Jane Austen’s Advent Calendar — Day 18

Whatever holiday you are celebrating this month, I hope it’s been pure magic! Some of you might already know this story, its an old one I wrote a long time ago. But I have a soft spot for Emma so I thought it was worth it to dust it off and shine it up for you!

ALWAYS THE BEST TREATMENT

“I always deserve the best treatment because I never put up with any other.”
~ Jane Austen, Emma~

December 26th, Nordstrom.
This should be someone’s job, and that person should be paid handsomely for sparing the rest of us the necessity of doing it.

Emma Woodhouse allowed her eyes to scan the seemingly unending number of people who were there, as was she, for that most despised of holiday rituals: returns. All of them would try to explain to the overworked, harried sales person that they had no receipt for the proper return of a broken/wrong color/too-tight/too-large/too-horrible whatever because Aunt Mildred sent it and she would be offended by even the slightest hint that you did not like her gift, and wished to return it.

She took a peek inside her receipt-less parcel confirming that her own atrocity, the thick blue cardigan sweater which boasted a complete nativity scene on the back, with the wise men marching around to greet the baby Jesus from under the left breast of the wearer, and the shepherds and sheep under her right. This must be sacrilegious in some way.

She turned to the man beside her, her sometimes-friend, sometimes-watchdog George. “You know this is all Nordstroms fault. If they didn’t sell such horrors, we wouldn’t be obliged to return them.”
George tugged on his collar. “Why is it so hot in here? Its like August in Florida or something.”

“The sweat of the overindulged masses,” Emma replied with a smile.

“And you are certain this must be done today? Why not another day, or how about if we toss the thing in the Goodwill bin and be done with it?”

“I can’t do that,” Emma said. “What would I say when Aunt Mildred asked if I liked her present?”

“What difference does it make? You’re getting rid of it regardless.”

“Because this way, I can replace it with something I will enjoy, so I won’t be lying when I tell her I loved it.”

George closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remind me the next time I give you a gift, I shouldn’t ask if you liked it. Instead, I’ll ask if you liked the gift itself or the store credit you received for it.”

“I always love your presents. Anyway, we’re almost next. Let’s hope the sales lady is feeling generous.”

That hope faded as an altercation broke out between the sales lady and the customer she was assisting. The customer, a cranky toddler, hanging on her side while his brother actively sought left-over Christmas ornaments to break, was not pleased with whatever deal had been offered to her for what looked like a vest that matched Emma’s sweater.

“Regardless of when it was purchased, I received it yesterday! Christmas was YESTERDAY!”

The sales lady insisted, in a meek and apologetic way, “Store policy says 45 days from purchase—”

“You can take your policy, and shove it right up—”

“How may I be of assistance?” The manager had seen trouble about to break out and hurried over to help. There was a five minute period of brief, but intense, arguing. The toddler started to cry, and his brother tugged on his mother’s hand, proclaiming he was nearly dead from his need for a candy cane. At last, the woman, thoroughly defeated, accepted whatever small bit of credit had been offered and departed.

The next person up was a heavily-perspiring man who wore a shell-shocked expression on his face. From his bag, he removed a full body girdle that appeared to have been violently slashed. “Uhh, I got this for my wife for Christmas, and she, um—”

Emma sighed, thinking it was likely to be another long one. This cursed line was just a fitting end to the most horrible and tedious holiday ever to occur in her lifetime. The holidays are impossible when you’re unmarried and unattached All the family get-togethers, with everyone asking, “Emma, are you still single?” Just once she longed to retort, “No, I married in June, we simply didn’t want you at the wedding!” Then there were the endless rounds of parties, all of which encouraged her to ‘Bring a Date!” Of course, one could not forget the endless, stupid commercials with delighted, teary-eyed women opening little boxes of diamond jewelry given to them by handsome smiling men.

This year, she had believed she had it knocked. She met Frank in September, and by October, they were a couple–or so she thought.

