Jake shakes his head. “Nah, to send Mom to see her mom, my bubbie. She lives out in California. Money is tight, and the fare is expensive. Mom hasn’t seen her in two years.”
Jesus.
Or Moses. Whatever.
Jake wants the money to send his mom to see her mom.
That is painfully kind.
I might vomit. Or try to kiss him. Hopefully not both at the same time.
“See any good spots?” Jake asks, oblivious to my emotional annihilation as we wander into the bedding section. I suddenly feel very much like two teenagers in the bedding section of Macy’s. An employee tracks us with suspicious eyes as we roam around the floor, searching for a good hiding place.
I clear my throat and shake away thoughts of vomiting and kissing. I need to focus on the task at hand. And then I see it. And I start giggling.
“What?” Jake asks, whipping his head around.
“Flannel.” I point to a bed made up with a red-and-green checkered blanket.
We both look at Jake’s shirt, and he laughs, eyes lighting up. “What can I say?” He shrugs. “I like what I like.” He seems to hold my gaze a second longer than necessary when he says that. And you know what, Jake Kaplan? I like what I like too.
I glance behind us and am relieved to find that the employee tracking us is now busy helping a customer. At first I want to hide the voucher inside of a pillowcase, but we’d better not make this hunt too difficult or disruptive, so we just put it under the pillow instead. And then the next hour zips by as we traverse the rest of the mall, dodging hordes of shoppers as we hide a voucher for Time Stands Still in the jewelry and watch department and a voucher for Animal Farm in Pet Depot and a voucher for Green Eggs and Ham in Williams-Sonoma.
After hiding the final voucher, Through the Looking Glass in Pearle Vision, we make our way back to Once Upon, and my heart starts pounding with adrenaline because oh my god, the event begins in ten minutes. We’ve passed out tons of flyers, baked a trough of cookies, gathered gift certificates for raffles, and Santa and our makeup artists are ready to go. But will it be enough to turn sales around? Enough to prove to Myra the store is worth keeping open? I tug on the chain of my necklace, fingers tracing the Star of David. I just don’t know.
The mall music pauses after its eight hundredth play of “Rudolph,” and someone makes an announcement about holiday hours.
Hmm.
An announcement.
I stop walking. Jake notices and raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”
I look up at the ceiling speakers and then back at him with a smile. “I have an idea.”
“Of course you do, Shoshanna.” He shakes his head, eyes lit with amusement. “Of course you do.”
* * *
With so little time left until the event, Jake returns to the store to finish setup, and I spin right back around and walk through the mall in search of a directory marquee, which is something I’ve used exactly zero times since starting work here. I finally find a board and squeeze myself through the throng of people to read it. My pulse races as I scan the list of indexed stores. Come on… Come on… There it is! At the very bottom in tiny white script, right between Bath & Body Works and Claire’s: Security Office.
There are only a few minutes left until the event begins, so I put my Olympic-level skills to the test. I spin, barrel, and duck my way through the mall to get to the security office in record time. Panting slightly, I knock on the door twice, and it opens a moment later. A woman in blue slacks and a white polo appraises me with a bored expression. “Someone shoplift?” she asks.
“Nope!”
“You have to call the police for physical fights, or—”
“Nothing like that,” I cut her off, then smile and sweeten my voice. “May I, uh, come inside?” I scan her shirt for a name tag. “Ms. Hendricks.”
She narrows her eyes but opens the door a little farther so I can step into the small room. There are dozens of monitors showing footage of the entire mall. It’s surreal seeing it like this, a bird’s-eye view of my habitat. We look like a bunch of ants, filing up and down hallways like we’re all programmed on the same mission. But there’s no time to critique the toxicity of mass consumption, especially when I need to wield that mass consumption in my favor.
“So. What is it?” Ms. Hendricks asks, settling into her chair.
“Well.” I rock back on my heels and keep my voice sweet. Hopefully sweet. Hopefully not annoying. “I was wondering if I could make just a teeny-tiny announcement over the PA system to promote an event at Once Upon.”
