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Jingle Bells blasts from the speakers on Oxford Street. A Christmas tree looms in the store window, covered in sparkling tinsel. The Christmas lights twinkle incessantly and a flurry of snow falls every once in a while, much to the crowd’s delight.

My reflection points to the satchel draped carefully over the mannequin’s body. I’ve wanted that bag since Thanksgiving, but I’m in even less of a position to buy it now, as I’m no longer employed. My reflection gives me a sad look and motions for me to move on.

The next store over has a scantily clad vixen plastered up its two-story window, wearing a bright red tuque and a sparkly white shift complete with a white pompom over her tailbone. I break a little smile as my reflection skirts around the image like a disease.

She tries desperately to stop at the next store, but I walk on. As much as I loved Club Penguin as a child, I’m really not feeling penguins with sunglasses in icy igloos this Christmas. The scent of cookies wafts from a cart on the next street and I pick up my pace. I hope they have cinnamon sugar. It was Mom’s favorite to have at this time of year.

I almost order two as usual but stop myself when I realize Mom’s not with me anymore. “One cinnamon cookie.” I say, handing over two pounds. The cookie is warm and I envelop it in my gloved hands. My reflection beckons from the next store. She’s gesturing excitedly at what I think is a bag of marbles until I realize it’s fruit drops - the kind Mom always stubbornly insisted on making at home instead of buying.

To avoid the tightness in my throat, I take a large bite out of my cookie and chew away the tears furiously. For the next few blocks, I look straight ahead, ignoring everything my reflection tries to show me. She’s supposed to be helping me pick a Christmas present for Dad, but everything she points out only reminds me that I no longer have a mother to buy gifts for.

When my cookie is gone, I toss the wrapper and try to think more purposefully about an appropriate and affordable present. The less time I have to spend on this irritatingly merry street, the sooner I can curl up in my bed and forget that Christmas exists. I’m trying to ignore my reflection as she waves wildly in every store window I glance at, but I pause when I realize she’s not waving at me.

She’s waving at a large Samoyed that’s dragging their owner straight toward me. The Samoyed stops directly in front of me and looks up at me with its bright, black eyes. My reflection waves sweetly at its owner, who waves back at her. The Samoyed is poking at me with its black nose and I reach out a hand down to pet its fluffy head. The owner, a woman in a black coat and a gold scarf, looks from my reflection to me with a small smile, “Andel doesn’t usually act like that with people unless they’re having a rough time. Are you alright?”

I smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond. My reflection rolls her eyes and waves to get the woman’s attention. My reflection shakes her head vigorously and gives Andel an enthusiastic thumbs up. The woman lets out a low chuckle, “Your reflection is more honest than you. Why don’t we walk for a bit? Andel can keep you company and maybe we can get a hot chocolate somewhere. How does that sound?”

I’m about to decline the offer when my reflection gives me an endearing yet withering look. I look up at the woman, “It...it sounds lovely. If you wouldn’t mind.”

The woman gives me a warm, wide smile, “Not at all. It’s not good to be alone on Christmas Eve.” She tugs Andel forward and when she says, “I know a little cafe some ways down, they’ve got great cake.” I can almost see my mother behind her eyes. I nod and fall into step with her.

Next to me, my reflection tilts her head affectionately and smiles gently before melting away, gone once again in the flow of people passing between us.