“But why? I don’t really have a style.”
“First, everyone has a style. Even if it’s by default. Second, I bet we could find some looks in your closet folks could draw inspiration from. Or you can just tell me about your approach to getting dressed as a single working mom. Or even how your style has changed. Or what your favorite trend is. I’m pretty flexible with topics. I’m just looking to interview some Coleman Creek folks. Give my channel a little hometown spice.”
“Well, I don’t think I’m particularly spicy, but I guess doing a video might be fun. I’ve seen enough of them to know you never embarrass people.”
“Maureen—I mean Francesca—would never let you down,” Marley chimed in. “I’m glad I did the one last year with my mom’s sweaters. It’s like having a little time capsule.”
“I think viewers would be into it,” I said to Katy. “You’re basically the epitome of small town mom chic.”
She huffed good-naturedly, leaning back against the couch. “Is that a thing?”
“It should be,” Marley said. “Because Maureen is right. You always look great, which is pretty darn special considering all the hours you put in at The Landslide, plus taking care of two rambunctious kiddos.”
“Pretty sure you mispronounced ‘demons.’” Katy joked. “Braxton spilled his milk on my laptop yesterday, and that was after Rosie decided to poop in the sink instead of the toilet.”
I cackled, but Marley’s eyes went dreamy. “I can’t wait until I’m a mom.”
“Really?” Katy raised an eyebrow. “Horror stories make you want kids? Well, if that’s the case, just wait until I loan you my handwritten copies ofThe Vomit DiariesorInappropriate Things My Toddler Said in Public.”
“Did you just make those up?” I asked.
“Sure did.”
“Nice.” I reached over to give Katy a fist bump.
Marley snorted. “It’s fine. Make all the jokes. Nothing will scare me off. I’ve been imagining me and James with our babies since the minute we got together.”
I put my arm around my sister’s shoulder. “We’re just teasing, Marls. Real talk—I’m excited to be Auntie Maureen.” I kissed the top of her head as I remembered the reason for Katy’s visit. “I guess we should put down these magazines and start doing some actual prep for this party.”
“Just put me to work,” Katy said.
The house was already completely decked out for the season, but we still needed to hang a banner above the back door slider and fifty strands of twinkle lights around the patio and backyard.
While we worked, Marley and Katy threw out ideas for videos I could do in Coleman Creek.
“Karaoke Night at The Landslide would be great for funny content,” Katy said. “Especially this time of year when it’s all holiday songs.”
“Maybe you could talk to the kids at the high school if their parents are okay with it,” Marley offered. “Interview them about how determined they seem about bringing back the ’90s.”
Katy nodded her head before suggesting, “You could shoot at the carnival next weekend.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s a great idea. I can’t believe it wasn’t my first thought,” Marley enthused. “Everyone will be out havingfun, and it’s so festive. Although the fashion will probably be limited to heavy coats and beanies.”
I hadn’t been to the Coleman Creek Holiday Hoopla in a decade, but it had been a big part of my childhood, a tradition for most residents. Put on by the city and the local Rotary Club, there were dozens of booths for crafts, food, and carnival games. There was a Ferris wheel and a merry-go-round. The wooden structures holding up the tents were always decorated for the season, in a wide range of themes celebrating Christmas, Hannukah, the Solstice, the town’s Scandinavian heritage, Kwanzaa, Boxing Day, and New Year’s, along with more vague themes like snowflakes and fireplaces. And while my sister was correct that most carnival-goers would be bundled up, maybe that just meant it was time to have a peacoat vs. puffer coat debate in one of my videos.
“I think the carnival would be a great place to film,” I said enthusiastically.
The rental company arrived a minute later, dropping off ten enormous outdoor space heaters.
It took all three of us to lug them into position in the backyard. We also prepped as much food as we could, knowing many of the guests would bring dishes of their own, even though the party hadn’t been labeled as a potluck.
We laughed a lot. Gossiped about our friends and neighbors. And in the end, Marley’s house looked beautiful, her indoor trees and garland picture-perfect, the backyard a winter fairyland of lights. Even with my nerves about tomorrow—I’d been doing so good all day not thinking about him—and my career uncertainty, having creative energy again brought joy.
I hadn’t thought of myself as creative or joyful in five years. It was scary, the prospect of softening, but there was no way to stop it. Not in Coleman Creek, and definitely not at Christmastime.
I just needed to make sure I stayed tough enough to face Will tomorrow.
Chapter eleven