Frank Churchill was the son of the man who owned the PR firm she worked for. DW Partners was in truth, mainly just DW, or David Weston, although she did have her hopes that it would change soon for her. She had been made a junior partner last year and thought that becoming the love interest of the very handsome, very wealthy heir apparent could only solidify her track record of good spin, hard work, and an indefatigably keen sense for what the public wanted to see and hear.

Her clients were prominent business people or authors and artists, and she restricted her dating life to that circle. Fabulous men who dressed well took her to the most popular restaurants and clubs and lived in professionally decorated apartments in hip buildings downtown. “The page six crowd” as George called them.

Frank, with his good looks and trust fund, had fit the bill, and she had to admit, she looked terrific on his arm. What she couldn’t understand was why he never seemed to want to see or be seen anywhere, or why his father didn’t seem to have any idea she was seeing him.

At first, she had been moronic enough to think he wanted her all to himself, but she soon learned the truth: he was married. Had been married for years, to a woman who kept her primary residence in Italy, overseeing a vineyard that Frank once bought. Frank was well practiced in keeping his indiscretions quiet, and she evidently was equally well-practiced in looking the other way.

At least I found out before it went too much further. She had to admit, she really wasn’t too heartbroken over it. It was the idea of him she liked more than the man himself, but it still would have been fun to be dating someone over the holidays. Nothing was better than a guaranteed date to ward off nosy co-workers and patronizing cousins.

Of course, Christmas wasn’t her only concern. Then came New Year’s Eve—terrible night to be alone—and then pink and red, heart-filled weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day. If she could just make it through that, then she could go back to being as blissfully single as she had always been. 

She heaved a sigh, and George, who had been tapping away on his phone, looked over at her. She frowned at him. “What is so interesting on that phone of yours? Talk to me about something, entertain me! Any news from Donwell these days?”

Donwell was the town where George and Emma had both grown up, though George stayed in touch with people more so than Emma did. “Oh I might have heard something you’ll find interesting,” he said now.

Emma smiled eagerly. “Okay, tell me! What?”

“So there was this party, two days before Christmas, at the Brasserie. I saw this girl I know— sweet girl, but the type that’s always sticking her nose in other people’s business—suddenly being smooched, quite unexpectedly and very passionately, under the mistletoe. What made it so funny was that the guy was the very same one that she’d be trying to fix up with her father’s admin. I believe the man’s name was Jeff Elton, and the girl was—”

Emma gave him a droll look. “Was me. Yes, I know, and what a terrible, slobbery humiliation that was! Did he really think I would go out with him?”

“I think he was only responding to your perceived interest.”

“Well, yes, I was interested in him all right—for Hallie! Not for myself!” Emma shook her head indignantly. “But it was nice of you to hang out with her a bit after it happened. She knew nothing was happening between them, but still, I’m sure it stung. He hardly even said hello to her all night.”
George shrugged. “She’s cool.”

“Anyway,”Emma said firmly. “I could never go out with a guy like that.”

“He’s an okay guy, slobbery kisses notwithstanding.”

“He’s just so … so … ordinary, I guess. He has this look about him like he can’t wait to be at his grill behind his house in the suburbs, with his children tumbling about the yard, and his wife in the house making Jello salad or something.”

“What’s wrong with that?” George asked. “He’d like to settle down, have some kids, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Emma shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s fine for a lot of people, but not for me. I don’t want such an ordinary life, I want exciting and fresh, and romantic. I want extraordinary.”

At this, George gave her an odd look; she didn’t know what to make of it. He seemed like he tasted something bad in his mouth but she couldn’t really tell because he turned away and the saleslady called her forward.
Seasons Greetings from Miss Bates, the girl’s tag read.

Emma looked at her a moment with some pity. She was a chubby, bespectacled girl wearing an unfortunate sort of skirt that was both too short and too tight for her. Her hair, sporting a style best seen on schoolgirls, needed highlights almost desperately, and her skin needed a dermatologist, with equal urgency. She was flustered and wore a sheen of sweat on her upper lip that matched the half moons under her arms. Emma decided to go the ‘let’s be friends’ route with her, to maximize her chances of a successful return.

“Hi!” Emma bubbled. “My goodness, what a line today! Bless your heart, I hope your shift won’t be too long?”

