on a tree. Voila! You’re so right, Hazel. This truly is the best time of year.
Only when I imagined myself saying it in my head, it sounded every bit as cheesy and forced as a terrible low-budget made for TV Christmas romance movie.
Nonetheless, I tossed back more alcohol, and pulled out my phone to dial her number. My leg bounced and twitched as it rang once...twice...three times.
“Hello!?” she shouted over noisy bustling in the background.
“Ms. Malone, this is Chris Palmer. I’m sorry….Is it Ms. or Mrs.?”
“What!? Hold on…,” she yelled so loud I had to hold the phone back from my ear. “Sorry, I’m at my dad’s Christmas tree farm, helping out for the day,” she explained once she had stepped away somewhere more quiet. “What were you saying?”
“Christmas tree farm,” I scoffed. “Right. Okay. I was just asking if it’s Ms. or Mrs….”
“Just call me Hazel,” she answered firmly.
I shirked off the tinge of disappointment that it wasn’t easier to determine whether she was married or not.
“So,” she continued. “Have you considered my offer?”
“You mean your blackmail?” I huffed, but she was silent. “Yes, I have considered it.”
“And?”
“And…,” I still hesitated in saying what I knew I needed to. “Fine. What can I say...You’ve got me by the balls on this one, which isn’t an easy thing for someone like me to admit. But you win. I give you full permission to try your damndest to convert me to a Christmas lover. As long as you stick to your word about rewriting the piece with a more positive spin.”
“Fantastic!” she shrieked with a gasp. The excitement in her voice was intimidating. “I just know you’ll come around. And who knows? Maybe it will even spark your motivation to fight for the annual display!”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. That’s definitely not one of our terms. I can’t make any promises there. More than that, our decision on the display is final.”
“Whatever,” she shot back dismissively. “One thing at a time, and I know just the place to start with you.”
“Why do I feel like I’m talking to a demented experimental surgeon with shady credentials all of a sudden?”
“It is a sort of surgery,” she chuckled. “Heart surgery. You’ll be just like the grinch by the end of it, with your heart growing three whole sizes.”
“Great,” I groaned.
“Are you free tomorrow night?” she asked.
“I’m obligated to be, it seems.”
“Perfect. My family is doing our annual Christmas crafting night!” she sang enthusiastically.
“Oh, well if you’re not free tomorrow night, then…”
“No, I’m saying you have to come with me,” she insisted. “You won’t be disappointed. It’s one of the best parts of the season, and one of my favorite traditions. We bake cookies and make ornaments and garlands. By the end of it, my parents’ whole house looks like Santa’s cottage!”
“You can’t be serious,” I laughed.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Look, out of all the ways you could try and pull this off, dragging a guy to a crafting session with your mom and dad isn’t the least bit constructive. If anything, you’re going to make me loathe this stupid holiday even more.”
“I can always publish my article as is,” she threatened. “Or you could just trust me and let me work my magic. The magic of Christmas.”
“You sound like a crazy person, but...I guess I have no choice, do I?”
“Nope!” she chirped. “And anyway, of course my father won’t be there. He’ll be busy at the Christmas tree farm. But my mom and sisters will be. Maybe their significant others, but probably not.”
Once I got over the second mention of her dad and the Christmas tree farm, as if that didn’t sound like a potential full blown delusion from someone who drank way too much spiked eggnog, I was rolling my eyes even harder over her admission about her sisters’ SOs. Of course they wouldn’t be there if they could help it. For Christmas crafting!? No man would if he had his say in it.
But I reminded myself, once again, that I very much did not have a say in any of this. I reluctantly confirmed our first Christmas conversion session for the following evening, then proceeded to get splendidly drunk in my office.
7
Hazel
Chris and I agreed to meet in between our places, because obviously we lived on opposite sides of town. Then we’d share a cab together over to my parents’ house for crafting night, which I was incredibly high on excitement for. But my buzz started to fade when I looked