Okay, yes, I don’t have the best history in the world with acceptable PA system announcements, but the lovely Ms. Hendricks doesn’t need to know that. And yet it’s almost like she can sniff out my PA system impulse-control issues. “Definitely not,” she replies. And then she grabs her drink, a cup from Bo’s Burritos. My eyes narrow in on the cup as she sips what is mostly melted ice.
“I could get you a refill,” I offer. “I have an in at Bo’s.”
“Refills are free.” But she appraises me carefully now. “Though, I wouldn’t mind some chips and queso along with my refill of Coke.”
“Done!” I squeal, a bit too loud for the tiny room.
Ms. Hendricks winces. “Fine.” She leans forward and grabs a piece of paper. “But you’re not making the announcement. I am. Write down what you want.” She slides the paper and a pen my way.
I salute her. “Yes, ma’am.”
She gives me a weird look and then shakes her head. “You know what? I’ll take a side of guac as well.”
* * *
I make it back to Once Upon just as Ms. Hendricks interrupts “Santa Baby” to deliver the announcement: “Attention, all holiday shoppers! The ‘Grinch who Stole Bookmas’ event has officially begun at Once Upon. Join the party for story time, snacks, face paint, and you might even meet Santa! Make this holiday season a happy one with your favorite local bookstore!”
“Who needs a walkie-talkie when you have the entire mall speaker system?” Myra asks. I turn to find her next to me, her BOOK BABE mug in hand. “Nice turnout,” she comments, gesturing to the crowd.
“Thank you,” I say, barely able to believe the amount of people in front of me.
As Myra goes to help someone in the romance section, I take in our absolutely jam-packed store. My pulse races as I observe everyone from random holiday shoppers to our most loyal customers. Ms. Serrano chats with some new faces by the nonfiction shelves while Mr. and Mrs. Murillo host story time in the children’s section. Geraldine and Elliot will be by soon to face-paint, and Santa’s big entrance is only minutes away. Kids and grown-ups alike are devouring Santa cookies and dreidel cookies and are ladling out cups of cider. A line for the registers snakes twenty customers long, giving even Make You Up a run for its money. Daniel checks out shoppers with the superhuman speed of a hero in one of his graphic novels.
I bounce on my heels. Whoa. This could actually freaking work.
We could actually save the store.
I breathe out deeply, and then a cute little kid is running up to me. “I found a voucher!” they proclaim, a Where the Wild Things Are voucher in hand.
“The first one!” I cheer. “Congratulations to you! Let’s grab your book—oh, and these are your parents? Hello, welcome to Once Upon! Have you been here before?”
As the event goes on, my heart feels like it might burst with happiness, which would be really inconvenient, but wow this event is incredible. Geraldine and Elliot up their face-painting game to the next level. Santa shows up with—to my utter shock and complete delight—Cheyenne the Elf at his side. We have all four registers open, yet the line of customers never shortens, replenishing with new shoppers every time someone is checked out. At one point there’s even a bout of impromptu karaoke led by Lola and Tanya, even though we don’t have a karaoke machine. Or microphones. So they just kind of shout along to the music, and everyone sings “Jingle Bells” and then “(I’ve Had)
The Time of My Life” from Dirty Dancing.
I’m about to join in when a familiar voice calls my name. “Shoshanna!”
And then another familiar voice. “Hey, darling!”
I spin around, and my mouth drops open as I see my moms threading their way between the aisles. Mama holds a bag of dreidels and chocolate coins, and Mom holds a platter of—
My eyes widen. “Did y’all bring latkes?”
Mom smiles. “We know they aren’t as good cold, but we figured your holiday party could use a little more Hanukkah spirit.”
“And that we could make up for missing Latkepalooza,” Mama adds. “It was Mom’s idea.”
