Merry Ex-Mas

by Sheila Roberts

  “No, let me explain. I can see it all so clearly now. Your restaurant is going toes-up and so you decided to come back to mine. Job security. And then when the place burned, there was all that lovely money to grab for. All I am to you is a cash cow.”

  “That’s not true! I missed you. I told you, I made a mistake.”

  What a load of crap. He reached out for her and she slapped his hand away. “Well, I didn’t miss you,” she snarled. “And I must have been insane to even consider taking you back.”

  “Charley, you’re overreacting,” he said.

  “You come back here to use me and I’m overreacting?” She grabbed the wine bottle with the vague notion of beaning him over the head with it.

  “I did not come back here to use you,” he protested, taking a step back.

  “That’s not what it sounded like just now.”

  “Just now I was being practical.”

  “Well, now I’m being practical. Get out.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Oh, yeah? You want to stick around and find out how much I do mean it?”

  His pleading expression hardened into something uglier. “God, Charley, you’re such a selfish bitch.”

  Her jaw dropped. He’d come back to use her, the ultimate betrayal, and yet she was a selfish bitch?

  “You always were,” he added.

  This from the man who’d left her for another woman and then returned to ride on her gravy train? Rage was too small a word for what she felt now. “You—” She hurled the bottle at him and he barely dodged it. It shattered against the wall, leaving white wine running down the wall like tears.

  “You’re psycho, too,” he said as he turned and started for the door.

  “Yeah, well you made me that way,” she shouted after him.

  He kept walking and flipped her off, and she slid down the cupboard amid the violently tossed salad, laid her head on her knees and sobbed.

  * * *

  Samantha and Blake had just sat down to enjoy a pizza from Italian Alps when the phone rang.

  Blake groaned. “Do your friends have some kind of radar? Why is it they always call when we’re about to eat?”

  “How do you know it’s for me?” she retorted, getting up to grab it.

  “Because I’ve already talked to everyone I need to talk to.”

  She looked at the caller ID and frowned. “Go ahead and start.” She had a sinking feeling that this call might take some time.

  “You were right.” The voice on the other end sounded like a zombie version of Charley.

  How she wished she hadn’t been! “Oh, Charley, I’m so sorry.”

  “What’s wrong?” Blake asked.

  She shook her head to signal she’d update him later. “What happened?”

  Charley heaved a shaky sigh. “Well, I scattered salad all over the kitchen floor and christened my wall with white wine.”

  “And Richard?”

  “Not to worry. No skunks were harmed in the filming of this farce,” Charley said bitterly. “My God, how could I have been so blind?”

  “Easily,” Samantha said. “You wanted to believe the best.” And Richard had, once more, managed to give her the worst.

  “His restaurant is closed for renovations,” Charley said, scorn dripping from her voice. “More like closed for lack of cash flow. You know what he wanted me to do with my insurance money?”

  “I can guess,” Samantha said. How different from her man, who’d actually gone into debt to help her save her company. Well, there were men and there were male snakes. And she knew which category Richard fell into. She’d known all along. She didn’t say so, though. Instead, she said, “I’m really sorry. He deserves to be roasted over a giant spit.”

  “That’s too good for him,” Charley said, and her voice broke on a sob. “And you know what else? He told me I’m a selfish bitch.”

  “You?”

  Now Charley began to cry in earnest.

  “You know that’s not true,” Samantha said.

  “Do I?”

  “Of course you do,” Samantha said. “Your ex is not only bad at business, he’s bad at being a human being.”

  “He broke my heart all over again.” The words ended on a sob.

  Poor Charley. First her restaurant and now this. The year was not ending well for her. “Come on over and hang with us,” Samantha offered. “I’ll give you chocolate.”

  “No. I need to clean up this mess.”

  “You need your friends,” Samantha said sternly.

  “I’ll be okay,” Charley said. “And thanks for opening my eyes. If you hadn’t, I might’ve just drifted along with whatever Richard wanted, never knowing I was being taken.”

  “You’d have figured it out,” Samantha assured her.

  “Thanks for being such a good listener.”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  They were for a heck of a lot more than that, too. “Charley’s in trouble,” Samantha told Blake after ending the call.

  “I kind of guessed that,” he said. “I won’t wait up. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.”

  * * *

  Forty minutes later Charley’s seafood lasagna was out of the oven and the kitchen was clean. The house was empty, too. Richard had packed up his bags and left without another word. Which was fine with Charley. He’d said enough.

  Selfish bitch. Was she really? Had it been selfish to sink her inheritance into that restaurant? She hadn’t thought so at the time. Yes, she’d had to do some talking to persuade Richard they wanted to settle here. But she’d felt so sure he’d grown to love the town, the same way she had. She’d believed he was happy. Anyway, this had been all she could afford. It would’ve cost twice as much to start a restaurant in the city. She’d wanted to be practical. And she’d liked being a big fish in a small pond.

  But somehow, she’d become a bigger fish than her husband. Looking back now, she realized that hadn’t gone over well. He used to jokingly refer to himself as her kitchen slave or Mr. Charley. But he’d been the chef.

