Page 30 of Holly Jolly July
I’m equal parts relieved and disappointed that he doesn’t know who I am. Maybe he wasn’t paying as close attention to me as
I thought—close attention to my eyes, that is. He paid plenty of attention to other areas of my body.
I was hoping he’d have to go into the fridge to get the blue ones and give me a moment alone with the till, but now I have
to think on my feet. While I pretend to fish money out of my wallet, I pause, then squint at him. “You got something going
on with your teeth there, bud.”
Matt blinks a few times. Pulling out his phone, he checks his reflection in the camera. “What the... Excuse me.”
Jackpot. Used his own vanity against him. As soon as Matt’s around the corner I reach as far as I can to tuck the keys behind the
bar. My arms aren’t long enough. I lean farther but still can’t reach. If I drop them, he’ll know something is up with his
truck and it’ll blow our cover. Shit, I have like five seconds—
Someone comes from behind me, grabbing the keys. I startle, my heart hammering in my ears, and my life flashes before my eyes.
“Got it.” Mariah reaches the extra few inches and tucks them under the till before grabbing my hand and pulling me out of
there.
We walk as fast as we can back to my car. Once we’re safely inside, we burst out laughing in relief.
“Did you see his face?” she cries, her breath coming in gasping wheezes.
“That was priceless!” I slap my knee.
“I can’t believe we did that! We almost got caught!”
“Totally worth it.”
She has the most gorgeous, full-fledged smile on her face, her skin is flushed pink, and her chest is rising and falling quickly
from adrenaline. My heart squeezes, and by god, I’d prank a fuckboy every day if it meant making her smile like that.
“Well, sugar tits.” I slap her knee. “Let’s take you home.”
She cackles at her newest pet name, then nods, regarding me with a tilt of her head, eyes glittering.
Back at the cabin we’re still running high on endorphins and, with a bottle of champagne popped to keep the spirit going,
we’re soon a little tipsy. We bumble around getting our costumes off, trading places at the tiny bathroom sink to remove our
makeup. It feels oddly domestic doing this with Mariah, like we’re well-practised despite only having spent one night together.
Once we’re rid of our outfits and back to our normal selves, I turn on Home Alone 2 in the background and take out a surprise I got for her.
“What’s all this?” Mariah asks, rubbing moisturizer into her face as she looks at the table loaded with plain sugar cookies,
tubs of frosting, and an assortment of sprinkles.
“I thought it’d be fun to decorate cookies together!” I vibrate with excitement, but Mariah’s eyes narrow with uncertainty.
I gesture to everything set out, suddenly second-guessing my idea. Maybe I shouldn’t be forcing Christmas on her. “I feel
bad that you never had any normal Christmas traditions, and my family and I did this every year—though we always baked fresh
cookies, we never bought them from the store, my mom’s a great baker, and then we’d have a cookie decorating contest and it
was so much fun and I feel like you should know what that’s like, but we totally don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,
and I—”
She cuts me off with a gentle hand on my arm, giving it a squeeze. Her face has softened, and she gives me a little smile.
“Sure. Why not?”
I clench my fists. “Great! I’ll show you what to do.”
Mariah is a natural. Even with a lifetime of practice my cookies look like a preschooler’s macaroni artwork. Meanwhile Mariah
is creating literal snowy scenes on hers. I guess makeup skills have a lot of crossover.
“How are you doing that?” I ask, watching her technique.
“It’s all in the wrist.” She demonstrates, showing off her dexterity.
I follow her lead but create a weird ridge down the middle. “Oh no, I made a vulva.”
She snorts a laugh. “Oh my god, you did.”
“Well now I can’t ruin it.” I set it down and add some sprinkles around the edge for pubes.
“What the fuck,” she wheezes.
“I’m just following the muse.” I try to keep a straight face as I put a little pearl candy where the clitoris would go.
Mariah cackles. “That looks like way more fun. How about this.” She ruins her winterscape with a few swoops and swirls, and a moment later my vulva-cookie has a penis-cookie friend.