“Y’all,” I say, not even embarrassed when my voice cracks on the word. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”
Mom puts down the tray of latkes and then steps forward and squeezes my hand, locking her eyes with mine. Her scent is comforting, familiar; it’s the perfume she spritzed every day in her bedroom, while she put on makeup at her vanity and I rummaged through her cosmetic bags. I inhale it as she says, “Shoshanna, I know we already talked about it, but we wanted to make sure you know we’re here for you. Always. Whether or not…” She clears her throat. “No matter what happens between your mama and I, we will always be a family. That is never going to change.”
Mama steps forward too and takes my other hand. “We love you, sweet, brilliant, sensitive daughter. We love you more than anything. We’re so proud to be your moms.”
I take a steadying breath as I look at both of them, at the familiar faces that have been there for me throughout my entire life. Yes, I want my moms to stay together, and I’ll be heartbroken if they separate, but—I realize I will be okay no matter what happens between them. I glance around the store, at our loyal customers, at my incredible friends, at this party I put together with the help of those who love me, and then back at my moms who raised me and will always support me, and I know I can handle anything.
“I love you guys too,” I say, then jump forward and wrap my arms around both of them. The hug is tight and warm, and any bit of tension I was holding on to falls away in their embrace.
* * *
The party continues. My moms stay for latkes and cookies, and then they ask who else made the cookies, which leads to a very red-faced introduction between them and Jake—the only red face being mine, but trust me, it’s red enough for all of us. When he returns to the registers, Mama gives me a look, and Mom literally freaking winks. My Oh my god groan can be heard all the way at the North Pole.
Eventually they leave to run a couple of errands and promise to be back to take me home after the party ends. And then there’s more karaoke. And then all of the vouchers are found except for one. And, yes, Jake told me no one was going to find the Rainbow Fish voucher sealed in a baggie and weighted down with change at the bottom of the wishing fountain, and it seems he was correct. Most shoppers trickle out of the store, headed to their holiday celebrations. I thank Cheyenne and Geraldine profusely for all of their help before they hug me goodbye. Some of our regulars linger, and it turns into a more intimate party, the chatter cozy and familiar.
I finish helping a straggler customer in the young adult section just as Jake walks over to me, hesitant smile on his lips. My breath hitches as he scratches his neck. Dear lord. That neck. “Think we did it?” he asks. “Sold enough books to save the store?”
Tension straightens my spine. “I don’t know. It seems like it.” My eyes meet his, and a flash of excitement beats through me. “I hope so.”
Before he can respond, the PA system clicks on, and Myra’s voice plays overhead: “Everyone grab a drink and meet in the children’s section for a toast!”
Jake and I walk to the scavenged refreshments table and a pour a glass of cider each. I glance at his lips as he drinks, then smile into my cup. “Shall we?” he asks.
My cheeks heat, and I nod. We walk to the back of the store as the rest of the employees gather. My pulse races when I look at Myra sitting before us all. Her husband stands next to her, and they’re wearing matching ugly Christmas sweaters with horribly stitched reindeers on them. Myra looks out over all of us and smiles; glows, even. My heart thumps. It’s a big smile. We must have sold enough books. Surely we did.
Myra clinks her glass, and all the chatter fades away as she addresses us. “It’s certainly been an interesting holiday season. Thank you all for this wonderful party. I’m grateful to celebrate the holidays with my Once Upon family. You all hold a special place in my heart. Now, as many of you know, we’ve been running a little competition this week to see who can sell the most books, and I’m proud to announce our winner is none other than… Shoshanna Greenberg! Come on over here, Shoshanna!”
Myra beams at me, and for a half second I think, Oh my god, I won! But then I remember the reality, and I’m not going to take this money, not if it can help the store. There’s scattered applause, and Jake nudges my shoulder and mouths, Congrats. You earned it.
“Thanks,” I say. And I did earn it. But I don’t want it. Still, it would be strange to turn down the money in front of everyone, so I walk toward Myra. She holds out a crisp check, and I accept it automatically and look down at the $250 amount, enough to fix Barbra like I set out to do in the first place.
“Great job,” Myra tells me. I try to read into her expression, but she’s giving nothing away. My fingers close around the check as she turns back to the crowd. “All right, everyone! Back to partying!”
