“Oh. While I have you,” she said as an afterthought, “your father and I aren’t coming for Christmas Eve. I’m giving a lecture the night before in Boston, and we’ve been invited to brunch with the Secretary of Agriculture. I don’t want to have to rush off. So your father will put your gifts in the mail, and we’ll touch base after the holidays on rescheduling.”
Only Anastasia would put “by the way, I’m not spending Christmas with my only child” in the back seat in favor of leading with a lecture on duty and family responsibility.
“Okay. Well, I’ll miss you guys,” Sammy said because it was expected.
“Yes, well. Have a Merry Christmas,” Anastasia said, also because it was expected. “Talk soon.”
And just like that, her mother was gone. Dr. Ames was an important, busy woman who didn’t have time for things like goodbyes.
Sammy hadn’t even put the phone down when it buzzed in her hand. It was a text message from her father.
Dad: Already missing you, Sammy Girl! I had big plans for getting your mother drunk on eggnog so she’d go to bed early and we could watch Die Hard together without her complaining about “unrealistic stunts”.
There was a collection of characters after the text, and Sammy guessed he’d been trying to send a frowny face.
Sammy: I’ll miss you, too! Maybe we can watch it together after New Year’s?
Dad: Sounds like a plan. Good luck with your fundraiser! Send pictures of your sold-out stand! Merry Christmas, kiddo. Love you.
Sammy: Merry Christmas, Pops. Love you.
It wouldn’t be the same, and they both knew it. But overt sentimentality wasn’t tolerated within the Ames family. Sammy and her father had learned to sneak it past Anastasia wherever possible.
She opened a separate text conversation and started typing.
Sammy: Okay. Who had my parents canceling Christmas on the 20th?
Layla: Yes! Me! Suck it, bitches!
Eva: Oh no! I’m so sorry! Does this mean you’ll be alone for Christmas? That’s so sad!
Sammy couldn’t help but smile at Eva’s response. She was the newest addition to the group of otherwise life-long friends. Not only was the woman a romance novelist who couldn’t tolerate unhappy endings, she was also pregnant and hormonal. When she wasn’t throwing up, she was crying.
Sammy: You’re crying right now, aren’t you, Eva?
Eva: Who would leave their only daughter all alone on Christmas? It breaks my heart!
Eden: What did I miss? Davis just made me orgasm twice in the kitchen, and I blacked out for a minute.
Eden was Sammy’s best friend since third grade. They’d bonded over the unfortunate death of the class hamster while he’d been in their care. Mr. Biscuits had died of natural causes, but Sammy’s mother still held a grudge for the dent it put in her reputation as a veterinarian.
Sammy: Eva, stay hydrated. Eden, I hope you sanitized the work surfaces after your orgasmic bliss.
Layla: Hey, remember the good old days when we used to all be single and no one was getting laid?
Eva: Layla, maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones or writer’s instinct, but I get the feeling your sexy next-door neighbor wouldn’t mind making you not single.
Layla: N-O. Huckleberry Cullen is NOT my type. Besides, Sammy was the one at the top of the Beautification Committee’s victim list.
Sammy shuddered. The Beautification Committee was a thin disguise for a diabolical matchmaking organization.
Sammy: I have zero mental energy to start a relationship right now. If the BC tries to pair me up with some bachelor Mooner right now it might just push me into the nunhood.
Eva: We’re pretty busy with our nude calendar sales at the moment though. But our record speaks for itself. True love waits for no mental energy!
Eva and her sister Emma were the newest Beautification Committee recruits.
Layla: Don’t waste your time. Unless the BC is planning to deliver the Mistletoe Kisser to Sammy’s front door, you’ll all be wasting your time.
Sammy: Do NOT give them any ideas. They burned a house down in the last match.
Eva: Allegedly! ALLEGEDLY burned a house down. And that was an accident. Also, it totally worked out in the end. You’re welcome, Eden!
The Beautification Committee had—through accidental arson—managed to end a fifty-year feud and match Lunar Inn manager Eden with the next-door winery general manager Davis. The two were happily having sex everywhere and planning on building a house that would sit astride their respective property lines.
Eden: Hang on. Does this mean Christmas Eve Pajama Happy Hour is back on?
Layla: YES! I’ll bring a slightly nicer veggie tray purchased with my new gambling winnings. I’ve also been saving this bottle of moonshine I got from some crazy West Virginia town. Bootleg Straps? Springs?
Eden: You can count on Davis and me for the wine and the dogs as if you need more animals running around your place.
Eva: Donovan is working Christmas Eve and I can’t drink, but I’ll bring snacks and freezer bags for me to throw up in.
Sammy: Best Christmas Eve ever.
She meant it. She didn’t mind quiet holidays. She had good friends, great pets, and plenty of Christmas movies to keep her entertained in between naps and eating all of the cookie trays her clients insisted on giving her. It was a damn good life.
Sure, it would be nice to have someone around to swap stories of the day with in front of the fireplace with a tall glass of wine. Someone to have regular, awesome sex with. But where in the hell was she going to find a guy who didn’t mind sharing a half-renovated house with three weird cats and a significant other that ended every day smelling like a barnyard?
For now, she’d stick with the plan. Finish the damn wreaths. Get her damn farm fixed up. And officially start the damn rescue.
“Get back here, Horatio!”
Sammy jolted as a humongous, hairy, half-washed dog bolted into the breakroom.
Jonica, the long-legged vet tech, slid into the room in soaking wet scrubs. The reindeer antler headband on her Afro was crooked.
Horatio, ninety pounds of mischievous mutt, evaded his captor by ducking under the table.
“Express his anal glands and he’s fine, but try to give him a bath and he loses his damn mind!” Jonica complained as she crawled under the table.
A chair tumbled to the floor as the wrestling match ensued. Sammy was just getting ready to join the fray when a pissed off tomcat hissed in the doorway.
“How did Mufasa get out?” she yelped.
Horatio stopped squirming and made a mad dash for the evil cat.