Page 14 of Holly Jolly July

Mariah

It was a full day of hair and makeup. There were a lot of extras to get ready after Ellie left, and I was on my feet with

no break to eat or pee for four hours. Not unusual in my line of work, but after all that my feet and back ache. Luckily the

hair part of it was minimal, as most of the extras were wearing toques. After cleaning my station and grabbing a chocolate

muffin from the refreshment table, I return the borrowed scarf and beeline out of there for my lunch break before anyone can

see the massive purple welt under my jawline.

I feel so dumb for missing the hickey this morning when I was getting ready, but Jax had kept me properly distracted up until

I had to leave. The guy’s got some stamina, and my back and legs aren’t the only things that are sore from it.

My car is parked down the street, and inside is my duffel with the heavy-duty shit I normally don’t need day-to-day. I dig

around for a moment, then find the green-tinted cream foundation to cancel out the reds and purples on my skin. Using my rear-view

mirror, I inspect the state of my neck. Oof, he really went to town. After rubbing a little in, then blending with my regular foundation, I look good as new. Though I do miss the visual reminder

of Jax’s lips and our fun night together.

As far as one-night stands go, that was a top experience. He knew what he was doing, evidently having had a lot of practice

since high school. Thinking of it, he’d had a lot of practice then, too. Maybe we’ll turn our one-evening event into a two-week

romp to keep me entertained through the slog of this god-awful Christmas job.

My ringing phone disrupts my thoughts. The momentary high of thinking it might be Jax is immediately crushed upon seeing that it’s my mother. I guess she’s learned that I don’t pick up the phone before noon. With a preparative sigh, I answer it.

“Hey.”

“Hey, sweetie!” Sweetie? Ugh. “How’d filming go today?”

“Good, I guess.” I take a bite of my muffin and talk with a semi-muffled voice. “Assuming it’s going as well as it could,

given the fact that it’s a low-budget holiday B movie.”

She caws a laugh, and I hold the receiver away from my ear for a moment. “I’m just at the store and was wondering if you still

like Cap’n Crunch for your breakfast cereal?”

“Mom, you never let me eat Cap’n Crunch. Said it was bad for my teeth.”

“It is bad for your teeth. But you’re an adult now and pay for your own dentist.” She caws her laugh again.

I rub my eyes. “Toast is fine. Eggs. Whatever you have. Don’t buy anything special for me.”

“Okay, well, I just want to make sure you feel at home here.”

When have I ever felt at home there? “Thanks.”

“When are you... What time will you be here?”

As if on cue, my phone dings with a text. I pull it away from my ear and glance at it, and my heart stutters at the message.

JAX: wanna visit me at work later? It gets slow around 7.

“Actually, Mom... uh, the... director and production people are all taking us out to dinner when we’re done filming

tonight.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I guess yesterday not everyone was there and they planned a dinner for after the first full day of filming. To celebrate.”

It’s weird how lying to my mom doesn’t feel bad. If anything, I feel bad that I don’t feel bad about it.

“Oh, okay. Well, that’s great! Rubbing elbows with all the bigwigs. Exciting.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home, okay?”

“Okay. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

I hang up the phone and immediately text Jax back.

ME: sounds like fun. Maybe I’ll swing by if I’m not busy.

I already know I won’t be.

Checking the time, I see I still have twenty minutes before I’m due back on set, but I can’t sit in my car any longer. It’s

already stiflingly hot in here, even with the windows rolled down. My mind whirs through the options this small city has and

the places I used to frequent. Without fail, there was always one spot that was my safe space growing up, and luckily, it’s

right down the street.

I lock my car before stepping back out into the blazing sunshine, walking past the set on the other side of the blue mesh

fencing. Through the crowd and film equipment, I spot Julia and Oscar casually wandering down the street with a stroller,

decked in winter gear despite the heat. They must be sweating buckets under all those layers. I continue past, cross the street,

and leave the hubbub of the film set behind. I walk along the sidewalk until I see a familiar sign beckoning me forward.

The Bookman.

I step under the bookstore’s awning with its colourful Pride flag fluttering in the breeze, past the cart of one-dollar books

on sale, and open the door, which greets me with a dinging bell. The smell of old books and aged building welcome me with

a wave of nostalgia so potent my stomach tightens and rises into my chest, triggering a prickle of tears somewhere behind

my eyes.