The girl looked relieved to see a friendly face and gave a feigned little groan. “I’ll be here twelve hours by the time I’m done, but they give us a pretty long break, plus its time and a half today, which is really good for me, my mother has bunion surgery tomorrow, so I have to be off the next two days, and I really need to save up, because I was planning to go to Mexico in the spring, I’ve never been there, and my girlfriend said, hey, let’s go to Cancun, so I—”

“Cancun! How fun! But I mustn’t hold up your line.” Emma interrupted. She lowered her voice in a confiding tone. “My aunt sent me this…this…well, you can see for yourself. Of course, I can’t ask her for her receipt, she’d be so disappointed! So I was hoping you could…?”

The girl examined it a moment before replying, with a big smile, “I wish I could help, but this is actually from the Rack.”

Emma’s brow wrinkled. “The Rack?”

“Our outlet store? We can’t take back things from the Rack, it’s like a totally separate system you see, even our corporate headquarters—”

“No, no,” Emma interrupted again. “It can’t be from the Rack. My aunt knows I don’t shop outlets.”

With the meek insistence, Emma had seen before, Miss Bates said, “No, it’s the Rack’s, for sure. See I can tell right here…” she pulled on the tag inside the sweater, “it’s part of a line they make only for the Rack.”

If she says the Rack once more, I will scream. Maintaining an even and friendly tone, she said, “I have been in this line for…” She checked her watch “…Forty minutes now, so it would be awesome if you could just put it in the computer or something. Store credit is fine. I don’t even care how much.”
“Oh, I wish I could,” Miss Bates said. “It’s just not our merchandise.”

“The Nordstrom Rack is still Nordstrom, isn’t it?” Emma spoke through gritted teeth. “I mean, if they’re going to put the word Nordstrom in front of it, then it’s Nordstrom. Otherwise, you might as well call it Walmart or Target.”

“Well, it’s not really up to me.” Was it Emma’s imagination or did her little friend look suddenly a bit condescending? “Store policy you know: we can’t take things back that were bought at the Rack.”

“I worked retail when I was in college, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt—”

The girl was starting to grow a bit of spine, belatedly understanding that Emma was not going to be her new gal pal. “I really can’t, so if you would, just take it with you and go, I would appreciate it. As you see, I have a lot of customers waiting.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Emma shrieked. “I am not leaving until you do something about THIS!” She thrust the sweater at the girl.

George spoke up, realizing the situation was growing uncomfortable. “Emma, take the sweater, let’s just go.”

“No! I will not just go! This girl thinks she can force me to wear some OUTLET sweater piece of garbage! What kind of holiday spirit is that! I refuse—”

George took Emma firmly by the arm, very nearly pushing her out of the way. At the last moment, he took the offending sweater with them. He said nothing until they were out in the parking lot, silently assisting her into his car, and tossing the sweater in the back seat.

“George, that was very rude of you.”

“Emma, be quiet,” George said sharply, as he looked behind him to back out of the space. “You just behaved like a spoiled brat. You should be thanking me for getting you out of there before you made an utter fool of yourself.”

“A fool?”

“A spoiled bratty fool,” George barked. “You know I adore you, but it can’t be denied that your father has indulged you in your every whim since the day you were born. You’re beautiful and smart, wealthy, have lots of friends and boyfriends, and a job you love with lots of little perks you love even more. You have a certain sort of pampered charm that we smile and indulge most of the time. However, other times—like today—you take it too far. You were very mean to that poor girl, and I suspect it would have become much worse had I not pulled you out of there.”

“I was not mean,” Emma cried out indignantly.

“Yes, you were. The holiday season is supposed to be about being a little kinder to people, spreading a little cheer where you can. It is NOT about haranguing and harassing a poor store clerk—who by the way, has the most thankless seasonal job ever—and throwing a fit like that.

“Furthermore,” he signaled to turn into the drive of Emma’s apartment complex. “Did it ever occur to you the effort your aunt made in getting you that sweater? So it’s from a store you would not normally shop at. Who cares? What matters is that your elderly aunt, who is scared to death to drive, and living on the pittance of social security, ventured out there to select something for you. She thought of you and wished to send you something she thought you would like.”

