by Vivi Holt
Steve chuckled, but the sound was hollow. “The fact that you don’t even see that this is me having your back says a lot.”
He’d gone too far. He saw the glint of frustration in his old friend’s eyes, and he knew he couldn’t push any further with this conversation or Steve would walk out. He’d done it before and no doubt would again. They’d been friends for so long, been through everything together, he knew what Steve was thinking.
“I’m sorry.”
Steve grunted. “Forget it.”
“No, I mean it. I know you care. Let’s just talk about something else. Okay?”
“Sure.”
The server returned, setting plates and drinks in front of each of them. He placed napkins in their laps, poured them water, and left again. Chris and Steve sat in silence. Chris pondered Steve’s words.
“What are you doing for the holidays? Are you leaving Atlanta?” asked Steve. He picked up his fork and dug it into the crisp salad. A crouton dislodged and landed on the white tablecloth, and Steve picked it up and popped it into his mouth. It crunched between his teeth.
Chris sighed. “Heading home to Montana to see the family.”
“You sound excited about that,” replied Steve with a laugh.
Chris pushed the calamari around his plate with his fork. He was excited, in a way. Still, his mother’s words from their last phone conversation rang in his ears.
“Mom keeps asking me if I’m seeing someone special and wouldn’t I like to bring them home with me for Christmas?” He shook his head and bit into a slice of calamari.
“And what did you tell her?” Steve asked.
“I mumbled something about her being busy.”
“What? Your mom thinks you’re dating?”
Chris frowned. “She’s always on my case about it. Like I don’t have anything better to do than focus on my love life. I mean, I run a multinational company, but that’s not good enough for her. Not until there are grandchildren, anyway.” He laughed, but his heart felt heavy. How could he tell her that wasn’t ever going to happen? Not now.
“She’ll find out eventually.”
“She hasn’t so far. Every time she and Dad come to Atlanta for a visit, I just say that my girlfriend and I have unfortunately broken up. So, she never gets to meet them.”
Steve’s brow furrowed, and he set his fork down on the table. “You’re kidding. How long has this been going on?”
“Um…about a year.”
Steve shook his head. “That’s insane.”
Chris dipped his head. “Probably. Still, it gives me some peace from her incessant desire to set me up with every single woman she meets while I’m home for the holidays.”
“She loves you.”
“Yes, she does. So, I’m not going to break her heart and tell her I haven’t dated anyone since Mia died. I’m going to lie and tell her what she wants to hear—that I’m dating and grandchildren are a future possibility. Of course, if I show up for the holidays without a girlfriend in tow, no doubt Mom will assume it’s not serious and line up blind dates at every turn.” He grunted then took a sip of his Coke.
“You know what you should do?”
Chris frowned. “What?”
“You should take someone with you. Someone who can pretend to be your girlfriend. That way, you can have a relaxing holiday with no surprise dates. Your mom will be happy, you’ll get the downtime you so desperately need, and everyone wins.”
Chris laughed. “That’s crazy. Who could I take with me? Everyone I know will be with their families for the holidays. No one is gonna come help me weave some pretend fairy tale of a life for my family.”
The sound of a tray of glasses crashing to the ground and smashing all over the kitchen floor jolted Chris in his seat. Every head in the restaurant spun to face the kitchen for a moment. Then conversation resumed, and Chris’s heart rate slowed back to its normal pace.
“What were we saying?” asked Steve with a frown. He jabbed at a piece of lettuce and pushed it between his lips. Then he dabbed at his dark beard with the napkin from his lap.
“You suggested I fly home with a pretend girlfriend for Christmas. I’m thirty years old; that would never work.” Chris chuckled and stabbed the last piece of calamari, enjoying the crunch and salty flavor as it filled his mouth.
“Yes! I think it’s a great idea. You should definitely do it.”
“But who could I possibly take?” The idea was completely off the wall, but something about it appealed to him. He did need some downtime. Heaven knew he’d done nothing but work for the past twelve months, and before that he’d been consumed by so much grief he hadn’t taken any time to rest since Mia died. He’d thrown himself into work and never looked back.
“Why don’t you find one of those agencies? You know, the ones where you hire women for dates.”
Chris shifted in his seat. His leg ached, and he leaned forward to rub the old injury with one hand, his teeth clenched. “You mean an escort service? No way. Seriously, that’s the most ridiculous idea you’ve ever come up with, and you’ve had some crazy ones. I can’t take an escort home to meet my parents for the holidays.” Chris pushed his empty plate to one side and linked his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair.
“No, not an escort service. I mean one of those agencies online. They’re very popular—you email in, and they match you up with a date, probably some actress or something. You pay a fee. Ba da bing—you have a fake girlfriend.”
“I don’t know…that sounds like an escort service.”
Steve shrugged. “I saw an advertisement for it on TV the other day. It looked legitimate to me. I think it was called Email-Order Dates or something like that. You should look it up.”
