Eggnog & Evergreen

02 • Who Needs the Rockefeller Tree?

"You want to break up? With me?" I ask him, almost screaming. "NOW? But -How? I wrapped myself up as a Christmas present last night! Wearing nothing but tinsel and a bow -there."

A cab pulls up to the curb. Its doors burst open and out pours a gaggle of slutty elves in Santa hats. I hear Jingle Bell Rock on the radio inside the car. I focus on the neon menorah illuminating the nearest window display.

"And that was," Preston coughs, looking around guiltily, "-A great, sexy gift. The best. Believe me, but that's not why-"

"What about Christmas? I mean Hawaii is days away. What about our engagement?" I shriek. My hands are animatedly up in the air, moving with every word I speak.

I push through my words, forcing back tears. I can't help the word vomit. Better than actual vomit.

"Woah, woah, engagement?" Preston asks, throwing up his hands and cocking his head. His lips spread into a soft smile. "That escalated."

"Yes, Preston, from banging last night to breaking up 24 hours later. I'd certainly call that an escalation." I cross my arms over my chest. My gold bracelet looks oddly blue thanks to the menorah.

"Look, Noelle," he begins.

I loathe the way Preston assumes his courtroom demeanor whenever he's trying to seem serious. "I'll admit I probably should have done this sooner, I know. It's just I wasn't sure and then the trip was already booked and it just kept getting closer and closer-"

"Yeah, that happens. It's called time passing and making plans. It's called a relationship!"

A rowdy group of teens and one highly intoxicated couple stumble past us on either side. Someone throws a mini candy cane that shatters at my feet. I know right where I'd like to shove this stupid staff-shaped candy.

"It just all happened so fast," he says.

"So fast? Three years is FAST for you? Literally, I must be missing something." I curse under my breath. I'm strangely focused on my Louie Vuitton bag right now. Shit, it was my gift from Preston last Christmas.

"I just need some time. To focus on myself, my career-" Preston starts.

"Yourself? Your career? You're not fresh out of school, Preston. You're 29! And already a junior partner at your firm! Everything is already figured out. Or I thought it was," I say. I will not cry in front of him. Just focus on the Louie, Noe. "What am I supposed to do for Christmas now?"

"I'm sorry, Noe," Preston frowns. His hands rub the back of his head. It's his nervous tell.

"No. Don't you Noe me. No way!" I turn around and start speed walking in the opposite direction, leaving Preston looking all dumb and dapper out front of the restaurant.

"Noelle! Noe!" I hear him shouting after me, but his words are carried away on the wind.

"Don't follow me!" I shout back.

I can't stop smelling his cologne on me -like it's clinging as hard as possible. I cannot believe this is happening.

I'm shocked to say the least. More accurately, I am mind-numbingly flabbergasted. And all the other synonyms I can't think of right now!

I'm supposed to be mere hours away from a tropical locale (piña colada in hand) and approximately one year and several hundred invitations away from becoming Mrs. Preston Wells, Esquire.

I'm not supposed to be walking, alone and boyfriend-less, a mere two weeks before Christmas!

What kind of sociopath dumps someone this time of year? There should be rules against it.

Who needs Preston Wells, anyway? Who needs his prominent, well-dressed and well-respected, family either? I don't need his luxuriously boujee apartment, perfectly located just three blocks from my shared job space downtown. I don't need his Louie Vuitton and Prada Christmas gifts. And I sure as hell don't care about driving his Royce out to the Hamptons. Right?

I may miss the endless galas and philanthropic fundraisers though. I may miss the entire life I've been solidly building the last three years!

The tears I've been holding back are starting to swell, rising to the surface.

A drenched face is imminent.

I whip out my phone, instantly sending a mass text to reveal the mass casualty that is my entire life right now. Deja, J & J, the girl I only sometimes talk to in my apartment building -they all get an angry text.

It helps alleviate about one-eighteenth of the pain bubbling inside me.

This is a joke, right girl?
WHAT?
Excuse ME?!
Oh HELL no *angry devil*
I'll kill him.
*axe*

I read all my appropriate responses one by one. I start typing back to Deja first before I realize I don't even have anything to say.

I tuck my phone away, letting it sink into the depths of my bag right along with what little gingerbread crumbs were left of my holiday spirit.

...

I walk around for hours by myself. Only, I'm never really by myself. It's still New York after all. I stopped at the Rockefeller Tree. Bad call considering I watched THREE couples get engaged in the space of just as many holiday songs.

What's in this smoggy city air?

I had to dodge the skating rink attendant (asking where my date was), and talk my way out of accepting eggnog from a sketchy street vendor.

I used to love it at Rockefeller Center. Preston and I always went to the tree lighting. We'd make a whole night out of it -walk from his apartment, have a fancy dinner, watch the illumination -take the required pom-hat selfie. Blah. Blah.

Now it's tainted. Ruined. Who needs an oversized Christmas tree anyway? Little ostentatious, don't you think, New York?

Now that I think about it, it's all a bit much.

The songs, the decorations, the contagious cheer -it's all nauseating. The cheer is public enemy number one. Well, Noelle Manger's enemy number one at least.

That's it. I'm out. I'm removing myself from the festivities this year.

I'm officially done with Christmas.