The Thousand Pound Christmas by Victoria Burgess

Author:Victoria Burgess [Burgess, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-14T16:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

I share the idea with Therese, Esme, and Susan over lunch. Not only do they love it, they’re more than a bit relieved to take a break from Kami’s workout classes.

“I know working out’s important,” Susan says, “but I can’t wait to change it up a bit. Do something different.”

Esme says, “Actually, I burned 2,000 calories yesterday.”

We all look at her, impressed.

She waits a beat, then finishes dryly, “Last time I leave a pan of brownies in the oven unattended. Sorry,” she says, as the rest of us groan. “Baker’s humor.”

The waitress steps in to deliver our lunches. Now, this is a local diner and one of my favorite places to eat in town. I used to come here to enjoy a hearty Reuben with a side of coleslaw and sweet potato chips. Not anymore. Today we’ve all ordered the same thing. It’s called the Slym Jym special and is basically a chef salad minus the cheese, olives, bacon, and croutons. In other words, anything that might make the salad actually worth eating.

What’s left is a bed of romaine lettuce embellished with a few skinny strips of turkey, hard-boiled egg, tomato, and a sprinkle of cubed avocado for what Kami calls ‘good fat’. A squeeze packet of low-cal ranch dressing rests on the side. We all nod approvingly as though this is exactly what we want and dig in. Because what the salad lacks in gastronomic appeal (even Julia Child once quipped that the only reasonable time to eat a salad was while waiting for the steak to cook) is more than made up for by our unifying display of dietary fortitude and self-sacrifice.

Ha! And you said we lacked motivation, Jym! Take that.

I ask Esme how things are going downtown.

She proudly informs us that as of tomorrow, Nelson will have the stores filled to one hundred percent occupancy. Church Street is officially open for business. Temporarily forgetting where we are, the four of us break into a rousing cheer, which draws curious glances from the diners around us, which leads me to make an impromptu announcement to the other patrons to let them know what we’re celebrating, which leads, incredibly, to a rush of accolades for what I’ve accomplished in my short term as mayor.

I have to tell you, it feels pretty darn good. Therese reaches over and gives my hand a quick squeeze. I feel like a fool, but I can’t stop smiling. I’m optimistic for Eaton’s future. And my own. Maybe campaigning won’t be so bad. Not exactly smooth sailing from here on out but maybe, just maybe, the choppy waters are behind us.

“Well, since we’re all sharing good news,” Susan says, “I guess it’s my turn.”

We pivot our attention to her.

“After a short career break to be a full-time stay-at-home mother,” she announces dramatically, “followed by a humbling stint in which my valuable talents as a graphic artist were forsaken by an industry I knew and loved…” she pauses to beat a soft drumroll against the edge

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