They were stopped, and Emma‘s doorman was coming to help her out. She emerged from the car, reaching into the backseat to retrieve the horrid sweater. “You,” she informed George, “have obviously spent too much time on the Hallmark channel. All of the holiday platitudes have muddled your brain.”

She slammed the car door extra hard as she turned to go into her building. It took her an eternity to cross the lobby, go up the elevator and make her way into her apartment. At last, her apartment door safely closed behind her, she allowed herself to burst into tears.

 

December 27th
Emma is probably so angry with me she can’t see straight.

George began to punch through rocks with his bare hands, then leapt atop a tall building to defeat an evil gnome. Unfortunately, the gnome defeated him instead, and he was thrown off the building, leading to his instant demise. He then took a hefty swig of the soda beside him, staring sullenly at his television.

The truth of it was, he was already angry at her when she had begun to berate the store clerk.

Listening to her describe what it was she disliked about Jeff Elton had upset him, and not for that guy’s sake, but his own.

George considered himself a bit ordinary. He too thought, with great longing sometimes, of a time he hoped was not so far distant, when he would have the sort of happiness that comes from a stable home with a wife he loved. Not just any wife either, but Emma.

He had been in love with her for such a long time, he could not remember not being in love with her.

She was spoiled, but she was not rotten. She was, at heart, a good-hearted person who enjoyed a privileged life, unfettered by many cares or concerns. The sun shone on Emma’s life, and she enjoyed it unreservedly.

After many years of seeing her tossed about by man after unsuitable man, he had believed the opportunity for them to cross the divide from friends to more had arisen at last. Frank Churchill had treated her terribly and embarrassed her, and for once, Emma appeared to question her lifestyle, entertaining the thought that perhaps it was the type of men she dated that led to her romantic woes.
So he had made himself a bit of a New Years resolution to talk to her. For as many years as they had been friends, it couldn’t just ask her out. They went out all the time. In the movies, in similar situations, there was always some physical launch into romance: a sudden kiss, a drunken sleepover, or the accidental fondle gone ambitious. That could never work here, and it wasn’t his way. He preferred honesty, and candor, but naturally, he wished to have some indication of success before he did it.

Emma’s words today put a serious damper on all of that. An ordinary guy, it would seem, did not stand a chance.

I refuse to be heartbroken. Let’s not forget she’s still very young. If it is meant to be, it will be, you just need to give it time.

At least he hoped it would only be time. The truth was, both of them were getting a little long in the tooth, but still, so far as he knew, Emma showed no sign that her feelings for him were anything more than the affection of a friend/brother type.

Maybe it’s time to just lay it on the line. Maybe she feels as stuck in this eternal loop of friendship as I do.

*

Emma had checked her cell phone about a million times since George had dropped her off yesterday, awaiting some message from him but there was none, not yesterday and not today.

There was a message from her friend Hallie, and wondering what the girl was up to, she gave her a ring, hoping to be cheered a bit.

“Oh Emma, I am in desperate need of your advice!”

“Really?” Emma laughed at the girl’s tone, instantly feeling much happier. “What’s going on?”

“So, the other night, at the Brasserie, I talked to George forever. He is so great! But of course, you know that! I don’t know how I didn’t realize before how great he was!”

“Umm, yeah, he’s a great guy.” An odd, disturbed sort of feeling came over Emma. It was almost like anger, but with sadness mixed in too.

“So, I think he likes me, and I was hoping he might ask me out, but then I was like, hey, this isn’t 1958, how about if I ask him out! Do you think I should? Or maybe I should just stop over to see him at his place?”

Faintly Emma asked, “You think he likes you?”

“Well, he did spend the whole night with me. I mean, even when it got to the point that we weren’t really saying much, we just sat and listened to the music together. It was really sort of special. I could see myself with him, you know? Don’t you think we’d be great together?”

A bitter taste had come into Emma’s mouth, and she quickly chased it away with a Diet Coke. “I wouldn’t read too much into it, Hal. George’s nice to everyone.”