It hasn’t changed one bit.

A young twentysomething-year-old with thick glasses, orange hair, and a vintage death-metal T-shirt greets me with a nod and a smile as I walk past. To my left is a shelf with all the famous BookTok books, to my right the children’s section, complete with a cozy nook for reading.

I continue past the glass display cases filled with bookish bric-a-brac, teas, and candles, turn left past the next shelves, and head over to the corner where the adoptable cats are housed.

I pause to stroke the head of a grey tabby, who twitches her tail back and forth while lying atop a stack of books.

I feel just as at home here now as I did when I was a kid. There’s just something about books and cats that are safe.

I let my fingers trail over the bumps and ridges of book spines as I wander the aisles like I did when I was a teen, when

I felt so lost, so broken, so alone, and had nowhere where I felt like I could be myself. I’d felt a smidgen of my true self

here, lost in this sea of words, knowing that every person who put themselves into a book must have been a little like me—a

little different, trying to make sense of the world, trying to find a way to share who they were with others without being

too vulnerable, too open, letting anyone get too close.

Letting someone in only leads to pain.

I pause my reminiscing when I come across someone in the aisle with me. Normally I’d mutter a quick excuse me and move past, but this person’s face has me doing a double take. It’s familiar, but just different enough that...

Oh shit.

It’s Bethany.

I thought I’d had my fill of high school run-ins with Jax. I’d got lucky with him, fate taking a surprising turn from what

could have been an awkward situation to a satisfying romp.

But nothing good can come from this.

Bethany looks the same. Still blonde, though her hair is a bit shorter. She’s still perfectly proportioned, though a bit curvier.

I wonder if she’s still a mean bitch who makes fun of people’s cellulite in gym changing rooms. Maybe she has some of her

own now.

I wonder what she’d think if she knew I fucked her ex-boyfriend.

Even though she was mean, befriending the bully and pretending to fit in helped me survive high school. I can’t imagine how

cruel she would have been to me if I’d actually been myself. And if she’d known I was queer? I might not have survived at

all.

Bethany looks up from her perusal through the romance section, meeting my gaze. “Sorry,” she says, her smile creasing her

brows. “Am I in your way?”

I eye her, waiting for the shoe to drop, for her to recognize me and blow my cover and force me to go through the whole song

and dance of What have you been up to? and Is it really you? and the always nauseating rendition of I’ve been living a perfect life ever since high school and everything has been so easy, let me tell you all about it!

But it doesn’t happen.

“No,” I say after a second. “I’m going this way.” I point over my shoulder, turn on my heel, and disappear down another aisle.

I can’t believe she didn’t recognize me. Sure, my hair is different, and my clothes are different, and... well, everything

is different. But Jax had recognized me almost immediately. Maybe he’d been paying closer attention to me in high school than

I’d thought. My stomach flutters at the idea.

Before Bethany can get another look, I beeline for the discount books outside the front doors. I scan the stacks and pull

out something familiar, careful not to cause an avalanche. The fore-edge is stained grey from thousands of page flips and

the cover is bent and creased, but it’s unmistakably the same book I’d read a dozen times as a teenager.

Seems fitting; nostalgia is hitting hard today.

I take Jade Green: A Ghost Story to the till and pay with a loonie and other loose change, then duck out of the bookstore and back into the sunshine.

Book in hand, I walk back to set and make my way toward the film area where Jimmie and the other crew are seated behind the screens.

It’s interesting to see what goes on back here, between lighting and sound techs and all the other people making sure filming runs smoothly.

For the first time since taking the job, I feel like I’m actually learning something.

We keep an eye on the monitors and rush out between takes to touch up makeup and hair as needed, but mostly it’s a lot of sitting around.

While everyone else is checking their phones and chatting, I read snippets of my book and am met with the familiar haunting tale, which grips me the same way it did when I was in fifth grade.

The scene I remember most clearly is when Judith Sparrow is riding in a horse-drawn wagon with her love interest and sweat trickles between her breasts.

I clench my thighs together with the imagery, recalling how this book was my first inkling of knowing I was bisexual. It wasn’t

until Rachel McAdams in The Notebook that I was certain.