I giggle. “It’s a bit droopy.”
“That happens sometimes, nothing to be ashamed of,” she quips.
Inspired, we each grab another cookie and keep this up. Before long, the table is filled with all sorts of festive genital
cookies.
“You were amazing today,” Mariah says, breaking the companionable silence between us while we decorate. “I can’t believe Jax
looked you right in the eye for like five minutes and didn’t even recognize you. You’re a gifted actress.”
I shrug. “I’m not that good. It was more your makeup skills than anything.”
She nudges me with her foot under the table. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
“It’s just fact. I’ve been acting for years, ever since junior high, and I’m still playing secondary characters. When I started
out, I figured, hell yeah, Barista 2, what a dream! And here I am, years later, still playing a barista.”
“You’re more than a barista, though,” she clarifies.
I clench my fists in excitement, breaking a cookie. “You read the script!”
“Of course. I don’t want to lose my job.”
“I’m glad you did, because I didn’t want to accidentally ruin the ending.” I pop the broken cookie into my mouth and chew
while talking. “So yeah, okay, I’m more than a barista this time, but I’m still not the lead. I’ve been in seven films now,
three with this company alone. I’ve worked my way up from Barista 2 to Inn Housekeeper to Sister of the Lead, and now I’ve
done Best Friend of the Lead twice in a row.” My shoulders slump. “I’m thirty-one now. Opportunities to be the star will get
fewer and fewer. Soon, I’ll be applying for roles like Crotchety Mother of the Bride, and Grumpy Neighbour with Too Many Cats.”
“It’s not that bad,” Mariah says, but I barely hear her past my spiralling thoughts.
I pick up a new cookie and focus all my attention on it while talking. “It doesn’t seem to matter how hard I work, if I memorize
the script weeks before, if I show up early and cheer everyone on, if I nail my lines and my blocking and even manage to force
some fake tears—I’m still typecast as the same person I always am. I think there’s something about me that’s just not meant
to be the lead,” I continue, musing more to myself than to her. “Now, Julia. She’s meant to be the lead. She has main character
energy out the wazoo. You can feel it when she walks into a room. It’s like she has a fan blowing her hair back all the time,
you know? You can tell by looking at her that she’s special and different. She’d never get cast as a barista. She’s so perfect,
with her flowing waves, her cute button nose, her symmetrical smile. This is her first acting job, aside from that toothpaste
commercial, and she landed a lead role outright. She has a bright future ahead of her, in all the best ways.” I sigh, then
straighten. “Good for her. I’m not here to tear other women down. I’m glad she gets to live her dream. I’m sure she’s worked
hard, too. The happiness I feel for her is genuine, but... Why not me? Maybe I’m only every meant to be a secondary character...”
I let that gross feeling pool in my gut as envy leeches into my core, sinking into a moment of darkness.
There’s an ache deep in my bones, knowing that being the side character goes much further than that, resonating not just through
my career, but my own life. I’ll never get the happily-ever-after I’ve always wanted—not on set, and not in the real world,
either. Matt has proven it again. I’m destined to watch from the sidelines as it happens for other people, but never for me.
I look up from my latest penis-cookie creation to see Mariah’s pitying expression. I snap out of it, forcing a cheery smile
to my face and straightening my posture. “But hey! I get to work on movies! That’s amazing. I’m really lucky. I am grateful
every day for this opportunity.”
Mariah gives me a weird look I can’t decipher. “It’s okay if you feel—”
I cut her off, eager to get the conversation away from me and my lacklustre acting career and change the subject. “What about
you? Have you always wanted to do film makeup?”
She thinks for a moment, regarding me while I fidget, my sunshine smile firmly reaffixed to my face. Seeming to give up, she
lets the conversation switch without bugging me about it. “Yeah, actually. I always wanted to work on movies.”
“That’s great! Look at you, living your dream.”
“Not really. I didn’t exactly have this type of movie in mind.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of movies did you have in mind?”