“That’s what I like about him! But this time I really thought I felt a spark. Did he say anything to you?”

“I don’t know,” Emma hedged. “He said he thought you were sweet—”

“Sweet is good! Right? Or isn’t it? Maybe it’s not.”

“I know he considers you a friend but beyond that? I don’t know. I hate to push you either way because I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed. I feel terrible about how everything with Jeff Elton turned out.”

“That’s not your fault, and anyway, he didn’t break my heart.”

No, because now you’re going to steal my George. The thought surprised even her.

“I’d just wait and see. If he likes you, he’ll call, I know him well enough to know that.”

“That’s good advice. Thanks, Emma. I know I can always get good advice from you.”

They said their goodbyes and Emma was left to think about all the weird feelings that the call had left her with.

Am I jealous?

George had known her since she was a kid. He had seen her through her braces, her glasses, her unfortunate foray into perms, her college grunge phase, her first significant boyfriend and her first major break up. He had seen it all, and somehow he kept coming around for more. She knew she could always depend on him, and that the very sight of him would always lift her spirits a bit.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she always thought he would be there for her. Emma and George, George and Emma—how it had always been, how it would always be, how she wanted it to be.

I love him.

She couldn’t stand the thought of him thinking that she was a bad person, a person who yelled at a poor sweet Nordstrom girl who was only doing her job after all. It was rude and mean of her, George was right. That was not the sort of person she wished to be, a person who would abuse someone simply because they had the misfortune of crossing her path at the wrong time.

George knew that, and did not hesitate to call her on it and why? Because he knew she was better than that. He believed she was more than an overindulged, silly little socialite. He believed she was a person who appreciated all that she had in life and was grateful for what she had been given.

Now she needed to live up to his belief in her, and hope it would not be too late to win his love, if she could.

December 28th
Emma alit from her car, looking, as always, impeccably stylish. She wore a silky peplum style blouse over her Acne jeans, which neatly skimmed the tops of her heeled booties. She had just had her hair done and blown out that morning, and her nails were fresh as well. Her Balenciaga bag completed her look to perfection.

She drew a deep breath, as she reached into the back seat of her car, feeling the scratchy synthetic fibers of the sweater under her fingertips. She slid it on her arms, and buttoned it up determinedly.

She started up the walk of the small, ranch-style house in Donwell that her aunt called home for forty years. As soon as she rang the bell, she heard the footsteps of Aunt Mildred hurrying to the door. Her beloved wrinkled face was smiling with delight when she opened the door.

“What a surprise! Oh, you got the sweater! Don’t you just look sweet, I thought it would certainly keep you nice and warm in these cold months!”

“It is quite warm, aunt, you were right.” Emma leaned over and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I hope you still like ribbon candy. I brought some for you.”

 

December 29th
It was 10:30 when Emma slid into a parking space at the mall. Thankfully, she could already see that the mall was not even half as busy as it had been just a few days ago. She supposed many people were back at work, killing time between holidays, and thinking about New Years Resolutions.

Emma imagined she’d find the saleslady where she had been the other day, and that assumption proved right. Today her name tag read Happy New Year from Miss Bates! She gave a professional, if bored, smile to Emma. “How can I help you?”

Emma smiled back at her. “Hi. Don’t you remember me? I was here the other day with a return from the, uhh, the Rack? The day after Christmas.”

Miss Bates had no sign of recognition in her eyes. “December 26th crazy, literally hundreds of people come through. Was there something in particular…?”

“Well,” Emma swallowed. “The truth is, I was pretty rude to you, and well, I’m not usually a rude person, and I felt bad about it and wanted to come apologize to you. I thought I could take you to lunch?”

Miss Bate’s eyes flew wide before she demurred. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I appreciate your apology, but really, no big deal. The day after Christmas is difficult for everyone, post-holiday letdown and all. I got yelled at quite a bit, and yours doesn’t stick out, so it must not have been too horrible.”

“You’re very kind,” Emma said. “Still, I would like to make it up to you. Do you have time for me to treat you to lunch today? If not, I could come back later in the week, whatever works for you.”

