Cherry Red Claire
Jess stood in the middle of a department store, overwhelmed by racks of jewel toned Christmas dresses that seemed designed for people with far more confidence and far fewer student loans than she. She’d never been invited to a Christmas party—not the kind that warranted a special dress, anyway. Work holiday parties she'd been to were usually the kind where cookies and instant hot coco made a mess over a fold up plastic card table. The expectation being to wear a red cable knit sweater and scarf down a sugared snack as quickly as you could during your fifteen minute break.
But this year was different. This year, she had a corporate job. A job with benefits, a 401(k), and an invitation to the company’s annual holiday gala. The invitation had come not in the form of a graphic email but of an actual embossed card slipped into her box in the mailroom. She’d stared at it for a full five minutes before realizing she had no idea what to wear.
The fabrics were all wrong. There was a red dress with a plunging neckline and sequins that scratched her arms when she tried it on. A green velvet number clung in places she didn’t want it to cling. A silver dress shimmered like tinsel but made her look like she was wrapped in aluminum foil.
Christmas dresses were their own beast, she realized. Somehow more formal than wedding guest attire— Christmas dresses felt rich, but were made cheap. None of them felt like her.
Eventually, she settled on a dark green midi dress in a fabric she couldn’t name but felt soft and forgiving. It had a very sexy square cut neckline but was covered with a sheer laywer, high-necked and long-sleeved. Sexy professional, she decided. It was the kind of dress that said I made an effort without trying too hard.
The night of the party, Jess arrived at the venue —a swanky downtown hotel— feeling equal parts excited and out of place. The lobby was decked out in twinkling lights and garlands, and a massive Christmas tree dominated the center of the room. Her coworkers mingled in clusters, balancing drinks and hors d'oeuvres, their laughter rising above the soft strains of a jazz band playing “Let It Snow.”
She snagged a glass of champagne and was trying to decide whether to join a conversation or lurk by the buffet when she saw him.
At first, she thought she was imagining it. But no, there he was— Ethan.
Her Ethan.
Well, not her Ethan anymore, but he’d been hers for three years, and the sight of him still sent a jolt through her chest.
He looked better than she remembered. He was wearing a wine colored suit that fit him perfectly. The color brought out the warmth in his brown eyes, and his tie—a cool navy— was just the right touch. He'd grown his hair out almost to his shoulders, not in a messy way, but finely styled. He looked like he belonged here, like he’d stepped out of one of those holiday ads she’d always envied.
Jess's face fell. Why was he here? He didn’t work with her. He couldn’t possibly work with her; she would have known. Was he someone’s plus one? Whose?
As if sensing her gaze, Ethan turned. His eyes widened in recognition, and then he smiled that same easy, lopsided smile that had once made her weak in the knees. She turned quickly, pretending not to have seen him, but she turned too quickly, too awkwardly to make it believable and she knew it. He started walking toward her, and for a moment, she considered bolting. But her feet stayed rooted to the floor, not out of some courage to stay, but for fear to move.
“Jessica,” he said when he reached her. “Wow. You look amazing.”
She blinked, and was quiet too long— her brain and throat fighting to make words.
“Ethan. Hi. What are you doing here?” She said in a too-squeaky tone.
“I’m here with a friend,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the crowd. “She works in... marketing— I think. Dragged me along as her plus one.”
Jess’s stomach tightened. Of course he was here with someone. And of course it was someone who worked in marketing, a field full of bubbly, outgoing women who probably owned entire wardrobes of Christmas dresses.
“What about you?” He asked. “Wait, do you work for... what's this place? Duh-tronics?"
"Deltronics." she nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, got a job last spring.”
“No way! Congrats,” he said, his gaze lingering on her dress. “Green’s a good color on you."
Her cheeks warmed. She hated that he could still do this to her, make her feel flustered with a single compliment.
“Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself. I like what you've done with your hair," she swallowed hard, trying desperately to not look desperate.
He ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “Yeah. Figured it was time for a change.”
“It suits you,” she said wishing that it was her fingers running through his hair. And it did suit him. He looked annoyingly good, and she hated that she noticed. She hated the butterflies in her stomach.
There was a beat of silence. Jess’s mind churned with questions she couldn’t ask. Why hadn’t he ever taken her to a party like this when they were together? Why had he waited until now to look like the kind of man who belonged at a holiday gala? Why did he have to show up here, looking like that, when she was finally starting to move on?
“It’s good to see you,” Ethan said, his voice soft.
Jessica nodded her head too fast, too long. “You too.”
Before she could say anything else, a woman appeared at Ethan’s side. She was tall and willowy, with perfectly styled blonde hair and a Christmas-red dress that clung to her like a second skin.
“There you are,” the woman said, slipping her arm through Ethan’s. She turned to Jess with a bright smile. “Hi, I’m Claire.”
Jess forced a smile. “Jessica. Nice to meet you.”
Claire’s gaze flicked over her, taking in her dress, her shoes, the glass of champagne. “Love your dress. Very chic.”
“Thanks,” Jess said, her voice tight.
“Well, I’m going to steal him,” Claire said, tugging lightly on Ethan’s arm. “I'd like to dance.”
“Right,” Ethan said, his eyes lingering on Jess for a moment longer. “It was really good to see you, Jess.”
“You too,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
As they walked away, Jessica downed the rest of her champagne in one gulp. She set the empty glass on a nearby table and took a deep breath, steadying herself. She looked at them one last time as they made their way to the dance floor, wishing she looked like a cherry red Claire.