the booth next to Cheyenne. “Nice to see y’all have… reacquainted.”

  Anna laughs. “That’s a word for it.” They both look at each other with smiles warmer than Georgia in July. Ugh. The freaking cuteness. “What’s that?” Anna asks me, gesturing to the gift certificate in my hand.

  I tell them both about the Bookmas party but not about the store being in danger. Myra probably wouldn’t mind if I told my best friends, but I can’t chance the secret slipping. Anna says she can probably get Nordstrom to “sponsor” as well, and then I tell Cheyenne, “I might also need another favor from Santa.”

  She glances at Anna and then at me and then shakes her head with a laugh. “You sure are lucky I’m in such a good mood today.”

  I grin. “Yes, I am.”

  * * *

  The rest of the day rushes by in a flurry of bookselling and event preparation. Daniel and I make a list of places to hide all of the book vouchers so we can write the hints on the flyers, and it turns out Sophie-Anne is not only a talented artist at disturbing content but also a talented artist at wholesome holiday fun, so she designs the flyer. We then e-mail it to our customers and also print it to hand out around the mall. I’ve secured gift certificates from Bo’s Burritos, Nordstrom, Make You Up, and the Dead Sea lotion stall, after a very flustered interaction with a guy who must model for GQ on his off hours, and Santa promised to show up tomorrow at two p.m. sharp to kick off the festivities.

  And now it’s eight in the evening, and I’m no longer at Once Upon. Instead, I’m outside, standing on the stoop of Jake Kaplan’s house with Daniel and Lola, cold wind biting at my skin as I ring the doorbell. We went to pick up Daniel’s cookie cutters after work, while Jake and his mom took Myra’s stipend to buy baking supplies.

  Jake’s house is one story and painted pale yellow with light blue shutters. There’s a little rock garden out front with a sign that says JUST ROLL WITH IT. A single glowing light shines over the front door. The whole picture is the definition of “homey,” and I want to see the rest of it. The kitchen with all of Jake’s spices. The living room with his mom’s decorations. Jake’s bedroom… to see what he hangs on his walls and what tchotchkes line his shelves, to see the color of his comforter. I bet he has a really worn-in pillow, perfectly fit to the shape of his head.

  Oy. This crush has become a very big and unwieldy thing.

  Jake opens the door, and Daniel announces, “I’ve got trees, I’ve got Santas, and I’ve got reindeers.”

  “Good.” Jake grins. “Because I only have dreidels and menorahs.”

  “I have no cookie cutters, but I have excellent taste buds ready to taste test any and all cookie batter and frosting!” Lola says.

  “Me too!” I add.

  “Awesome.” As Jake smiles, he seems to angle his head so he’s smiling right at me in particular, and his eyes are warm and a little sleepy, and his hair is all rumpled like he maybe took a five-minute nap after the grocery store. And instead of his flannel or jean shirt, he’s wearing an apron over a plain white T-shirt, and apparently Jake Kaplan has muscles, like
biceps-with-a-capital-“B” muscles, which you probably get from bussing tables and kneading dough, and my heart is thumping so loud against my rib cage I bet the neighbors can hear it, and oh my hashem, I am way too into this guy.

  Jake holds the door open wider. “Come on in, y’all.”

  Yes. Yes, I will.

  We all file into the house, and I may or may not inhale as I slide by Jake. Cinnamon. And something deeper. Cloves? What do cloves smell like?

  “Hi, Shoshanna!” Ms. Kaplan greets me. “And you two must be Daniel and Lola! Welcome!” A headband pushes back her curls, and an apron hangs over her clothes. I smile as I read the words stitched into the apron: ASK PERMISSION BEFORE YOU KISS THE COOK. “Are we ready for some baking?”

  “Mom is helping,” Jake says. “She… insisted.”

  “You could sound a little more grateful, Jakey.”

  “Yeah, Jakey,” I add, nudging his shoulder. “You could sound a little more grateful.”

  He nudges my shoulder back as Ms. Kaplan grins at me. “I knew I liked you, mamaleh. That’s a cute dress.”

  Today I’m wearing a yellow affair printed with different book covers. I curtsy. “Thanks!”

  Ms. Kaplan puts on a Temptations station, and we all get to work. Jake tells us we’re making cinnamon snap cookies and dark chocolate candy-cane cookies, and before I know it, we’re all measuring and mixing and scooping while singing along to “My Girl,” and it’s warm in the kitchen but not too warm, and it smells like peppermint, and I’m smiling and happy, but I also feel this tiny ache because this is what the holidays should be like, this is what my holidays used to be like, minus the Christmas cookie cutters, and I hope more than anything therapy will work, and soon my family will be the one singing in the kitchen.

  When the song changes, I notice Jake standing still in front of the corner counter. His expression is tense as he dips a spoon into a bowl, takes a taste, and shakes his head. I walk over to him and say, “Pretty intense vibe you’ve got going on.”