Miss Bates flushed pink, and she smiled more genuinely. “Okay, I guess. I can take my lunch in about 30 minutes, would that be all right?”

“Perfect,” Emma smiled, feeling deeply relieved. “Do you want to meet me? Where do you normally like to eat?”

Miss Bates shrugged, eagerness replacing her uncertainty. “Anywhere, really. I mean, look at my hips, does it look like I don’t like a lot of things?” She giggled self consciously.

“Oh stop,” Emma scolded her. “Anyway, I think we all feel the sins of holiday eating weighing on us, so maybe somewhere with good salads or something? La Madeleine maybe, do you like it there?”

Not long afterwards, the two ladies were dining together happily. The chatted, for some time, about inconsequential getting to know you type things. Miss Bates, whose first name was Jane, was a lovely person who worked part-time and went to college part time, hoping to get her teaching certificate and work with children who had special needs. “I was a helper at a school for special needs children for a long time, until they had budget cuts and couldn’t keep me,” she told Emma. “But I really enjoy the work and feel like it’s something I have a talent for doing.”

“Wow, that is really great,” Emma said sincerely. “Do you have much longer to go?”

“Not too long,” she replied. “The store is great because they work with your hours, so hopefully I will be able to take a full load for the next few semesters. If so, I’ll be done this time next year.”

“Wonderful!” Emma exclaimed. “You’re a busy girl. Must be tough to date.”

Jane turned beet red but feigned indifference with a little shrug. “I don’t date much. There aren’t too many guys in my classes and the ones who are there are usually too young. The men I meet here are usually shopping with their wives.”

I can’t change everything about my personality at once. Emma leaned forward eagerly. “I know this great guy, his name is Jeff.”

December 30th
Emma’s cell phone rang just as she was on her way to George’s. She was delighted to see it was him.

“Hey stranger, great minds think alike. I was just on my way to your place.”

“You were?” He sounded surprised. “I’m glad I caught you because I’m not home. I went to my brothers.”

George’s brother John lived about 20 miles north, upstate, and was married to Emma’s elder sister. The two brothers were close and spoke often but being that George, like Emma, had just seen John and Isabella at Christmas, she could not imagine what might have compelled him to go up there.

“What are you doing up there? You just saw them!”

“Uh, I just needed to talk to him.”

“Right.” Emma paused a moment feeling awkward. “Listen, I just wanted to say, about the other day…you know, at Nordstrom. You were right. I was rude to the girl, and I’m sorry. I embarrassed you and—”

“No, no, it wasn’t that.”

“Oh,” Emma said, and a strained silence fell over them. He seemed so…awkward. Much more reserved than he usually was.

At last, he spoke. “Hallie stopped over the other day. We hung out for a little while, ate a pizza.”

“You did?” Emma was even more surprised.

“It was fun.”

“Hallie’s a great girl,” Emma replied, absentmindedly. Her mind began to whirl as she felt a sort of stabbing sensation in her gut. He loves Hallie. He said she was sweet and now he’s in love with her. I’ve lost him. He’ll marry Hallie, and they’ll be happy forever, and I’ll be alone without him. He won’t be able to hang out with me when they’re married, probably not even when they’re engaged. I have to fix this! What can I do?

“Listen, I better go. Are you going to that party in The Garden tomorrow for New Years?”
Emma nodded then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

“See you then.”

December 31st
Emma got ready for the party, for once feeling like she would much rather put on some leggings and sit in front of the TV with a pint of ice cream. That was not possible, so she soldiered on, putting on the most fabulous outfit she could extract from her closet, making sure her hair looked amazing and that her make up was impeccable.

George said that she stopped over to see him, not the other way around. So they had pizza together! Who cares? He’s a nice guy, he’d have pizza with any old acquaintance who showed up at his door.
Nonetheless, she was eaten alive with curiosity, wondering how he really felt about Hallie. Once, several months ago, George said he thought she was a bit flighty and immature but that was months ago. Things might have changed.

Hallie might be at the party, maybe with George. Emma closed her eyes a moment, imagining what she would do if she had to watch them kiss at midnight. Oh, she couldn’t stand it! How could it have taken her so long to know her feelings for him?

