Free A Carol Christmas by Sheila Roberts

Mix, which was basically a tossed salad with blueberries and walnuts and a berry vinaigrette dressing. The soup names were just as bad. In the Spuds Potato Soup? Was that supposed to make me want to order? Whoever had come up with these names should have been drowned in Thousand Island Dressing. I mean, I like cute, but this wasn’t Disneyland. It was an upscale restaurant. Supposedly. I wondered who did their advertising.
    And speaking of advertising.
No, don’t go there
.
    Our waitress arrived, resplendent in black pants and a green polo shirt. She was wearing a white apron printed with vegetables and a cap on her head that I guessed was supposed to look like a tomato. Sadly, it looked more like the world’s largest Superball.
    “We need to leave her a really big tip,” I said after she took our orders and hustled off.
    Gabe raised both eyebrows. “She hasn’t even served us yet.”
    “She deserves a reward just for being willing to wear that getup in public,” I said.
    Gabe gave the woman an assessing look. “It’s not so bad.”
    “Andie doesn’t like Mom’s jacket, either,” Keira explained.
    “Well, who would?” I protested.
    Gabe came to Mom’s defense. “It’s just in fun.”
    I pointed a finger at him. “You should be offended. You’re a man.”
    One side of his mouth lifted in a half-grin. “You noticed.”
    I shook my head in disgust.
    “She doesn’t mean anything by it,” Gabe said. “Anyway, it’s probably good therapy or something.”
    “Or something,” I muttered.
    Gabe changed the subject. “So Keira, which house did you like the best?”
    “The first one. It’s got to be the first one.”
    “It’s a great house,” he agreed. “And the value can only go up.”
    Like Spencer’s blood pressure when he found out how much money his future wife was committing them to spending.
    “I just have to convince Spencer it’s worth it. We may have to be DINKs for a while.”
    Double Income, No Kids. I doubted Keira’s salary at The Coffee Break was large enough to make her and Spencer a double-income couple. How would you describe them? As an INK? An INK and a half?
    And what was I? One Income, No Kids. Hmmm. That made me an OINK.
    “Are you okay?” Keira asked suddenly.
    “Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”
    “You looked like you were in pain just now.”
    “No pain here.” I was perfectly happy being an OINK.
    My phone rang just as the waitress showed up with our salads: one Toss Your Tacos, One Hail Caesar, and one Curried Clucker.
    “I hate it when people have to talk on their cell phones every minute of the day,” Keira grumbled.
    I ignored her and answered it.
    It was Iris. “Beryl’s meeting with the Nutri Bread people next Wednesday. She said to let you know.”
    “Next Wednesday?” I had to have misheard.
    “What’s next Wednesday?” Keira demanded.
    I turned away from her, getting slapped by the Venus human trap plant in the process. “But Beryl knows I’m not going to be back until after New Year’s.” Which was, of course, why she’d done this. “What’s the meeting about?” Dumb question, of course. It was about Beryl holding center stage, hogging the glory and presenting our media strategy for the next five years
sans
me.
    “So, should I tell her you won’t be able to make it back in time?” Iris asked.
    I’d have done Christmas with the family by then. It was all I’d really committed to, anyway. I made a quick, decisive decision. The Carol fireworks would have to take place without me. I suffered a moment of guilt, knowing my family (well, mostly Mom and Grandma and Aunt Chloe) would be disappointed. But a career girl had to do what a career girl had to do. They’d simply have to accept that fact.
    “I’ll be there,” I said.
    “Okay, I’ll tell her,” Iris said and hung up.
    Good. This was working out perfectly. I wouldn’t miss the action at work and I’d make it back to New York in time to see the ball drop. And I’d have done my duty