you—look stunning.”
“Thank you.” Paula turned to Brad again. “Can I borrow her?”
He smiled and nodded, then held up a finger. “But just for a minute.”
Paula steered Jennifer away. “Come with me and allow me to introduce you to the network president. He’s right over here by the crudités.”
Jennifer spoke with the president of the Kitchen Network, feeling awkward at first. She started off the conversation with business, but once she got him on the subject of his grandchildren, he grew very animated. They ended up talking for nearly an hour. Jennifer reminded herself that this kind of casual chat in a nonbusiness setting was exactly why Paula had wanted her here. She moved on to mingle with more of the guests.
Brad spent the last part of the party chatting up a sexy young producer from ESPN. Jennifer wasn’t jealous. He was just hoping to improve his chances of getting a job there. But even if he’d been outrageous in his flirting, Jennifer didn’t think it would have bothered her. They hadn’t made any commitment to each other. Their careers were on a similar upward trajectory, but other than that, they didn’t seem to have much in common.
Parties weren’t always fun for Jennifer. She often busied herself in activities like straightening the buffet, clearing dishes, or cleaning. It was comforting. It reminded her of helping her friend Meredith with her catering business.
The clock had crept well past midnight when Brad went home and the caterers left. Jennifer stayed behind, cleaning up and stacking dishes in the dishwasher.
Paula said goodbye to her last few guests at the door and then returned to the kitchen. She looked chagrinned. “What are you doing?”
Jennifer smiled. “I’m cleaning your kitchen. You’ve got so much here. Come on, you can’t do it all alone.” As far as she was concerned, helping to clean up was just good manners.
“No, stop,” Paula said. “As of now, you are officially on vacation.”
Jennifer picked up a few more dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher.
Paula said, “Make that your last batch. Come on, I want you to have a drink with me. Just leave all this.”
Reluctantly, Jennifer went to the long table that fronted the kitchen and sat on a beige upholstered chair. She hated to leave a mess. She sighed. “Christmas is so much work. Christmas comes with a ‘stick.’”
“But you are so good at it,” Paula said. “And people like us, we don’t know how to do anything else but make it perfect.”
Jennifer watched as her friend poured them each a glass of pinot blanc. Paula was right, of course. They both wanted every detail of a project to be just so. Even their perpetually tidy apartments were examples of their attention to detail, although Paula’s was spare and modern, while her own was full of homey touches. Perfectionism had a cost, though. Jennifer felt a constant pressure to do more, to improve. The price was that she never stopped to simply enjoy the now.
“When was the last time that it didn’t feel like work—that it felt like a real Christmas?” Jennifer asked.
“Oh.” Paula chuckled and put her wine glass down. “Well, m’darlin. If I tell you that, then I’ll be telling you my age.”
“You know, I remember this one Christmas,” Jennifer said, “when my mom sewed me this special dress—I was playing an angel in the Christmas pageant at church—and it was all sparkly and glowing, almost iridescent. I loved it so much I didn’t want to take it off, even when we got home. So she let me fall asleep on the couch waiting for Santa. I fell asleep with the sound of Christmas music, the smell of gingerbread, and the feeling of her hand on my hair…”
Reliving the memory, she felt her throat tighten, and tears threatened to fall as she said, “It was so magical. And I just don’t know if Christmas is ever going to feel like that again—not this pressure to be perfect, just the simple magic of Christmas.”
Being the only child of a single mom might’ve seemed like a disadvantage to some people, but Jennifer’s mother had managed to make their family of two feel complete. Christmas had been their holiday. The two of them had decorated the house to Christmas music playing on their stereo. They’d shopped for groceries together. When money was tight, they’d had to be creative. Her mother had often said, “Make something out of what you have.” They’d gone window shopping for ideas. They’d baked and made homemade gifts for friends and neighbors.
Jennifer had always dreamed of passing those traditions on to her own children. She wanted to see the magic of Christmas through their eyes. But she’d never had kids. It was one of her regrets. So instead, she showed her viewers how to make their own homes and families feel special. At their core, her shows, articles, and blogs had all been inspired by her amazing mother.
“You know, your mom sounds like she was a wonderful woman,” Paula said. “And maybe you can have it that way again: simple and perfect.”
Jennifer held up her wine glass in a toast. “Here’s to my mom, who made Christmas magical.”
Paula clinked her glass against Jennifer’s. “To your mom.”
Reluctantly, Jennifer stood up and said, “I should be going. If I’m going to get to Colorado in the morning, I have to pack.”
“Yes, you do!” Paula’s genuine excitement for Jennifer was contagious.
“I’ll call you when I get there,” Jennifer promised, giving her friend a hug. “Thank you!”
Chapter 5
Was there anything more uncomfortable than a first date? John despised them.
Aiming for somewhere between casual and dressy, he’d worn a black dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned and black jeans. He’d chosen a nice restaurant in a reasonable price range, decorated in what the owner called “Grandma’s house shabby chic.” Julie would’ve laughed at that description since she’d claimed that everything that started out new in their house eventually ended up “shabby chic”—thanks to the kids.
White fairy lights lined the windows of the restaurant inside. Soft jazz renditions of Christmas music played on the sound system.
John looked across the table at his date, Brooke Hanson, the first woman he’d been out with since Julie died. Brooke had been his classmate in high school. They’d both been popular, but he’d been studious—a sort of jock-nerd—while she’d hung out with cliques of fashion-conscious party goers. Their paths had only crossed at football games. Now, though, she was one of the few single women in town his age, so he’d finally relented and let his friends Stan and Holly Barbour set them up. Stan and Holly were such romantics that they wanted everyone to be happy and in love. But John already regretted agreeing to this date. It just didn’t feel right.
“Well, this is nice,” Brooke said.
“It is. It’s nice,” he said, hoping she couldn’t tell how uncomfortable he felt. He wondered if Brooke felt that way, too. He was certainly struggling to make small talk. Had it always been this hard?
Brooke took a sip of her