They drifted into a conversation about the latest farming techniques and a piece of technology Steve’s firm was looking at acquiring to help maintain the nutrient level in soil. While Steve spoke, Chris’s mind wandered.
Steve’s suggestion didn’t make any sense. Chris couldn’t take a perfect stranger home for the holidays and call her his girlfriend. Could he?
Chris flicked off the television set with a sigh. The remote tapped the top of the coffee table as he set it down. He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. There wasn’t anything on. Nothing worth watching, anyway. He’d all but given up on watching television in the past few years, choosing instead to work most evenings. At least work brought some sense of satisfaction. It gave him a purpose.
His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen before answering it. “Hi, Mom.”
“Honey! I caught you. I thought maybe you’d be in bed.”
He bit his lip. “Nope. Just about to head that way though. What’s up?”
“I was wondering how long you’re planning on staying over the holidays?”
“A few days…”
“It’s just that there are some people I’d love you to meet. So if you could stay a little longer, that’d be great.”
“People?” His stomach clenched.
“We don’t get to see you often, and I talk about you all the time. Everyone here is just dying to meet you.”
“Everyone in Billings has already met me. I grew up there, remember?”
“Not everyone. There are some new people.”
“Do you mean women, Mom?”
“Um… Well…”
Chris rolled his eyes, and his gut clenched tighter still. Just what he needed. Another Christmas being set up on blind dates with every single woman under the age of thirty-five in the greater Billings, Montana, area. He honestly couldn’t imagine anything worse. All he wanted was to have a quiet celebration with his close family members and some downtime to recharge. Not a litany of blind dates with women his mother deemed suitable.
Maybe Steve was onto something. If he brought someone with him, his mother would have to leave him alone. The idea of not having to answer the constant questions about his love life, and why he wasn’t dating, and when would he get past
what’d happened was appealing as well… Maybe he should consider it. It was crazy. But it just might work. He could use a break from everything and from being under the microscope. Maybe if he took a date home for the holidays, he would finally get some peace and could just enjoy time with his family.
“There’s no need for all that, Mom. I’ve met someone.”
“Oh?”
“That’s right. She’s great. We’re in love. So, you see, you don’t have to set me up. Not anymore. I’m involved with a wonderful woman. And I’m bringing her home for the holidays so you can all meet her.”
December 20th
Kate studied her red Chevrolet Impala. The parking lot was dotted with cars of various shapes and sizes, and her 2008 model sedan was by far the oldest of the bunch. Its faded paint and broken bumper bar completed the picture of a car well past its prime. She sighed. As long as it started this time, she didn’t much care how it looked.
She shivered, pulling her red coat tighter around her thin frame. The temperature had dropped overnight, and she could see her breath in front of her face, like small white clouds with each exhale. The bell on the end of her green hat tinkled softly as she pulled her keys from the pocketbook slung over her shoulder. The keys fell from her grasp, her gloved fingers slippery against the metal. She sighed and bent to retrieve them from the top of her large green elf-shoe.
The driver’s side door unlocked, and she heaved it open despite its groan of protest. So many things to fix, she wasn’t sure she’d do it even if she had the money. What she really needed was a new car. But that would have to wait, just like everything else on her shopping list other than the essentials. The life of an artist was nothing if not minimalist. She grinned to herself and threw her pocketbook on the passenger seat of the car. Then she fetched her suitcase and lugged it to the trunk. Once everything was packed, she pushed the trunk shut, puffing from the exertion.
Something wet landed on her nose. Cross-eyed, she focused her vision. Her eyes widened. Was that snow? It rarely snowed in Atlanta, and a white Christmas was something most southerners only sang about.
With a sharp inhale of breath, she looked skyward to see large, white flakes fluttering toward the ground. They shimmied and twirled and wound their way down, each unique, and each finding its own path. Her lips parted in a smile. Snow.
Then her eyes flooded with tears. She lifted a gloved hand to wipe them away before they spilled over and ran down her cheeks. The last thing she needed right now was to smudge her elf makeup. But it happened every time snow fell from the sky. She couldn’t help it. It reminded her of her mother.
Whenever it snowed as a kid, she and Mom would run outside together, stand in the middle of the yard or the road—wherever they happened to be at the time—tilt their faces toward the sky, and lift their arms out at their sides like the wings of a plane.
Then, they’d watch the snow fall, let it land on their poked-out tongues, laugh when a flake got caught in their lashes, and chase the ones they deemed prettiest until they ended up in a tumble and jumble of arms and legs on the ground. Her mother would tickle her until she squealed then tell her Christmas stories while they sat and rocked on the porch, as the snow fell all around them, until Daddy came home from work to join them. Then they’d drive around in the snow until it was dark, and she’d fall asleep in Daddy’s arms with hot cocoa on the end table beside them.
And now they were gone.
A tear escaped and traced a path down her cold cheek. She dashed it away, clearing her throat. No point thinking about the past. It only ended in pain.
