Macarons, Mashed Potatoes, Avenue Montaigne

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A/N: For some reason, wattpad has locked some of the chapters of this story.  So, if you would like to read them, you need to be following me.  I'm sorry, I'm not sure why :(

It's hot outside.  It's always hot outside.  I'm ready for fall and winter, and layers and layers and layers of clothes.  I want a cozy fire and mittens instead of sweaty backs and frizzy hair.  I'm on my way to my mother's, walking through the field toward the big house, the long grass scratching against my bare legs.  It's cooled down a bit since this afternoon, but it's still humid out.

Wishing for winter makes me think of this past Christmas.  Tom had been in Los Angeles, after nearly two months away.  He was going to be around for a week, and then he was back to London for a project he was working on.  We'd all planned to meet up for dinner, and looking back now, I almost feel like I can see the cracks in his relationship with Keegan then.  Sure, there were always cracks, but it seemed more obvious than usual.

Keegan had set up a big dinner at a fancy restaurant on the ocean front.  She'd invited most of her friends, and a few of Tom's.  I'd gotten the invite shortly before it was supposed to happen, even though I had known about it for awhile.  Tom had told me about it and invited me, but Keegan was the one throwing it together, and I had only gotten a short text from her two days earlier saying I should come.  Of course, I was going to go.  I wanted to see Tom, and I had a feeling I wouldn't be able to see him during the holidays if I didn't go. 

The holidays can be especially lonely for me.  I try not to dwell on it.  I didn't want to think about my mother back at home, and the life that I could have had.  The life that I'd run away from when I'd found out it had been mostly a lie.  Life in LA was busy, but I still didn't have a family there.  I still was away from most of the people I knew the best.  And Tom was always in and out of the area, so I couldn't always depend on him to be around.

I showed up at the restaurant a few minutes early.  I was wearing a dress that was decidedly Christmas-y as it was a red off the shoulder cocktail dress with big bows at the short sleeves. I paired it with these amazing glittery gold heels I'd bought ages ago, but hadn't had anything fancy to wear them to.  I looked like a tacky little present, but I loved it. 

Instead of a formal, sit down dinner, it was more like a cocktail party, with appetizers and an open bar.  Keegan had rented out the back room of the restaurant.  At least she knew how to throw a good party.  There was music playing, and talks of karaoke later on in the night.  I knew Tom would love that.  When I got there, there was already a good amount of people milling around.  Everyone was dressed up, and my over exuberant Christmas present look was actually the norm.  There was a lot of glitter and gold and red and green.

I spotted Keegan right away.  It was hard not to.  She was dressed head to toe in a slinky, long, gold silk dress.  It had tiny little spaghetti straps that crisscrossed over her shoulders and across her slender well defined back.  She looked like a present that had been wrapped at Saks, and I looked like I'd been wrapped by a five year old.  It sort of made me laugh.

"Hi Charlie! You look adorable." She wafted over to me, her blond hair was super sleek and shiny.  She had what looked like a crown made out of holly and berries braided through the hair at the crown of her head.  It was a little over the top for me, but it worked for her.

"Hi! What a party!" I smiled and gave her a hug.  She laughed and grabbed my hand, holding it in hers.  I couldn't help but glance at her engagement ring.  It was huge and sparkly and I was pretty sure if I stared straight into it I'd go blind.

"Tom will be here any minute.  I'm so glad you could come.  I just threw this all together at the last minute." She said, flashing brilliant white teeth.  I smiled, though I knew it was a bit of a lie.  Tom had texted me about it almost a month ago.

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