Ending the phone call, January shuffled to the adjacent bathroom, doing her best to ignore the twinkle of tinsel that glistened on her Christmas tree in the corner of her living room - the tree her mother set up without her knowledge three days ago. But no matter how hard she tried, the soft light coming from the window made the shiny metal hard to ignore.
Her shuffles quickly turned to stomps as she marched herself into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
“Ten days. Just ten more days,” she mumbled as she ripped off her pajamas and stepped into the shower, twisting the knobs to adjust the water temperature. January was always one of the few that loved the initial chill of the water as it pelted her skin; it’s what woke her up every morning. Caffeine had nothing on cold water.
Tugging on a deep-purple sweater and a pair of brown slacks, January prepared herself for work. Just a quick blow dry of her hair and a few last touches of makeup had her ready with enough time to snag a bagel and hot chocolate at the bakery in town.
January stepped toward her front door, grabbing her keys, purse, and jacket, then closed the door behind her as she walked out to the crisp morning. Dark gloomy clouds loomed low in the sky, and January knew that snow was in the forecast for Pineville, Ohio.
As much as she despised Christmas, January had quite the fondness for winter in general. She loved the snow, the barren landscapes waiting for their regrowth in the spring, the silence when darkness fell on their town and the stars offered the only light. Winter always seemed magical to her.
“Good morning, Samantha,” January greeted as she walked into her office with a paper bag in one hand and two large cups of steaming hot chocolate in a carrier in the other.
The petite woman’s feet clicked at a quickened pace on the laminate flooring of the office as she rushed toward January. “Is that what I think it is?” the woman whispered in amazement as she took in the loot January carried.
“If you’re thinking two cinnamon and sugar bagels and hot cocoa, then you’d be wrong,” January joked, doing her best not to laugh at the forlorn expression growing on Samantha’s face. Unable to hold out any longer, January clarified, “It’s two cinnamon and sugar bagel
s, hot chocolate, and a handful of peppermint drop cookies.”
January had never seen someone orgasm from the thought of food, but she was fairly certain she had just witnessed it with her co-worker. Samantha had a sweet tooth unlike anyone she had ever met, and as the woman’s cheeks flushed and her breathing became erratic, January was sure she had just observed it happening in the flesh.
As her friend reached out to grab the paper cups, she asked, “Does this mean you’re no longer mad at me?”
With an upward tilt of the corners of her lips, January answered, “Maybe. You know I can’t ever stay mad at you.”
Samantha followed January into her office space, and they set the cups and food on the small table in the corner.
“Now, let’s eat some breakfast while you tell me all about the baking allegations and the research you found.”
The two friends and co-workers sat with their heads together at the table, switching between taking small bites of their favorite local bagel and taking notes for the article. Ms. Smith claimed that her recipe had been handed down to her from her great grandmother and she had it memorized, whereas Mr. Daugherty said that he had proof of her taking a picture of his recipe card for his award-winning butter pecan cookies when he stupidly left it out during one of the competitions.
Three years ago, the two competed against each other, both making butter pecan cookies. It was Ms. Smith’s first year, but Mr. Daughtery’s tenth. The competition came in at a tie.
January poured over her notes as she finished off her cup of hot chocolate, and Samantha left to take a call in her cubicle across from the office. She couldn’t help but wonder why this was such an interesting piece to the town, the local gossip only added fuel to the fire. She felt that the entire ordeal could be solved easily without her having to write something akin to Unsolved Mysteries - just ban butter pecan cookies from the competition.
Seemed like a simple enough solution to her.
Shrugging her shoulders, January dropped the pen in her hand just as her mobile phone began singing in her purse. Blindly reaching into the sack, she griped the device and brought it to her ear. There was only one person that would call her while she’s at work.
“Hi, Mom,” January chirped, knowing that if she gave even the slightest hint of not being in the Christmas spirit, her mother would go to the ends of the Earth to change it.
She spent the next ten minutes piping into the conversation when it was expected. Listening to her mother explain how January’s older sister’s, April and June, had sent the cutest Christmas cards of their families and how she couldn’t wait for Augustus to visit from his home in Montana where he runs a ranch with his wife and their three kids.
Leave it to her mother to remind her that, as the youngest, she’s the last one they get to see married off – it’s her mother’s Christmas wish. At least that’s the guilt trip she threw January’s way.
“Oh, and don’t forget about decorating the family tree in two days when Augustus arrives.”
Like she could ever forget.
“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t forgotten in twenty-six years. Don’t think I’ll forget anytime soon.”
“Don’t you sass your mama or I’ll make your house look like the North Pole threw up there.”
“I regret giving you a key now.”
Chuckling, her mom added, “No, you don’t, or you’d never have a stocked fridge.”
“You’re right,” January lamented.