Lola cranks up the music again, and the crowd disperses to eat up the remaining food and play some kind of nerd card game, but I stay standing in front of Myra, my heart pounding in my ears. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask her. “Maybe in your office?”
“Sure,” she responds easily, like she knew the question was coming. “I’ll be right back, honey,” she tells her husband.
“Oh, no problem,” he says. “There’s a peppermint-bark cookie left with my name on it.” He leans down to kiss her on the lips and then walks off to the snack table.
Myra and I head to her office. Once inside, I pull the door closed behind us and hand the check back to her. “Here. Use it to keep the store open. Please.”
“Shoshanna—” she says. And her expression shifts, barely, but it’s enough to drop a pit in my stomach.
Oh.
Her eyes are soft. She squeezes her hands together, and when she speaks, I can hear the slightest wobble in her voice. “Shoshanna,” she repeats.
I shake my head, moisture pricking my eyes. “You don’t have to explain.”
“Oh, I know I don’t.” She grins then, just a little, and it eases the hard knot in my throat the slightest bit. “But I want to. Come on. Sit down.”
I sit in one of the chairs, and she moves in front of me, her eyes level with mine. “I love this store,” she tells me. “It’s like my child. I raised her from the ground up, poured all of my heart and time into her well-being, surrounded her with… let’s call you aunts and uncles and cousins. This store, this wonderful store, has meant everything to me. I had a passion, and I pursued it tirelessly.” She leans back, and a serene smile crosses her face. “But today you made me realize it’s time to let go. You made me realize it’s time to close Once Upon.”
“What?” My pulse skips. “You mean it’s my fault?”
“No, no,” she quickly corrects. “I’m sorry, mamaleh. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—I meant today was incredible. The crowds, the love, the warmth. It was everything I love about this store tied up with a Christmas bow. But your passion to keep this store open made me realize I’ve lost mine. I still love Once Upon, but I’m focused on my writing now. I’m ready to turn the page.”
“Nice pun,” I say weakly.
“Thanks.” She glances at her wall, covered in photos from past events, book signings and story hours. “It’s been a fight to keep these doors open since day one. And although I appreciate the effort you put in—” She looks back at me. “I realized if
I really wanted to keep this store open, then I would have found a way, like I always have. But no. I’m ready to move on. I see that now. I’ll tell everyone after the holidays, and I’ll make sure we’re still open for a few months so they can find work elsewhere.”
Myra’s words wash over me and spread feelings of sadness and defeat. Of course she needs to do what’s best for her. This is her life. And yet, the selfish thought crosses my mind: What about me?
What about me when Once Upon closes?
“Do you understand?” Myra asks.
I nod, throat tight. “Yes.”
“The party was incredible,” she repeats. “You’re incredible. You’re creative and caring, and you’ve got a lot of people who love you.” She pauses, then says, “I love you, Shoshanna.”
I glance down at my feet, then back up to Myra. Her smile is so genuine I can feel it course through me like the sweetest peppermint mocha in the world. “So.” I grin at her. “Is it cool if I tell everyone I’m your favorite employee?”
“Well don’t rub it in their faces,” she teases.
I gasp. “Is that an admittance?”
“Oy vey.”
Myra laughs, and I do as well, and the tension drains out of me. I love Myra, and I love this store, and I want it to stay open. But Myra is right, and my moms are right. I am smart and caring, and I have incredible people in my life. And as long as those things are true, I’ll be okay. I’ll be more than okay.
“Now take this,” Myra says. She holds up the check and nudges it in my direction. “You earned it.”
* * *
It’s cold outside. Freezing, actually. My phone reads thirty-one degrees. People are still keeping the party going, and my moms won’t pick me up for another fifteen minutes. But Once Upon is closing, and for the moment, I need a physical barrier to keep from sharing that news.
I stuff my hands into my pockets. My fingers brush against the check, folded once and shoved down deep for safekeeping. It’ll be nice to get Barbra working again. But in a few months, I’m not sure where I’ll be driving her.
Recommended for You Page 17
