Christmas in Seattle: Christmas Letters / The Perfect Christmas

“I’m not,” K.O. insisted. “LaVonne arranged it. Dinner was incredible. In fact, I gained two pounds.”

A short silence ensued. “Okay, I’m sitting down and I’m listening really hard. You’d better start at the beginning.”

“Okay,” she said. “I saw Wynn, Dr. Jeffries, in the French Café.”

“I already know that part.”

“I saw him again.” K.O. stopped abruptly, thinking better of telling her sister about the confrontation and calling him names. Not that referring to him as Jim Carrey and Charles Dickens was especially insulting, but still…“Anyway, it’s not important now.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“Well, Wynn and I agreed to put that unfortunate incident behind us and start over.”

“Oh, my goodness, what did you do?” Zelda demanded. “What did you say to him? You didn’t embarrass him, did you?”

K.O. bit her lip. “Do you want to hear about the dinner or not?”

“Yes! I want to hear everything.”

K.O. then told her about cocktails at LaVonne’s and her neighbor’s connection with the famous chef. She described their dinner in lavish detail and mentioned the carriage ride. The one thing she didn’t divulge was the kiss, which shot into her memory like a flaming dart, reminding her how weak she really was.

As if reading her mind, Zelda asked, “Did he kiss you?”

“Zelda! That’s private.”

“He did,” her sister said with unshakable certainty. “I can’t believe it. Dr. Wynn Jeffries kissed my sister! You don’t even like him.”

“According to LaVonne I will soon bear his children.”

“What!”

“Sorry,” K.O. said dismissively. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Okay, okay, I can see this is all a big joke to you.”

“Not really.”

“I don’t even know if I should believe you.”

“Zelda, I’m your sister. Would I lie to you?”

“Yes!”

Unfortunately Zelda was right. “I’m not this time, I swear it.”

Zelda hesitated. “Did you or did you not get his autograph?”

Reluctant though she was to admit it, K.O. didn’t have any choice. “Not.”

“That’s what I thought.” Zelda bade her a hasty farewell and disconnected the call.

Much as she hated the prospect, K.O. put on her sweats and headed for the treadmill, which she kept stored under her bed for emergencies such as this. If she didn’t do something fast to get rid of those two pounds, they’d stick to her hips like putty and harden. Then losing them would be like chiseling them off with a hammer. This, at least, was her theory of weight gain and loss. Immediate action was required. With headphones blocking outside distractions, she dutifully walked four miles and quit only when she was confident she’d sweated off what she’d gained. Still, a day of reduced caloric intake would be necessary.

She showered, changed her clothes and had a cup of coffee with skim milk. She worked on the Mulcahys’ Christmas letter, munching a piece of dry toast as she did. After that, she transcribed a few reports. At one o’clock LaVonne stopped by with a request.

“I need help,” she said, stepping into K.O.’s condo. She carried a plate of cookies.

“Okay.” K.O. made herself look away from the delectable-smelling cookies. Her stomach growled. All she’d had for lunch was a small container of yogurt and a glass of V8 juice.

“I hate to ask,” LaVonne said, “but I wasn’t sure where else to turn.”

“LaVonne, I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

Her friend nodded. “Would you write my Christmas letter for me?”

“Of course.” That would be a piece of cake. Oh, why did everything come down to food?

“I have no idea how to do this. I’ve never written one before.” She sighed. “My life is pitiful.”

K.O. arched her brows. “What do you mean, pitiful? You have a good life.”

“I do? I’ve never married and I don’t have children. I’m getting these Christmas letters from my old college friends and they’re all about how perfect their lives are. In comparison mine is so dull. All I have are my three cats.” She looked beseechingly at K.O. “Jazz up my life, would you? Make it sound just as wonderful as my girlfriends’ instead of just plain boring.”

“Your life is not boring.” Despite her best efforts, K.O. couldn’t keep her eyes off the cookies. “Would you excuse me?”

“Ah…sure.”

“I’ll be back in a minute. I need to brush my teeth.”

Her neighbor eyed her speculatively as K.O. left the room.

“It’s a trick I have when I get hungry,” she explained, coming out of the bathroom holding her toothbrush, which was loaded with toothpaste. “Whenever I get hungry, I brush my teeth.”

“You do what?”

“Brush my teeth.”

Her friend regarded her steadily. “How many times have you brushed your teeth today?”

“Four…no, five times. Promise me you’ll take those cookies home.”

LaVonne nodded. “I brought them in case I needed a bribe.”

“Not only will I write your letter, I’ll do it today so you can mail off your cards this week.”

Her friend’s eyes revealed her gratitude. “You’re the best.”

Ideas were already forming in K.O.’s mind. Writing La-Vonne’s Christmas letter would be a snap compared to finishing Bill Mulcahy’s. Speaking of him…K.O. glanced at her watch. She was scheduled to meet him this very afternoon.