Once Upon Stilettos
But she did hold the door for me. I’d have to call the Times when I got upstairs. She even greeted me with a smile. “You’re home from work early today. Is everything okay?” The Times story moved to the front page. I had proof of alien invasion. The body snatchers had definitely landed.
“Just taking a little time off,” I said as I stepped through the door and allowed her to close it. “Thanks for holding the door.”
“You had your arms full,” she said. “Come on, Winkie.” She tugged on her rat’s leash and headed up the stairs.
I watched her in shock until she was inside her apartment, then climbed the stairs to my own place. Of all days, I needed her to be nice to me today. If she’d been her usual self, I’d have burst into tears.
Inside my apartment, I put away the eggs and butter, then tried to decide what I should do. Now that I was home, being alone in the empty apartment didn’t seem like such a good idea. At work I’d have had something to distract me. If I sat on my bed and cried my eyes out, I could get it out of my system enough so I could act like I was fine when my roommates came home. I didn’t want them pitying me.
That was when the tears returned. It was so unfair. I was doomed to be alone the rest of my life because I was too boring and ordinary for anyone to want me. I’d never have a chance to wear the wonderful red shoes because I’d never have another date again.
Finally the sobs subsided and I began laughing instead. I was being an utter idiot. So what if I was having the suckiest week ever, from losing the magical immunity that was the main reason I had my job to losing my boyfriend. I still had a lot going for me. I couldn’t think of much at the moment, but I was sure there was something.
When I finished laughing, I turned on the radio to a station that was already playing Christmas music and went to work on my cookies. Baking always made me feel better about life. The kitchen was a mess and I was covered in flour when my roommates got home, but at least I was no longer weeping. I was able to give them a reasonably cheerful greeting, and when Gemma asked, “How did your date go? I want details,” I managed to roll my eyes instead of crying.
“You’re kidding!”
“I told you he was an ass,” Marcia muttered. “Can I have a cookie, or are these for something?”
“Take one of those over there that aren’t shaped right,” I said, pointing with an icing-covered spatula. “And he wasn’t quite an ass. He simply didn’t want to go any further with me, so he told me about it. It’s not like I can blame him for having an opinion that differs from mine.”
“On the first day of a breakup?” Gemma asked, picking up a cookie. “You can blame him for anything you want to. It’s only a day or so later that you have to start being reasonable.”
“Girl, you are way too reasonable,” Marcia said. “I’d still be calling for his balls.”
“He did break up with you at lunch, therefore ruining your whole day,” Gemma added. “It looks like you came home early, based on your cookie output.”
“My coworker said she’d cover for me,” I explained. “And besides, we’ve started this secret Santa thing around the company, so I had to come up with some treats for my secret pal.”