I had none. For the last hour-and-a-half, I had no fa-la-la for carols, no aim for pin-the-tail-on-the-reindeer, and I was pretty certain I’d just bestowed my last smile. My face muscles couldn’t flex in anything more positive than a grimace. Apologies to all, but there would be no more grins or cheery visages. Fortunately, the train pulled back into the depot for round two, and these sugar-filled kids clutching their new winter gear would hop off, giving us a small break until the final batch of children climbed on.
“Let’s go sit down and eat a cookie while we can,” Emma said, joining me in a blissfully empty car while the kids filed out and escaped to the care of their families and guardians. She set down a red paper plate on an old Formica table and groaned as she lowered into a seat. “I forget how much work this is.”
“I’m pretty sure five kids sneezed directly in my face.” Cordelia squirted hand sanitizer in her palms as she breezed inside. “Are those chocolate chip cookies? Deal me in.” Her impressive engagement ring caught the overhead multi-colored lights and glimmered in red and green. She’d married Will Sinclair, a famous reporter, and together they raised the adorable son Cordelia had adopted out of foster care. “How are you holding up, Annie?”
“You two quit fussing over me. I’m perfectly fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Emma handed me a cookie, which I politely refused.
“Have I not held my own tonight? Have I slacked off on the job for even a second?”
“You’ve been a great help,” Cordelia said. “But I couldn’t help but notice you cried all the way through all three verses of ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.’”
“We shouldn’t glorify blatant references to cheating.”
Crumbs dotted the top of Emma’s upper lip. “Santa said you made one little boy promise not to grow up to be a womanizing fink who stomped on hearts and asked women at the gym to spot him.”
“Perhaps I’ve had a few weak moments.” But in my defense, that little boy did take my oath.
Cordelia took a slow sip of hot chocolate. “Like when little Cecily Newton told Santa she wanted Mickey and Minnie Mouse dolls for Christmas, you told her Minnie should forget the boys and focus on her personal growth instead?”
“There’s no need to reinforce outdated patriarchal roles.”
“Mickey’s a mouse,” Emma said. “He’s not out to convert Cecily Newton into losing her identity in relational sacrifices.”
“The rodent looks shady to me.” But I caught yet another one of their exchanged looks of concern. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll pull it together for the next round.” I checked my phone for the hundredth time, and disappointment twisted my inflated hopes like a sad balloon animal. “Zachary’s not going to call, is he?”
“I don’t think so.” Cordelia patted my hand. “It’s okay to mourn what could’ve been though. Give yourself some time.”
“My mother’s going to lose her mind. She loved Zachary. He was the first boyfriend she’d approved of since Wyatt.” My mom had cried harder at my college breakup with Wyatt than I had.
“That should’ve been your first clue Zachary was totally wrong,” Emma said.
I’d held myself together all night, but the overwhelming sadness was once again a tsunami I couldn’t hold back any longer. It was less about missing Zachary and more about missing a life I wanted but couldn’t seem to create. “I…I think I’m going to get some fresh air before the next ride.”
“Do you want some company?”
I heard Emma’s question, but I raced off the train, gulping the night air as a few sporadic snowflakes danced in the atmosphere. Hot tears made wiggly tracks down my cheeks while I carefully walked the snowy length of the locomotive, aiming toward the caboose lit up for Santa. I collapsed onto one of the two small park benches nearby, a sob shaking my tired body. A sharp winter wind bit into my sweater, and I realized I’d come outside without my coat. Which also meant I was without the tissues strategically stuffed into my coat pockets.
A quick scroll of my phone told me Zachary still hadn’t called or texted.
We were still over. He had tied our future to the train tracks and choo-choo’d right over it.
“Need a Kleenex, dear?”
I startled at the voice, dashing away tears with my cold fingers. The kind-faced woman playing Mrs. Claus eased onto the other bench, her long, burgundy velvet skirt gracefully draping around her.
“I’m sorry.” Embarrassment heated my stiff cheeks. “I’ve had a bit of a bad weekend.”
She handed me a tissue, her lips pulled into a motherly smile. “Sometimes it helps to talk to a stranger.”
Apparently I’d been dating a stranger. “No, I’m okay. Really.” I blew my nose with zero finesse for my spectator. “Just needed some air.” And some time alone, lady.
“Nobody should suffer a broken heart during the holidays.”
My laugh was brittle as the few pinecones near my feet. “Tell that to my boyfriend…my ex-boyfriend.”
“Oh, no. A recent breakup?”
I pulled my hands into my sleeves and shivered against the frigid temps. The snowflakes seemed to double in size as they fell around us. “It’s a long story.”
“We have five more minutes. Gimme the Instagram version.”
Shame and embarrassment warred with a strange pull to let loose on a stranger like she was my personal diary. “The man I thought I was going to marry broke up with me last night.” The details poured out, as did enough tears to ice our park benches. “Do you ever feel like you’ve made decisions that have doomed the rest of your life?”
She grimaced and tugged at the buttons on her festive jacket. “I do regret those bean burritos I had on the trip here.”
“Sometimes I think I had a fork in the road, and I went left instead of right. And there’s a whole life waiting for me over on the right side that I’ll never know.”
“And the path you took is far less satisfying that what it could’ve been?”
“Exactly.”
As if oblivious to the cold and spitting snow, Mrs. Claus clasped her gloved hands and leaned toward me, her eyes bright over her evergreen bifocals. “What do you think you missed out on?”
“The life I was supposed to have.” The tissue in my hand was a soppy mess, but I daubed it beneath my frost-bitten nose anyway. My best friends lived these idyllic lives with fabulous love stories and happy endings no romance novelist could pen any better. They couldn’t understand how defeated I felt or what it was like to know you’d once let the right man walk away. “I want to believe I’ll find love again, but, really, how many chances does one person get in a lifetime?”
“And you think you’ve used all your opportunities?” she asked.
“Yes.” Maybe it was the kindness in her voice or the fact that Mrs. Claus reminded me of my blessed grandmother, but I felt like this white-haired woman was truly tuned in and listening. “I’ve always suspected I let Mr. Right go in college and nothing’s worked out for me ever since.”
She batted a flake away from her dark lashes. “Tell me about this one who got away.”