Scrooged by Vi Keeland

Piper

I smiled looking in the mirror.

It had been a long time since I looked at my reflection and saw someone I liked.

This emerald green cocktail dress had been in the back of my closet with the tags on it for the better part of two years. Last week I’d gone to Second Chances, a luxury resale consignment shop here in the city, to sell the last of my designer purses. Since they bought anything name brand, I brought along some of my gently worn designer clothes and also this fancy, never-worn dress. I couldn’t remember how much Warren had paid for it, but then again, I didn’t look at price tags back then, not even when we shopped at Barneys where we’d bought it. But when the consignment store offered me a whopping thirty dollars for a Limited Edition Valentino, I’d decided to keep it. I could wear it once and sell it on eBay for ten times what they were willing to pay. This dress was not leaving my hands for less than a few hundred dollars, even if I could use the money to put toward next month’s rent.

Tonight I was going to my friend Avril’s annual Christmas party. I’d been looking forward to it for weeks. Since I was broke, I didn’t get to see my friends too often. My days of paying eighteen dollars for a glass of wine in a Manhattan bar were over. Avril would undoubtedly have three-hundred-dollar-a-bottle champagne and Beluga caviar, and I was honestly looking forward to a little indulgence.

I lined my lips in blood red and grabbed a wool cape from the closet. But then on second thought, I traded the pretty cape for a heavy parka. It was freezing out, and since I wasn’t about to pay for an Uber, I could be standing at the bus stop for a while. Side note…when I often told people how much happier I’d been since I started shedding the ‘extras’ in my life, I hadn’t been referring to Uber. I missed Uber something fierce.

I took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped off ready to take Manhattan on.

“Wheet-whoo.” A whistle from behind me turned my head. I found my elderly neighbor sitting in his wheelchair.

“Mr. Hanks? What are you doing down here?” My brows drew together. “And in your pajamas?”

“Waiting for pretty girls. I guess I can go back up now.”

I laughed. “Well, thank you. I’m heading to a Christmas party. Do you need some help before I go?”

“Nah. You go on and have a good evening.”

“You, too, Mr. Hanks.”

I walked through the lobby and exited the door. My phone buzzed as I hit the cold air, so I paused to dig it out of my coat pocket and tugged off my gloves to text.

Avril: Why aren’t you here yet?

Piper: Ummm… because it’s only seven o’clock.

Avril: The party starts at seven.

Piper: Yes, but who comes on time?

Avril: Finn Parker…that’s who.

Oh wow. I hadn’t even realized he would be there. I’d met Finn last year, and we’d really hit it off. He’d given me his number, though I’d never called. It had been only a few days before my surgery, and I’d been in a dark place after I got out of the hospital…definitely not ready to jump into anything new—no matter how deep his dimples were. Plus, I’d just broken things off with Warren, and dating was the last thing on my to-do list. Though, now…it had been a long year of celibacy. I typed back.

Piper: On my way!

Avril: Hurry. He said he can only stay for an hour or two.

As I yanked my gloves back on, I turned around to look into the lobby. Mr. Hanks was still sitting there in his wheelchair. I looked at my phone again, then at the elderly man in the lobby, then my phone. Sighing, I tucked my cell into my pocket and opened the door to go back inside.

“Mr. Hanks. Is everything okay?”

He put on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure. Everything’s just fine.”

I noticed a yardstick a few feet away from his chair.

Narrowing my eyes, I asked. “Did you…drop that stick?”

Mr. Hanks frowned. “Oh, yeah. I guess I must’ve.”

I picked it up and handed it to him. Two months ago, Mr. Hanks suffered a pretty bad stroke. It left him with limited mobility in both his arms, and one weak leg. I thought the stick might’ve been the only way he could reach the elevator button. I’d been so worried about getting to my party, that I hadn’t even stopped to think that maybe he wasn’t choosing to sit in the lobby with his mail on his lap. God, I was an idiot…leaving a nice neighbor in his pajamas in the lobby to run off to a party.