  Still, she’d been the front person, the one people saw when they came in. And people had liked her. Richard not so much. She thought back to the party she’d thrown herself when she got divorced, how so many of her friends had said they’d never really liked him. Yes, Cass, was right. Love was blind. And dumb.

  The doorbell rang. Richard. He was back to say he was sorry, he’d never meant those mean words. He’d stay and help her rebuild Zelda’s.

  You can’t take him back, she told herself. You’ve been a fool twice. Don’t go for a third time.

  She remembered the ugly expression on his face when she’d proved herself immune to the old Richard charm. Was she that insecure, that desperate for love? The answer was no. Hell, no.

  She marched to the door and yanked it open.

  And there stood the Sterling sisters, Cass and Ella, bearing gift bags, chocolates, cookies and wine. “We’re here for another party,” Samantha said.

  Girlfriends. What would she have done without them? She could feel tears pricking her eyes. “You’re just in time for seafood lasagna.”

  “All right,” Cecily said, handing over a bottle of wine. “Let’s party.”

  And party they did. They ate every bit of Charley’s lasagna and consumed enough goodies to put themselves in a sugar coma (the gingerbread boys with their heads cut off were a huge hit). They played games—Stick the Knife in the Ex-husband (crafted by Cass), Hangman (every word was an unendearing term for Richard) and a movie trivia game Samantha had thrown together that involved bad men getting what they deserved. Then Charley opened presents—bubble bath, chocolate, more cookies and the hit of the night, Man Away Spray, which was really an old can of bug spray wrapped in a funny label Cecily had made.

  “I hope you’ve got an extra can of that for yourself,” Samantha told her sister.

  Cecily stuck her tongue out at her sister, then returned her attention to C
harley. “Next time Richard comes near you, aim this at him.”

  “I doubt he’ll ever come near me again,” Charley said, and felt a moment of melancholy. “Especially after I threw that bottle of wine at him.” Just remembering the shock on his face was enough to make her feel better and she actually giggled.

  “I’d love to have been a fly on the wall for that,” Cecily said.

  “Heck, I can top that,” Cass told them. “I once threw a flour canister at Mason.”

  Samantha shook her head. “We’re a violent bunch.”

  “Men drive us to it,” Cass said.

  The final present, this one from Ella, was the hit of the evening. Charley read the words engraved on the silver pendant, True to Myself, and teared up.

  “First to thine own self be true,” Samantha murmured.

  “And if you find yourself having trouble doing that, call one of us. We’ll get you through,” said Samantha. “That’s what friends are for,” she said again.

  “Absolutely.” Cass nodded. “Men may come and go but girlfriends are forever.”

  “To girlfriends,” Cecily said, raising her glass.

  “To girlfriends,” everyone chorused.

  Yes, that was all she needed, Charley told herself.

  But later that night when she finally went to bed, she remembered there were a few things men were still good for. Yes, she had her friends and they were fabulous, but when it came to sharing dreams and building a life (and a sex life), marriage was still the gold standard. At least it was for her. No matter how many parties she threw herself, no matter how many friends she had, in the end she still went to bed alone.

  Maybe she’d always be alone. She hugged a pillow and let the tears fall.

  17

  Ella was closing out the till on Thursday when someone tapped at the door of Gilded Lily’s. Good customers would sometimes have a wardrobe emergency and need help after hours, and she always opened up for them, but today she was in no mood. She was pooped and didn’t want to open up for anyone.

  It had been a long day. Dani’s bridesmaids had come by to pick up their dresses, and that had been the only bright spot. Hildy Johnson had come in looking for something to wear to a Christmas party and kept insisting she was one size smaller than she really was. Of course, nothing fit and she finally left in a huff. Darla, the mayor’s sister, had returned a bracelet with a faulty clasp. She didn’t have a receipt—hardly surprising since Ella had sold her that bracelet two years ago. Two bargain-hunters had spent an hour wandering around, asking questions and getting free fashion advice and then left with their wallets still securely in their purses. Of course, this often happened in retail, but it was discouraging when you spent so much time and tried so hard to help people and got nothing in return. Finally, Charley had come in for some retail therapy and had spent a small fortune, then left wearing a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

  That had been depressing, partly because Ella felt bad for her friend but also because watching Charley was a little like hanging out with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Was this her future, loneliness and disappointment? Retail therapy?

  With a sigh she looked up from her work and saw that her visitor wasn’t a woman but a man with dark hair and gorgeous dark eyes. Oh, no. What did he want? A snatch of the Christmas carol “Jingle Bells” came jingling into her mind. Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh. No. No more rides in the sleigh bed.

  She opened the door and stood there, her brain and her mouth not quite connecting.

  It turned out she didn’t need to say anything. He spoke first. “I thought you might be going somewhere after work and I wanted to ask you to come back to the house. I have something waiting there.”

  “What?”

  “Just come home and you’ll see.”

  Home, there was an interesting choice of word, considering that house wasn’t their home anymore.

  “Will you do that, El?”

  He looked so earnest.

  So what? He always looked earnest.

