Jenny Lopez Saves Christmas by Lindsey Kelk

holly resting on the wooden mantelpiece, and vase upon vase of poinsettias on every available surface along with enough tea lights and strings of fairy lights to land a jumbo jet if we needed to. On her best day Martha Stewart could not have pulled this shit together, so it was hard to believe that just a few hours earlier I’d been ready to cancel Christmas altogether. ‘It was nothing.’
    â€˜I’m feeling all festive,’ Angie announced, resting her head on her forearms.
    â€˜Don’t you mean drunk?’ I asked. ‘Cause you look drunk.’
    â€˜It was a long drive with two very gay men,’ she warned. ‘If you’d had the day I’d had, you’d be drunk too.’
    â€˜Uh-huh,’ I said, pressing my lips together and narrowing my eyes. ‘Stressful, was it?’
    â€˜You’ve no idea.’ She rolled her eyes and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. ‘I wish I’d come up with you and had a lovely restful day in the country.’
    â€˜Sure,’ I replied, holding my hand out for a beer of my own. ‘A lovely restful day in the country.’
    â€˜Jenny, you fabulous little slag!’ James ran inside and scooped me up in his ridiculously giant arms, spinning me round and round until he unceremoniously threw me back on the couch. ‘I’m going to be sick. Why are you dressed like a cheap slapper?’
    â€˜Firstly, not a slag, James,’ I pointed out, although I still found the word weirdly endearing in a British accent. It had so much more chutzpah than ‘slut’ though. ‘I am a feminist and I refuse to denigrate a woman for her sexuality.’
    â€˜All right,
Jezebel
,’ he replied, pressing a hand to his stomach. ‘Seriously, though, what’s with the
Showgirls Holiday Special
get-up?’
    â€˜It’s festive?’ I offered. I really didn’t feel like getting into it.
    â€˜You’re all here!’ A new voice rang down the staircase, heralding Sadie’s arrival like a Christmas angel. A Christmas angel who had fallen asleep in black eyeliner and hadn’t looked in a mirror for a while. ‘I’m so happy. Jenny totally tried to kill me.’
    Angie looked over with one quirked eyebrow. I started to shake my head then stopped myself and shrugged instead.
    â€˜Fair?’ Angie said.
    â€˜Yeah,’ I agreed.
    â€˜I’m really, really hungry,’ she said, pressing her hand against her near-concave stomach. Working long hours, short-staffed, might have been no good for my best friend’s complexion, but she was the skinniest I’d ever seen her. Bitch. ‘James had nothing but Twinkies, Ring Dings and Sour Patch Kids in the car.’
    â€˜But you love Twinkies, Ring Dings and Sour Patch Kids,’ I said, eyeing the overflowing cupboards in the kitchen. ‘They’re, like, your three major food groups.’
    â€˜Only when I’ve eaten something other than coffee during the rest of the day,’ she sighed. ‘And I hate cooking for myself. I haven’t been eating that well since Alex went on tour.’
    â€˜Alex went on tour five weeks ago,’ I groaned, pulling myself upright again. ‘Okay, I’m hungry too. Let me check my emails and I’ll pull something together. Since you’ve had such a stressful day.’
    She smiled sleepily, resting her head on the sofa while James and Jeremy threw Sadie around the room to the dulcet tones of Mariah Carey and I shuffled over to the kitchen. A bucket of water would hardly hurt, I figured, rubbing my furry tongue against the roof of my dry mouth. One too many pre-party cocktails with the lovely man.
    Standing by the sink, running the cold water, I watched my friends unfold in the living room. Coats on the stairs, shoes by the door, the music getting louder and louder. It really hadn’t mattered how beautifully I decorated the place, this was what mattered. As much as