I pushed the button on the wall. “I actually forgot something, so I’m going back up to our floor,” I lied. “Why don’t we ride up together?”

The elevator arrived, and I got behind Mr. Hanks’s electric wheelchair and pushed, even though there was a little remote on the arm of it he could’ve used. “So what are you doing for the holidays this year? Any big plans?”

“My son wants me to come to his place. He says he’s cooking, but I got my money on that he takes the stickers off the food trays before I get there so I won’t know he catered Christmas. My wife Mary Jean always made a big meal on the holidays…fish on Christmas Eve and a ham and lasagna on Christmas day. She tried teaching the kid how to cook, but he was always too busy conquering the world when he got older. Mason’s a good kid, don’t get me wrong, but he works too much.”

I frowned. “My mom used to make lasagna, too. And fresh baked bread and pumpkin pie. Some kids loved waking up on Christmas morning to see what Santa brought. I loved waking up to a house that smelled like pie.”

The elevator doors dinged on our floor, so I pushed the wheelchair out and down to Mr. Hanks’s apartment. We lived on opposite sides of the elevator. When I arrived at his door, it was already open.

“Did you leave it this way?”

“Yeah. I can push it open with my foot, but getting the key in can still be a bit tricky.”

“Oh. Yeah. I would imagine.”

I wheeled Mr. Hanks inside and stopped at the kitchen doorway. The room was a disaster. It looked like robbers had ransacked the place. Two cans were on the floor, along with a few utensils, a roll of duct tape, cookies, and a gallon of milk that had spilled into a giant white puddle on the floor. And the kitchen sink water was running. I sidestepped the spill and twisted the faucet off. Glancing around at the mess again, I frowned at the two soup cans on the floor.

“Mr. Hanks, did you…eat dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m just a little messy. Ignore it in here. The aide that my son makes hang around here all day made dinner before she left. I’m just living the life of a bachelor.”

Something told me he was lying. “What did you eat for dinner?”

“Soup.”

I bent and picked up the empty plastic milk container and then walked over to the garbage. Using my foot to press the pedal to open the lid, I took a look inside before tossing the container in. No soup can. Mr. Hanks was a proud man. One who would rather sit in the cold lobby than ask me to pick up a stick so he could reach the elevator button.

“Mmm. I haven’t had soup in a long time. Would you…mind if I had some?”

He squinted at me, but I smiled and he seemed to forget his suspicions. “Sure. Help yourself, kiddo.”

I went back behind his wheelchair and brought him into the living room. Picking up the remote, which was also on the floor, I placed it into his hand. “Why don’t you relax, and I’ll I check out what my soup choices are, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded. “Help yourself.”

Back in the kitchen, I took off my coat, collected the paraphernalia from the floor, and cleaned up the spilled milk. When I finished, I took out a pot and yelled to Mr. Hanks. “I can’t decide between chicken dumpling and beef barley. They both sound so good. What do you recommend?”

He yelled back. “The beef barley is all barley and not enough beef, if you ask me.”

Chicken dumpling it is.

While I heated two cans of soup, I finished straightening things in the kitchen and then set the table for two in the dining room. I buttered some white bread, like my mom used to do whenever she made me soup, and walked back to his chair.

“I hope you don’t mind joining me. I hate to eat alone.”

“Sure. Of course.”

I set him up at the table and then watched while he struggled. His hand was so shaky that the soup would splash off the spoon before he could bring it to his mouth.

“Would it be okay if…I helped you with that?”

His shoulders drooped, but he nodded.

We talked while I fed him.

“I haven’t seen that boyfriend of yours around in a while.”

“Warren? We split up about nine months ago.”

“Was that your doing?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it was.”

“Good. His shoes were too damn shiny.”

