All That and Then Some

ALICE - Always Something There To Remind Me

"ARE YOU SURE YOU can't stay, Jeffry?" I plead, hugging his lanky frame ferociously. "At least until after Christmas?"

As crowded as our house has been the last few weeks, I love this young man like a third child. I can't stand the idea of him alone in the jaws of New York on Christmas.

"Wish I could, Mrs. Mac, but the gallery's hanging my stuff today, and I said I'd be there for the opening party on Friday."

"But..."

"Mum, release him," warns my daughter, who is standing just behind us in the front hall, waiting for her turn to say goodbye.

"Okay," I sigh and unclasp my arms from around his skinny shoulders but continue to fuss with his jacket, helping him zip it up like he's a grade-schooler. "You have to promise to let us know when you're home safe. And tell us how the opening goes. And make sure you get that no good landlord of yours to fix the hot water. There's a container of cookies in your pack. Now, do you have your bus ticket? No hitchhiking, Jeffry, you hear me? I don't care..."

"Mum, step aside," Maeve orders impatiently, so I do.

After a long bear hug and promises to come back soon, Jeffry picks up his rucksack and steps toward the door.

"Adios, MacKenzies. Until next time." He opens the door and walks out onto the porch, adjusting his toque before heading into the lightly falling snow. He stops halfway down the path. "Oh! Maeve, I almost forgot. I left you a present in the shed. Use it wisely."

She nods at him, and we watch as he heads off down the sidewalk. The two of us stand at the front door, braving the frosty air until we can't see him anymore. Vic, who joined us to see Jeffry off, isn't as sentimental about goodbyes so he clears his throat after a minute and announces that he's going for a run.

"It's snowing," I point out, knowing that won't stop him. I see him glance at the flowers and then look away, saying nothing.

Still stewing about the flowers, then. That's okay, so am I.

But I've come up with a plan.

THE GLASS DOOR SEPARATING the elevator banks from the Carvil Foods lobby whooshes closed behind me, and I am as aware of its closing as an animal who's just walked through a one-way gate. This is the last place I want to spend any number of the free minutes I have remaining before I'm officially a member of staff — not that I expect to have to come in here very often outside of brand leadership meetings, marketing meetings, financial meetings, town halls... who am I kidding? I'll be in here all the time — but it's become clear that I need to sort out a few ground rules with these people. For the protection of my sanity and Vic's trust.

To bolster my confidence, I am borrowing both the attitude and clothing of Corporate Alice.

In my quest for a pant-suit or some equally powerful corporate camouflage, I'd spent more of my precious free minutes this morning rooting through the back of my closet, pulling out 'office clothes' I haven't worn in at least five years. It soon became clear that the lycra and stretch denim wardrobe I've embraced since leaving office life has allowed me to maintain a sort of willful blindness to the ravages of time and middle age (and cookies). Any idea that I could simply slip into my old Nordstrom Off-the-Rack career pants was put to bed after a sobering dance with the unforgiving poly-blend.

Pantsuits off the menu, I opted instead for a no-nonsense black wrap dress with a forgiving tie-around belt and a Hermes scarf tied in a jaunty, cleavage-distracting knot at my neck.

I'd pulled my oversized shoulder bag — empty except for the ready-for-signature copy of the legal agreement Carvil's lawyers were panting for — back into service and slipped my tall black boots on over pantyhose that were already strangling the life out of me.