She didn’t remember when they adopted her. But they recounted the tale to her many times over the years. They’d been looking for a little girl to call their own, and she’d made all their dreams come true in one tiny, mewling package. She’d laugh when they told her that and pictured herself, arms outstretched, gurgling through a rosebud mouth.
It’d be good for her to go to Chicago, to keep her mind from wandering over all the old memories. Being around people, engaging in conversations, staying busy, those were the things that helped her stay positive during the holidays. She’d suffered from depression the first few years after losing her parents in the car accident that changed the course of her life, and she didn’t want to go back there.
She climbed into the car and turned the key. It sputtered and shuddered, but didn’t start. She sighed and tried again before finally it roared to life. After waiting for the defroster to clear a small circle of glass on her windshield, she backed out of the parking space and carefully inched through the lot toward the community gates. Beside the gates, she set the car in park and climbed out to check her mailbox. If she was leaving for Chicago, she had to make sure she had everything taken care of, including the pile of mail that’d no doubt built up in her neglected mailbox.
Back in the car, she sorted through the mail. Junk mail could go straight in the trash can, bills in the center console, and anything else… Her heart skipped a beat. She tugged off her gloves and slid a finger beneath the edge of the envelope, slitting it open.
A letter from Billings, Montana. There was only one person who could be writing to her from that location.
Her birth mother.
She’d contacted the adoption agency years earlier, and that was the only thing they’d told her. That her mother lived in Billings, Montana. Nothing more. It wasn’t up to them, they’d said. They’d let her know Kate was looking for her, and if she wanted to connect, she’d get in touch.
With a breath held tight in her lungs, she unfolded the letter. One brief page of tight, cursive script, signed Tamera Simpson.
Tamera Simpson. Was that her mother’s name?
The envelope dropped into her lap, and she blinked then focused her eyes on the first word.
Dear Kate,
What a surprise to receive a letter from you via the adoption agency. I never expected to hear from them again or from you. They tell me that you are the daughter I gave up twenty-five years ago. I find that I’m overwhelmed by the idea that you are still out there in the world and all grown up.
You asked if I would be willing to meet you. The answer is yes. I would like to meet you. I have thought of you often.
I live in Billings, Montana, and have enclosed my home address along with my phone number and email address. Any way you care to contact me would be welcome.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Best regards,
Tamera Simpson
The page released from between her numbing fingertips and fluttered to rest on the envelope in her lap. She’d been searching for her birth mother ever since she lost her parents. She never thought she’d find her and had all but given up.
The last time she spoke to the adoption agency, they’d reiterated their stance that they didn’t give out information on birth parents. They couldn’t help her. Somehow, someone had decided to follow up for her. She knew, from reviewing the contract her parents had signed years earlier, that if the birth mother wished to get in contact with her, she would be notified and given the option to agree or not. And now this.
Snow continued to fall silently around her. It muffled the noise from the nearby highway and the sounds of life going on about her in the apartment complex. It drifted lazily to land on tree branches, pine needles, and the black wrought-iron fence posts that surrounded the empty swimming pool.
Could this really be happening? And what should she do?
She didn’t want to have that conversation over the phone. But she couldn’t afford a flight to the other side of the country. Not on what she earned from selling her paintings and sculptures at local markets and the occasional group gallery showing. And not after paying for a ticket to spend the holidays in Chicago.
Her heart thudded, and her head spun. She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled slowly, counting silently, her lips moving with each syllable.
One Mississippi…two Mississippi…
A counselor had taught
her the strategy when she’d been overcome by her depression five years earlier, a year after the accident. It helped calm the anxiety that often consumed her. Anxiety, depression—two things she wanted to leave in the past. She had left in the past.
They didn’t control her any longer.
With a determined shake of her head, her eyes flitted open and she flexed her fingers around the steering wheel. She’d find a way to go and see her mother. She had to. Tamera Simpson was the only family Kate had left in the world. Whether she liked it or not, they were joined, connected in a way that she could never be with anyone else. They were blood.
Her eyes widened. She’d never had that before. A blood relative. Everyone else always had. Her friends at school would talk about their aunts, uncles, cousins…all with rolls of the eye and references to family traits. She’d never known what her family traits might be.
Did she get her blonde hair from her mother? Or her brown eyes? What about her singing voice? Her artistic talent—was that from her father? Perhaps a grandfather or grandmother had bequeathed her their athletic physique. Neither of her adoptive parents had a creative bone in their bodies or an athletic one. They’d both been computer scientists, content only when staring at a screen full of the type of code that addled Kate’s mind.
A smile crept across her face. Perhaps she’d finally discover the answer to some of the questions that’d plagued her ever since her parents sat her down and told her about how they’d brought her into their family. How she was different, special, loved and wanted.
She’d never been without. Never missed out on anything if her parents could provide it for her. But there’d been one thing they couldn’t give her -- answers. And now was her chance to find them.
Chapter 3
The glare of the computer screen made him blink. Chris rubbed his eyes and read over the email again.