I laughed. “And that’s a bad thing? Having shiny shoes?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I liked to clean up for my Mary Jean every now and again, and that meant busting out the polish until I could see my ugly face in a wingtip. But the shoes on that man of yours sparkled every damn day. It ain’t normal for a man to not have a few scuff marks every once in a while.”

Warren definitely cared too much about his appearance. I’d never noticed, but I guess that did run from the top of his impeccably groomed hair to the shine of his shoes. I smiled. “He also used more hair products than me.”

Mr. Hanks shook his head. “These men today, they’re too soft. Is that why you dumped Shiny Shoes? He took longer than you to get all dolled up?”

I thought about making up something, like I did for almost everyone who asked what happened to my four-year relationship, but then I decided to be honest. “I went through a rough time, and he wasn’t really there for me. So I told him I needed a break to deal with some personal stuff I was going through. For the last year of our relationship, I’d suspected that he might be having an affair with his assistant. Two weeks after I asked for the break, I ran into him unexpectedly on the street. He was holding hands with his assistant. Needless to say, our break turned into a permanent separation.”

Mr. Hanks looked at me funny. “You suspected he was stepping out on you for a year and never said anything?”

I sighed. “Yeah. It’s funny, after the thing ended, I asked myself why I never called him out on it. I think the truth was, I didn’t really want the answer because down deep I knew it already. To be honest, neither of us loved each other the way we should’ve to spend four years together.”

“So why didn’t you kick him to the curb sooner?”

I spooned Mr. Hanks the last bit of noodles from the soup and sighed. “I think I just had my priorities wrong. Warren comes from a nice family. He’s well educated and was very generous to me. My life with him would have just been… easy.”

“My wife used to have a saying, what comes easy won’t last.”

I smiled. “Your wife sounded like a smart lady.” Mr. Hanks hadn’t even noticed that I’d fed him both his full bowl of soup and mine. I stood with the empty bowls in my hand and winked. “And something tells me that she was talking about you when she repeated that saying.”

I wound up hanging out with Mr. Hanks for three more hours. He told me story after story about his Mary Jean. Clearly she’d been the love of his life, and the five years since her death hadn’t dulled how much he missed her. Avril had lit my cell on fire texting to ask where I was, and she wasn’t happy when I responded hours later that I’d decided not to come because I developed a headache. But it was easier to tell a little white lie than to explain I’d been enjoying hanging out with my eighty-year-old neighbor more than I thought I’d enjoy her party.

When Mr. Hanks yawned, I took that as a signal that it was time to go. I grabbed my coat. “Would you like me to wheel you into the bedroom?”

He shook his head. “I’m a little rusty, but if you’re trying to make a pass at me, I’m afraid you’re a little too young.”

I laughed. “You sure, you’re okay?”

“I am.” He smiled. “I’m good, sweetheart. And thanks for tonight. Especially the soup.”

I ended up checking in on Mr. Hanks at least once a day after that. We’d become good friends fast.

And now it was Christmas Eve. I planned to stop over and see him with a pie I’d baked from one of my mom’s old recipes. I’d hang out with him for a bit and then leave to head to a family party in New Jersey.

With my pumpkin pie in hand, I knocked on Mr. Hanks’s door. Expecting that he was probably wheeling himself to greet me on the other side, I had a big smile on my face in anticipation of the reaction he’d have when he saw me standing here with this delicious-smelling pie.

But when the door opened, it wasn’t Mr. Hanks who answered. It was…him.

Him!

The gorgeous, not-homeless man who’d given me the bag of dicks. Except tonight he wasn’t dressed in a flannel work shirt and ripped jeans. He wore a blue fitted dress shirt and black trousers. He smelled like musky heaven, too.

He grinned mischievously. “You...”

“You,” I repeated, then looked beyond his broad shoulders. “Where is Mr. Hanks?”

“He’s just in the bathroom.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Before the guy could answer me, we were interrupted by the sight of Mr. Hanks cruising toward us.

He smiled. “I see you’ve met my son, Mason!”