Holiday with You - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,1

anyone miss Aurora if I stab her, chop her into little pieces, and throw them to the sharks? I need to stop watching reruns of Dexter.

May I suggest watching less serial killer series and more feel-good movies?

I spend the rest of my day tying up loose ends on other projects, searching for how in the world to get to Winter Valley, and grabbing everything I need so I can work from my hotel room. Aurora might want me in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado, but she will have a hissy fit if I delegate any of my responsibilities while I’m gone.

Somehow, between organizing my trip and turning off my computer, I have received almost a hundred new emails. How am I supposed to leave my desk, the office, and the state when I’m needed here?

I should go to her office and remind her that my job description doesn’t include fetching me a new building.

But instead, like a dutiful compliance and marketing manager, I’m packing away my desk, wondering when I’ll see it again. They’ve ignored every method of contact thus far. Why the hell does Aurora Sledge believe in miracles? And why not go there herself if she truly believes we can win this?

The day can’t get any worse, can it?

It takes me over an hour to get home—which I cope with, knowing I won’t be dealing with LA traffic for God knows how long—only to see a message on my phone to call Mom. My mother can be wonderful, and I’ve often thought of her as my confidant, especially in hard times.

But I’m not quite ready to hear what she has to say today.

“Hey, Hot Mama.”

“Stan is getting married this weekend,” she announces.

Cold trickles down my spine.

My heart slows down. Is it sadness because I still love him or . . . why should I care if he’s getting married?

“I love you, but I don’t need to hear this.”

This shouldn’t surprise me since the guy got engaged three months ago. It’s a natural progression. Date, get engaged, get married.

Obviously not to me, though.

My head is about to explode. I demand to know what’s wrong with me. We dated for more than five years—five years—and lived together three of those. Yet when I asked if we should get married, we broke up, and he moved out of my apartment the next weekend.

He looks very committed to Harmony Lynn Jones for a guy who wasn’t planning on committing for life.

Did I cyber-stalk him when Mom mentioned he was dating a new girl? Yes, but don’t judge me. After we dated for five years, he was single for about five seconds before he started dating someone new—a woman who happens to be eight years younger than I am. She just graduated from college last August.

Okay, I still have to work on my anger. Knowing that he proposed didn’t help, but learning he’s getting married . . .

“When is he getting married?” I ask out loud.

“On Christmas Eve,” she answers. “Isn’t that romantic?”

You’re not helping, Mother. How can he get married when, and I quote, “Sorry, marriage isn’t for me, Audrey Bear.”

Asshole!

My fingers itch to check his latest post. The imbecile gave her the ring I had designed for me. I didn’t even get a proposal.

“As I said the last time—when they announced their engagement—I don’t need to know about his life. We are over.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Which is why I think it’s time for you to meet other people,” she says with that motherly worry that feels like she’s stabbing me.

I love Mom, but like any other mother in the world, she wants her child to be perfect. She’s proud of me and my accomplishments, and would love to see me get married soon. All her friends have grandchildren or one is on the way. She can’t brag about me during book club, knitting club, or wine club.

My life is plain.

This is the part of the conversation when I could remind her how marriages and relationships don’t work. She divorced Dad when I was young. I haven’t seen the guy since I turned eight and he moved to New York with his new wife. He broke all those promises to come visit me and send me a ticket so I could be with him the moment he boarded the plane.

“Mom, I thought we agreed you’d be unfriending him,” I say instead of getting into a lengthy discussion about my love life, the guys she could set me up with, and becoming