  Except she was tired of avoiding the house and she hardly ever got to see Tiny. “Okay.”

  He grinned like a little boy who’d just impressed his mom with his school art project for Mother’s Day. “Good. I’ll wait for you in the truck.”

  She shut the door after him and realized she was smiling. What are you smiling about? Nothing’s changed. No one has changed. People don’t change.

  Scrooge did. Of course, Scrooge wasn’t a real person.

  With a sigh, Ella fetched her purse. Then she locked up the shop and got into the truck with Jake. He had the radio tuned to her favorite station, one that played solid Christmas songs this time of year, and Rascal Flatts was singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” She wasn’t going home now. She was going to a house. I’ll be at a house for Christmas. Boy, that sure didn’t have the same ring.

  You’ll have a home someday, she told herself, snapping off the radio. This had been a starter marriage. Someday she’d have the real thing. Or maybe she’d end up like her mother, keeping men at a distance, keeping them as friends. Being a single mom, bossing her daughter around.

  Whoa, where had that come from? She immediately shied away from the disloyal thought. Her mother never bossed her around. She simply gave advice. Good advice.

  She could imagine what kind of advice her mother would give her if she were here right now. Don’t go back to the house with him. What are you thinking?

  Oh, what fun it is to ride… No, no. That was a bad thought.

  The truck cab was heavy with silence. Boy, had that been rare back when they were happy.

  Ella sighed and looked out the window at the houses on their street. Every one of them was all dressed up for Christmas. The Bennetts had their living room light on, and through the window she could see Cheron and Harold decorating their tree. Judging by the cars parked on the street, Sam Moyle, her former math teacher, and his wife, Selma, were hosting a party of some sort, and his brother Ben, who happened to live next door, was walking across the lawn with his wife, Marliss, who carried a huge platter of Christmas cookies. Everyone was in the holiday spirit. She wished she could join them.

  Farther up the road, the houses were fewer and the trees denser. At the end of it sat their house. She wished they’d gone ahead and put up…lights! Jake had strung multicolored lights all along the roof. She turned to him, tears in her eyes, and stated the obvious. “You put up lights.”

  He smiled at her, his look tender. “I thought you’d like it.”

  She did. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her gratitude felt out of place and awkward. Why was she thanking him? And why was he doing this? They weren’t married. The house was sold. This was crazy.

  Inside the smell of onions greeted her. She looked questioningly at him.

  “I made dinner,” he said.

  “Meat loaf.” It was the only thing he knew how to cook. That and, “Baked potatoes?”

  He nodded.

  She loved meat loaf. It was something Mims had considered beneath her and she’d never made it, but for Ella meat loaf spelled family.

  “I thought we should have one last dinner together,” Jake said, helping her out of her coat.

  Their last supper.

  He led her out to the kitchen, where she found the table set and decorated with a small vase of red and white roses. He’d even put on the tablecloth they’d bought at a garage sale three years ago.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  She sat and watched, Tiny glued to her side, while Jake dished up meat loaf and baked potatoes with all the trimmings. And salad from the grocery store deli. Salads, easy as they were to prepare, were beyond him. Then he pulled a bottle of champagne from the fridge.

  “Champagne?” she asked. There was nothing to celebrate.

  “Why not?” He filled their glasses. Then he sat down across from her and raised his.

  “What are we toasting?”

  He shrugged. “To ha
ppier times, past and future.”

  She could do that. “To happier times,” she said, and they clinked glasses.

  The meat loaf was delicious, full of chopped peppers and onions and coated with barbecue sauce. She was going to miss Jake’s meat loaf. She was going to miss a lot of things, but she was better off without him. Still, it was hard to remember that just now, and every bite she took came seasoned with guilt. Which was ridiculous. She had nothing to feel guilty about. She’d carried her weight in this relationship, working eight to five, five days a week. And she hadn’t chased after other men.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “I figured it might be our last chance to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s too late.”

  He set down his fork and leaned back in his chair. “It’s never too late. I’ve always loved you and I still do. You know that.”

  “Do I?”

  He frowned. “You believed in me once. Why did you stop?”

  Now she set down her fork. “You really need to ask? You know why. You couldn’t be trusted.”

  “I was never unfaithful to you. I tried to tell you that.”

  Right. She rolled her eyes.

  “But you listened to your mom instead of me.”

  “My mother was right,” she said hotly.

  “Why, just because she’s your mother?”

  “No, because she had proof.”

  “Those pictures looked like proof because you wanted them to. You chose to believe her over me. How do you think that makes me feel as a man? I know you love your mama, but you promised to build a life with me. And you didn’t. You always kept bringing your mother into our relationship. And maybe that would’ve been okay if she’d liked me, but she never did.”

  “I…” Ella stopped, unsure how to finish that sentence.

  “Do you remember how happy we were?”

  She remembered, more often than was comfortable.

  “We could still build a good life.”

  Somewhere deep down, past the hurt and anger, something glimmered, like a small candle determined to hold back the dark.

  “And I want to. I think you do, too, El, but you’ve got some tough choices to make.”