Page 1 of His Wood Her Fire
Chapter One-Gloria
“Not another one,” I moaned.
I read the latest email invitation to yet another ugly sweater, cookie exchange, holiday caroling party bash from one of my many married friends and acquaintances.
Christ.
Shit.I didn’t mean that in a bad way.
I winced and sent that thought into the universe, hoping to appease whatever deity might be listening.
I was raised Catholic, and even though I don’t go to Church, I do believe.And I still celebrate the fun stuff.
You know, like Easter and Christmas, which was just a few weeks away.
But for some reason, I just wasn’t feeling festive this year.
Okay, fine.
It wasn’t for “whatever” reason.It was for one very simple, basic, and utterly humiliating reason.
I’d just turned forty before Thanksgiving.And I was still as single as the day I was born.
FML.
I wasn’t throwing myself a pity party or anything.But what the hell, Universe?
How could it be that the last steady and meaningful relationship I’d had with someone of the opposite sex was in grade school?
I had this cute friend who lived down the street from me and every holiday like clockwork that sweet little boy brought me presents from the time we were in preschool until fifth grade.
This kid knew his stuff, and he always had the perfect something for everything.
Balloons for my birthday.Chocolates for Valentine’s Day.A candy bunny for Easter.And my favorite thing in the whole world every December 25th—a brand new book wrapped up in bright, festive paper.
At the time, I’d been completely obsessed with thoseChoose Your Own Adventurepaperbacks, and little George used to get me one every stinking year.
We still talked, though not very often.George and his wife, Lee, had moved to San Diego and were doing just great.They welcomed their second child this past August, and I looked forward to his yearly newsletter and greeting card.
If George and Lee were still here, I’d go to their Christmas party.
As it was, I received twenty-seven invitations, and I’d turned them all down.I just couldn’t do it.
I would not be the third wheel, or whatever the heck it was called these days, at any of these holiday get-togethers.
All the pitying looks.The concerned expressions.The sympathetic pats on the shoulder, with the oh-so-annoying reassurances that I would find my someone soon.
No thanks.
Hard pass.
“Hey Lo, are you going to Mark’s this year?”Andy, my personal assistant, came into my office bearing gifts in the form of a hot double espresso with two packets of sugar in the raw.
Come to mama.
“Andy, I would rather get my pussy waxed without numbing cream, fuck you very much,” I snarked and gem that he was, he managed to swallow his own mouthful of iced coffee before he started LOLing.
“You have to answer these handwritten ones,” he said, handing me a brand new stack of invites.