22 Gemma
T he dress code for the office NYE party is always ugly Christmas sweaters. It’s a tradition that goes back several years to one fateful day when someone in the office—Shane, probably—lamented that he never got to see anyone’s ugly Christmas sweaters because people were always gone for the holiday. It’s a quirky idea that stuck, mostly because everyone was glad to have another excuse to wear their ugly Christmas sweaters before packing them up for another year.
In the past, James and I got matching ones, wearing anything from slightly inappropriate designs like snowmen that had carrot stick dicks and boobs, to cute and wholesome ones like Santa and Mrs. Claus. I have no idea if Celeste will want to wear matching Christmas sweaters, since we never wore coupley outfits when we dated in college. But I buy a pair for us anyway. I can always return them if she says no.
Because it’s so last minute—and almost a week past Christmas—the sweaters I find at a nearby thrift store are basic but still, I think, pretty cute. Both are bright Christmas red with white text on them. One says SANTA while the other one simply says BABY . And the best part is, they’re professional enough to wear while talking to the higher-ups without explicitly denoting any sort of relationship label whatsoever.
I send Celeste a picture of the sweaters a few hours before the party.
Adorable, she replies, along with a laughing emoji.
Who should wear “Santa” and who should wear “Baby?”
Celeste replies almost instantly with Well, you’re obviously “Baby.”
Back in college, Celeste usually called me Gem. But on rare occasions, she called me “Gemma baby,” especially when she was feeling particularly romantic or when we were in bed together.
My heart speeds up. I don’t know how or when it happened, but at some point down the line, Celeste and I stopped being strictly professional with each other. It makes my stomach flutter nervously, but if I’m being honest with myself, I kind of like it. It’s nice to not have to be so stiff and formal around Celeste anymore. Regardless of whatever’s going on between us.
Since no one else—including Burrito—is at the apartment tonight, I invite Celeste over so she can change into her sweater before we head out for the party. When I answer the door with my BABY sweater on, her face softens.
“Very cute,” she says.
That is definitely not the response I have when she comes out of the bathroom in her sweater. With her black leather skirt, tied-back hair, and knee-high white leather boots, she gives her “Santa” sweater an edge that screams more “Daddy” than “St. Nick.”
I never thought I could find someone in a Christmas sweater so hot before, but I stand corrected.
“Thanks again for doing this,” I tell Celeste on our way to the venue. “And sorry in advance for any awkwardness that might ensue at this party. Hopefully it’ll be somewhat entertaining, though. And we’ll have a productive conversation with the higher-ups.”
“No worries at all,” she replies. “Honestly, I’m excited. I’ve never been to an office holiday party before. One of the downsides of not working a traditional nine-to-five.”
She has an uncharacteristically giddy grin on her face. It’s cute, but also a little disorienting.
“A downside?” I ask. “Trust me, you’re not missing much.”
“Oh?”
“Most people only go to this one because of the open bar. And the fact that it’s free for employees, while most NYE parties in the city are expensive. Even then, a lot of people like my friends still opt to go somewhere else that’s not related to work. They’re in Seattle right now with their cat.”
As we approach the venue, I feel lightheaded. Bringing Celeste seemed like a good idea when I first thought of it, but now that we’re mere steps away from pitching directly to the Citrine execs—something I’ve never even done by myself—and her meeting my coworkers, I’m less sure.
I take a few slow breaths and turn to Celeste, who gives me a concerned look.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah. Or at least I think I am.”
“Don’t sweat too much about this, okay? Sure, it’d be nice, but if we don’t get the cover, it’s not the end of the world. And fuck your ex, really.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Do you know how ironic it is for you to tell me that last part?”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, I heard it the moment I said it.”
“But yeah, okay. Let’s try to have as much fun as we can after we meet with the higher-ups, then. There’s apparently going to be a chocolate fountain, in addition to the open bar.”
Celeste rubs her hands together in anticipation. “My kind of party.”
When we enter through the doors, everyone turns to stare at us. It’s only then that I realize I never explicitly told anyone at work besides Evelyn, James, and my friends that I like women, too.
Oops.
Luckily, since we’re in San Francisco, most people just give me a look of mild surprise before going back to what they were doing. That is, everyone except James.
