Eleanor Rigby as A Young Woman

It's 9 o'clock on Christmas Eve and our manager, Essie, has let everyone go home early. She's great like that. Essie's short and heavyset, and she's never got an unkind word for anyone or anything. But I know she's got a family to go home to so I guess this will be my good deed for the holidays.

"Mrs. Graham?"

"Yes, honey? What are you still doing here; you can go on and clock out."

"Actually, I can close up tonight. You could leave early." I offer.

"There's not but an hour left, no point in going now." She replies. I shrug.

"It's Christmas. Go home to your family." I urge. "Nothing's going to happen in 45 minutes." She gives me a look.

"And what about you? What are you going home to tonight?"

I don't reply; I just grimace and keep sweeping. A moment later I hear her sigh.

"Oh, alright. But you call if you need anything, y'hear?"

"No problem."

"Go on and take tomorrow off too, since you're closing up."

"Oh no I—"

"Go on and take the day off, baby. I already give you more hours than I should." For that, I have no comeback.

"Yes, ma'am." I sigh in defeat.

"And stop 'ma'am'in me! I ain't nobody's grandmama. You'll call me Essie just like everyone else." She adds, bustling out of the back with her coat and hat on.

"Alright, Essie." I say obediently.

"Merry Christmas." She says with a smile and a wave before leaving, the bell on the door jingling in her wake.

"Merry Christmas." I say to no one.