“It’s been so long since I first read it,” sighed Eleanor, looking down at her Christmas sweater.
“This was absolutely my favorite book, growing up,” glowed Gwen, gripping her dog-eared copy tighter.
“I read it once, in secondary school, but barely remembered what happened,” Dania admitted, with a little pout. “It’s a lot better than I thought.”
“But how did the cat get into her bag?” asked Eleanor,
“I don’t know,” said Dania, standing to put her coat back on. “Does it matter?”
“Not really,” Eleanor shrugged. The logic behind the reappearance of the cat didn’t particularly matter –– Maggie Lee’s play wore its heart proudly on its sleeve, to the point that the moral destinations were more satisfying than the narrative journeys that preceded them. “How the cat got there isn’t as important as the fact that it was found,” Eleanor summed up.
“What are those?”
All four of them looked at the ceiling, festooned from wall to wall with decorations: presents on strings, a collection of DVD cases for holiday favorites, a ventilation pipe wrapped in string lights. Among the hanging décor, just to their left, were a pool of ornaments –– each consisting of a Santa hat, above a pair of Santa pants.
“It’s like a holly jolly dry cleaner,” Dania quipped.
“Is this her first Nutcracker?” asked Dania, as the applause built.
“No, she’s been before,” Gwen answered, watching her sister dance. As soon as the curtain call had begun, Hazel was on her feet, leading the adults to stand as well. She leapt off the ground, attempting to replicate the virtuosic jetés of the dancers. Gwen, bending down, put a hand on her shoulder.
“Wait until we’re outside,” she whispered, among the applause. “You could kick someone.”
The Hanslick Girls 