The snow dances as the Rat Pack sings. Alexa is playing my grandparents’ favorite holiday music: Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. I smile at my reflection in the mirror and then give myself a little wave.
“I’ve missed you,” I say.
I barely recognize myself, inside and out.
On the outside, I’ve certainly undergone a transformation: I am walking—and even jogging—again, along the riverfront, through Heritage Hill, even downtown. My hair has gone from gray to silver. I wanted to own my age, but I also wanted to be—as Olivia at the coffeehouse recently called me—a “silver fox.”
I am wearing makeup again. Not a lot, but enough to bring out my best features and also make me feel as if I’m not only celebrating the season but most importantly me.
I move to my little closet and scan the racks.
I am about to grab something warm and comfortable—another cute but nubby and well-worn holiday sweater—but instead pick out an all-black outfit: a tailored blouse and jacket, tapered pants and a pair of new, very high, black leather boots. I dress, tucking and lint-brushing as I go, and reach for my winter coat when “A Marshmallow World” by Frank and Dean begins to play. I smile and sing along.
I reach into the back of my closet and yank a garment bag loose, rattling hangers as I pull it free. I take it to my bed and unzip the bag.
My grandmother’s Christmas cape—as red as Rudolph’s nose—looks at me. This is the cape she wore when she took me to see The Nutcracker.
“Perfect,” I say.
I toss it around my shoulders with all the drama of a flamenco dancer and then pin it with a beautiful holiday brooch in the shape of a Christmas tree.
I head to the kitchen and grab my car keys when my laptop pings with a message.
Are you still open?
My online store, The Sugarplum Fairy Shoppe, has a flashing banner that reads:
Temporarily Closed!
Opening again soon under new management.
I chuckle at my inside joke.
I am the “new” management, of course, except this time I will do it right, offering true heirlooms at a fair price. And I will have a partner, just like Frank had with Dean.
Earlier this year, I went into business with Elaine. She actually reached out to me—fittingly—last Valentine’s Day, and we met for coffee.
“You’ve always had such a great eye, and I’ve always known you had a great heart, too,” she said, looking out at the drifts piled along the sidewalk. “It was just buried.”
Elaine then pulled out her laptop along with a business plan. My name was listed at the top. Her idea: we merge our businesses. Her estate sale company was growing and needed additional power and funding.
“I’m losing a large percentage of every sale,” Elaine explained. “The clients take a huge chunk, then I invite my favorite customers who buy the rest of the quality items at a good price, before the lookie-loos come to nickel-and-dime me. I thought, ‘What if I were to take the best items from the estates and sell them online, where most people are shopping these days?’ You’ve done such a great job at this, Debbie... It just hasn’t always been the most, shall we say, ethical? What if we teamed up for an exclusive shop that listed heirlooms of only the highest quality? Furniture, holiday decorations, clothing, home goods? We could be unstoppable.”
I am now very cash poor, but—for the first time in decades—emotionally rich.
Check back soon! I write. Prepare to have your mind blown!
I jump into my car and point it toward Ada.
“You’re late,” Beth says when she opens the door. “But I can see why. You look amazing.”
I spin. Twice.
We hug, and I hear a squeal. Gabriel races toward me. I pick him up and twirl again. He giggles.
“You look very dapper,” I say, touching his adorable little bow tie.
He looks at me curiously.
“Dapper means handsome,” I say.
He looks at me again.
“I missed you!” I say.
“Me, too. C’mon!”
I look at Beth, and she shrugs. Gabriel grabs my hand, and I follow him into the living room, past all the guests the Wagners have invited to their holiday open house, waving at Steve as I go.
“Sit!” Gabriel tells me. “On the floor!”
I do as instructed.
“Shut your eyes!”
I hear rustling. “Okay! You can open them now.”
A gift, wrapped only as it could be by a child, sits on my lap. The wrapping paper is already coming off, and a bow has been slapped onto the top. It couldn’t be cuter.
I open it, and my face breaks into a huge smile.
“I got to make a Christmas present for someone in my family at school,” he says excitedly. “So I made this for you!”
It’s a drawing of a nutcracker, done in crayon, with lots of glitter and glue. Gabriel has glued nuts and acorns in the shape of a heart around the nutcracker.
Something about this simple gift and the words Gabriel has used—especially family—makes tears spring to my eyes.
“Are you sad?”
“No, I’m happy.”
I hug him. When I look up, Beth and Steve are standing with their hands on their hearts.
“I will treasure this forever,” I say.
For the last year, I’ve seen Gabriel and the Wagners every month or so. They’ve invited me to dinner, and I attended Gabriel’s preschool class’s fall concert. We’ve gone to the zoo. We’ve, of course, gone junkin’ for nutcrackers. I feel like I have a family again.
“You changed us,” Steve told me last spring. “You made us remember who we are as a family and what matters most.”
“No, you changed me,” I told him. “Forever.”
I stand, and Steve offers me a drink. I check my watch.
“I’d love to, but I have to go,” I say.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Beth asks.
“I have a ticket to The Nutcracker.”
“Well, if that’s an excuse to get out of here, it’s the best one I’ve ever heard,” Steve says.
I laugh and give them all big hugs. “Merry Christmas!” I call on my way out the door.
I listen to the ballet’s music as I drive to the theater. My heart pounds with excitement as the lights flash and the crowd is seated. And then my seat begins to shake. I turn, and a little girl is kicking the back of my chair with her foot.
“I don’t want to be here!” she says.
The little girl is fidgeting with the bow on her head.
“I’m so sorry,” the mother mouths to me.
“It’s okay,” I say.
Because I’ve been there. Because I know.
“Did you know nutcrackers bring good luck?” I ask the little girl.
She gives me a look and crosses her arms with complete indignation.
“And that if you believe in the magic of Christmas, then all of your dreams will come true?”
She drops her arms. “Really?” she asks.
“Really,” I say. “What’s your name?”
“Molly.”
“What a beautiful name.” The lights dim. “Oh, it’s about to start. Enjoy!”
The mother looks at me, and her face eases. “Thank you.”
An usher standing guard in the aisle mouths the mother’s words to me, too.
The lights go down and the ballet begins. After a few numbers, I turn as quietly as I can in my chair. The little girl’s mouth is wide open. She is still. Her hand flutters like a butterfly to the music.
The magic of Christmas has come to life in front of her very eyes.
I turn back.
Mine, too.