Emma delayed her arrival at the party until almost 11 PM. By the time she got there, the party was in full swing, but George was nowhere in sight. She strolled around, greeting friends and acquaintances, catching up with those who she hadn’t seen over the holiday, and wishing happy new year to those she had. Finally, she made her way to the bar for a drink.

“Emma!”

A great wave of relief rushed through her as she heard him call her name and she turned, delighted to see he was alone. “George.”

He kissed her on her cheek. “When did you get here?”

“Not so long ago, you?”

“Oh, an hour or so ago. I was in the back room. A bunch of people are back there.”

Emma felt an instant pulse of alarm, wondering if the ‘bunch of people’ included Hallie, and almost as if he had read her mind, George said, “Hallie’s back there.”

“Awesome,” Emma replied, forcing herself to keep her smile steady.

“Let’s get some drinks and go back.” George motioned toward the bar, and Emma nodded reluctantly.
While they stood at the bar, awaiting the chance to order, George leaned in murmured, “I really need to talk to you about something. There’s something I have to tell you.”

He’s going to tell me he’s in love with Hallie and I cannot bear that. There is no way I can hear those words come from his mouth. Emma closed her eyes very briefly, then opened them, plastering a smile on her face.

“I think I know what you might say, and this might sound a bit odd, but I really wish you wouldn’t say it. Once you say it, it’s out there. There will be no going back from it.”

George pulled back from her looking a bit offended and a lot embarrassed. He paused for a moment, studying her carefully. “Okay then, I won’t.”

Awkwardly they awaited their drinks, while Emma chastised herself. Do you want to lose his friendship, just like you lost your chance at his love? Stop being such a self-centered ninny! He wants to tell you he’s in love with Hallie, so let him say it, even if it kills you. That’s unselfish. That’s being a friend.

The drinks arrived at last, and George and Emma began to make their way to the back room. Before they were halfway, Emma said, abruptly, “George, you had something you wanted to talk about, and you are my friend, and I will always care about whatever it is you want to say, so … so please, just say it. Tell me…whatever it was you wanted to tell me.”

George studied her for a moment, doubt on his face.

“I want you to tell me,” she added.

“Okay.” He motioned her towards the door to the outer deck, and they walked out. It was cold, but not windy, and it had been so hot in the party, that the chill was refreshing. Emma looked at the sky just a moment and then turned to give him her attention.

George set their drinks on a little table with exquisite care, then turned to face her although he did not meet her eyes. In a quiet voice, he blurted out, “ I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

Emma felt her eyes fly wide as what he said hit her like a punch to the gut. “What? You don’t want to be my friend?” Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, stinging in the cold air.

“Not like that!” He looked up and took a step closer to her. “I meant to say that I don’t want to be just your friend. I will always be your friend, your best friend I hope, but what I really want is much, much more than that. I want … I want you, Emma. I want there to be an ‘us.’

“This isn’t how I meant to say it. Talking about this sort of thing isn’t easy for me, so I’ll just say I love you, and I have loved you for a long time, and just want to know if you think you can ever possibly love me back.”

Emma felt like her heart was about to pound out of her chest but stupidly could not think of the words to say to him and so remained frozen in her silence.

He closed his eyes for a moment, misinterpreting her silence as rejection. “I knew you probably didn’t feel the same, and now I’ve said all this, and it’s going to be completely awkward between us which is why—”

He was abruptly silenced as Emma, unable to speak, decided to employ her lips otherwise instead. She launched herself at him, kissing him soundly and persistently on the lips until his arms went around her.

“I thought I lost you,” she murmured. “I thought you decided I was too spoiled and horrible and silly to love, and I thought you decided to love Hallie instead.”

“Hallie?” He exclaimed. “Hallie is a nice girl but Emma, it’s you for me and me for you, and I cannot imagine it any other way. I will never think you’re horrible and silly and I want nothing more than to make you insufferable spoiled with my love.”

“Well I will do the same with you,” she said.

And the sound of fireworks and noisemakers surrounded them, as they observed the very best of all holiday traditions, the midnight kiss of the one you love.