Eggnog & Evergreen

10 • Main Street Market

Maybe it's to keep me busy (or to punish me), but my mom texted me and gave me grocery duty. She resumes baking tonight and needs more essentials -flour, eggs, milk, etc. At least it's an excuse to stop crocheting.

I decide to leave my phone on the charger in my room and brave the outside world without any digital help. I drive my dad's rusty pick-up into town and park on the less crowded side of Main Street. It's been a while since I've operated a motor vehicle, so parallel parking in the snow is not a viable option.

It's a bit of a walk to the versatile market that triples as the grocery, hardware store, and corner café. I'm in my mom's black snow boots today, so at least I came prepared. I see the market on the corner, right next to County Theater.

Mismatched shops and cozy window displays line the cobblestone sidewalk of Main Street. Add in the snow and ubiquitous aroma of pine and it's like you're walking through a picture on a Christmas card.

I circumnavigate approaching people, careful to avoid any interaction at all costs. Not only am I averse to small talk, but I especially do not want to run into anyone I know. Which would be almost everyone. Though, I find my thoughts wandering to a burly lumberjack. I didn't know Nik.

I come up on the market and find the doorway blocked by Good Will volunteers.

"Donation, dear?" An elderly woman in a red sweater holds up a gold tin, its contents sparse.

"Sorry, I only have the card." I offer an apologetic smile.

I'm used to seeing collections in NYC, especially during the holiday season. Usually, I will toss in a dollar or two, but today I really do only have my mom's credit card.

I walk through the doors, ignoring the jangling jingle bells tied to the top, and my stomach churns over. It's like I stepped into an over-heated North Pole.

The store clerks are all dressed like workshop elves -complete with hats and ears. Silver and gold tinsel hangs from every window frame, and brightly colored lights crisscross above the aisles -each strand festooned with holly.

"Candy cane?" The nearest boy-elf asks, holding up a sack.

"A hard no thanks," I tell him, shaking my head.

"Hot cider? It's extra warm for adults," he says, lowering his voice.

"That I can do," I say.

He turns the spout on a red cooler behind the customer service counter. I thank him and bring the little white foam cup to my lips.

I pull my mittens off and throw them on the top shelf of my cart. Making my way around the mini market, I collect everything on my mother's list. I keep mentally renaming everything she asked for. A display of reindeer-shaped cookies catches my attention, so I turn my cart the other way.

A flickering image from last night creeps into my mind -walking into Trotter, the biting night air, a starry sky, Nik's beard- STOP. I'm glad my phone is at home, or else I'd be tempted to check in on (read: obsess over) Preston's Hawaiian vacation right now.

I shake my head clear and finish the hot cider before tossing the empty cup in the top of my cart. I turn into the last aisle of semi-nonperishables. Behind me is the café section of the market; it's a small array of maybe five or six tables sitting on cobblestones and surrounded by an iron gate, made to look outside.

I stop my cart in front of an aisle display of garlic crostini. The advertisement suggests I pair it with an aged parmesan. I will need snacks for crocheting with mom. I mean, spiked cider is a snack, but I can only last so long on that.

I'm finally ready to leave. At the end of the checkout line is a shelf of take-one or leave-one used books. My eyes find the most worn and easily most read of the bunch. Its bounded leather cover is cracking at the edges, but its title is unmistakable: Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.

The person ahead of me in line moves forward and I push my cart up a foot or two.

Maybe it's the vintage vibe or one scrooge calling out to another, but I pick up the book and tuck it between the milk and flour.

I push my cart towards the front of the market, ready to brave the frigid outside again.

A woman pulls her cart up close to mine. She's either very interested in my cart or she's trying to rob me. I am fully prepared to RFB her, when her eyes sweep over my cart and onto my face.

"Noelle? Noelle Manger?" She asks, eyes glittering.

My brain freezes and takes a second to jump start before I recognize the voice and realize who is standing in front of me.

"Stel?" My voice cracks.

"Yes! Noe!" She scoops me into a hug.

"Oh my hell, Stella Rae, Stella Rae!" I repeat. "I cannot believe –"

"That it's been 100 years? Me either!" Stella grins. "What are you doing home? I thought you wrote this place off years ago."

"I did," I say, laughing. "But my holiday plans -fell through."

"So now we're stuck with you for Christmas?" Stella asks.

"Looks like it," I tease.

I can still smell Stella's perfume, lingering from her hug. She somehow is the exact same -just as I remember her from high school. It's all coming back: The underage parties, all-day movie marathons, the wily adventures we went on in this quiet town. Stella was the first girl I ever kissed!

I suppose if I were to run into anyone from my past, Stella isn't so bad. Once upon a time, she was one of my best friends!

"Are you just leaving? Oh, let's please get a bite. Do you have time?" Stella asks, dropping her head slightly sideways. I hate that she's so damn delightfully pleasant.

"I-" I think about what I have to get back to, which is approximately nothing. "Absolutely have time. Yes, yes."

"Yas," Stella cries. "The café? We can wheel your cart over."

"Lead the way," I grin.