Slightly Settled by Wendy Markham

Author:Wendy Markham
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Red Dress Ink
Published: 2004-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

11

On the fourth day of Christmas, my Secret Snowflake gave to me:

Two orchestra seats to the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular.

I am so not kidding.

On the fourth day of Christmas, Myron’s Secret Snowflake gave to him:

Fudge.

It was good fudge.

It even had nuts in it. Pecans.

One skimpy piece cost me almost five bucks at a French chocolatier off Fifth Avenue. They wrapped it up in a little white box with a red satin bow.

The Radio City tickets, however, were close to two hundred dollars. And they were tucked into a beautiful hand-embroidered pink velvet Christmas stocking somebody hung from my bulletin board, from the empty tack that used to hold Will’s headshot.

I examine them, then look around, half expecting to see a camera crew from one of those reality television prank shows. But there’s nary a lurking lens to be seen, which means the gift is for real.

That does it.

Just yesterday I decided I’m going to take charge of my life, and it’s time I did just that.

I’ve got to put a stop to this madness.

I pluck the stocking and the tickets off the board.

I am about to march down to Merry and tell her we’ve got ourselves a situation when the phone rings.

It’s my line, and it’s Buckley.

“You never called me back,” he says.

Oops. I never did. He left messages for me at work and at home yesterday. He e-mailed, too. I didn’t bother to reply.

Will called, too, and left me a message. I didn’t call him back, either.

Will rarely e-mails. He claims he doesn’t believe in it. He says it’s an impersonal form of communication, but really, it’s because he’s dyslexic and has a hard time with reading and writing and is too proud to admit to being less than perfect in any way.

But enough about Will, dammit.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Buckley. “I’ve been really busy. How are you?”

“Life pretty much sucks,” he says flatly. “Sonja and I tried to patch things up Tuesday. It didn’t work. We broke up again for good.”

Is it just me, or wasn’t the first time they broke up supposed to be for good?

I’m so not in the mood for this. I’ve got my own problems to worry about.

But okay, Buckley’s my friend and I owe him an ear and a shoulder.

“Did you tell her you’re willing to compromise about living together?” I ask him, plopping down in my desk chair, still clutching the stocking and the tickets.

“No, I didn’t tell her that. Because I’m not willing. How do you compromise living with somebody?”

“I don’t know…you live together during the day but not at night?” I laugh.

He doesn’t.

“It’s a joke, Buckley.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He fake-laughs.

Well, this sucks. Time for a subject change.

“You think you’ve got problems,” I say. “My Secret Snowflake is making me feel like shit.”

“Your…what?”

“Secret Snowflake. It’s this thing in the office which somebody lied and told me was mandatory, only, I found out that it wasn’t but I had already signed up. First, my Snowflake gives me Godivas, then a poinsettia, then a gift certificate and now two tickets to Radio City.

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