James’s mouth drops open when he sees me and Celeste. Shock, confusion, and anger flash across his face in rapid succession before his mouth closes again, becoming a straight, displeased line. It’s the most I’ve seen him emote since our breakup.
“Look behind me,” I whisper to Celeste. “At the white guy with brown hair and blue eyes. The one that’s staring at us. That’s him. My ex-fiancé.”
“Ah,” Celeste says in a low voice. “Noted. Also, Gem, try to relax a bit. You’re visibly tense.”
I shake my arms and legs to loosen myself up a bit. “Better?”
“Much better.”
“Okay, let’s look for Evelyn. She’s probably with the—”
“Gemma!” The loud clip-clops of high heels echo throughout the room as Evelyn glides toward us in her long chiffon dress like a debutante at a ball. Every year, Evelyn is the only person at the party decidedly not wearing a Christmas sweater.
“Perfect timing. We were just talking about your project. And Celeste! I’m happy you could also make it.”
Celeste extends her hand in Evelyn’s direction, putting on her charm at full force. “It’s so nice to see you, too! Thank you again for having me on this project. I’m enjoying it so far.”
Evelyn shakes Celeste’s hand after giving me a curious glance. “The pleasure is all mine. Gemma’s been sending me your amazing work for this project. Let me introduce you two to some of the representatives of Citrine, our parent company.”
Evelyn leads us to a small circle of four people of various ages and ethnicities. I let Celeste do most of the talking, since it’s her photography that’s going to be on the cover. I’m pleased—but not surprised—to see Celeste has prepared examples, from both the interviews and her previous shoots, to show everyone on her phone. As I watch her pitch herself, I can’t help but feel an immense sense of pride. I suddenly wish we were dating again, so I can kiss her and tell her how amazing she is.
“Oh, this is so lovely,” says one woman as she looks at Celeste’s work. I don’t know her by name, but I recognize her face from a picture I saw of our board of directors. “You have a wonderful way of capturing people in your photos.”
“Thank you,” Celeste says. “It’s also thanks to Gemma, who is a great interviewer. She helps people open up and get comfortable so they don’t look nervous on camera.”
Everyone turns to me. Luckily, I prepared my own pitch. After properly introducing myself, I jump into it and wrap up by saying, “Everyone loves love, whether they’d like to admit it to themselves or not. And since we’re all a bit nosy, we get curious about other people and how they live their lives. So, I strongly believe this topic of modern love, as well as Celeste’s beautiful cover, will catch people’s attention and appeal to a broad demographic of people in the city and beyond.”
The representatives look impressed with our pitch, and afterward, as Evelyn leads us away, she says, “Excellent job, you two. Now, please do enjoy the rest of the party. And do check out the chocolate fountain when you have the chance. Happy New Year!”
She winks and gives my shoulder an encouraging squeeze before gliding away.
After a brief detour at the chocolate fountain—which is worth all the hype—we grab some drinks from the bar and head to the dance floor. But before we’re able to fully enjoy ourselves, we come face-to-face with James and Daphne.
James’s face is stony and deceptively calm, so I wouldn’t think he was upset if I didn’t know him well. But since I do, I know this is his immense rage face, which I’d thankfully only seen a few times in the last seven years.
Daphne stays a few steps behind him, looking between the three of us with raised eyebrows.
“Gemma,” James says, bringing my attention back to him. “Happy New Year.”
“Hi, James,” I reply. “Happy New Year to you, too. Celeste, this is James. James, this is Celeste.”
Daphne doesn’t make any move to introduce herself, and honestly, I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t say anything, either, if I were in her super-awkward position.
At the sound of Celeste’s name, James winces, like he was hoping it wasn’t her and I confirmed his worst nightmare. While he and I dated, we did talk about each other’s exes, so her name must have rung a bell. He turns his body toward me like he’s trying to exclude Celeste from the conversation. “Is she… a friend?” he asks.
There’s a twinge of desperation in his eyes, like he wishes Celeste and I were just friends.
I can’t believe he has the gall to hope that Celeste and I are “just friends,” even after I told him I was bringing a date. Since we’re surrounded by our coworkers, I try to figure out how to tell him “fuck off” in a civil way. But before I can, Celeste wraps an arm around my waist.
“We’re together,” she says. “So, much more than friends.”