Chapter 2
Chapter Two
JEMMA
Time seems to freeze—let me go? I can hardly process what he’s saying.
“But—I don’t understand,” I stammer. “Let me go?”
He narrows his gaze and exhales sharply.
“The year-end adjustments have forced us to make some difficult decisions,” he continues, his rehearsed tone piercing through my haze of confusion.
“We’re offering you a severance package and a Christmas bonus that’s well padded.
We know this isn’t easy, and the timing is poor, being the start of the holiday season and all.
The funds will be directly deposited into your bank account by the end of the business day.
We just need your signature on a few forms here.
” He slides an open folder toward me, but I barely register the action.
I’m frozen in place, his words still ringing in my ear—let me go.
He gives me an encouraging nod to pick up the pen someone conveniently placed beside me.
Still in shock, I take it and sign by all the X’s.
As my pen glides across the final line, I glance at the HR Director, and suddenly, it clicks—his name is Tyler.
A flash of sympathy crosses Tyler’s dull eyes, and for a fleeting second, I actually feel bad for the guy, having to deliver news like this right before the holidays.
But then, like a sharp slap in the face, reality hits me: he doesn’t care about me.
His concern is wrapped up in budget sheets, bottom lines, and protocol.
The bonus he’s offering is nothing but a calculated attempt to avoid any backlash.
“Is it something I did?” I ask, shrinking into my chair.
Tyler’s posture stiffens, and I notice he keeps glancing at someone at the other end of the table, but I don’t allow myself to follow his gaze. “No, it’s just that we need to make cuts, and you were the last one hired in your department.”
“But how is that even possible? I’ve worked here for four years. Please,” I plead, even though I know it’s useless.
I’ve already foolishly signed the paperwork. Truth is, I was the last person hired, but I’ve surpassed my colleagues, which means I likely earn more than they do. This is probably why I’m being fired and not them. Go figure.
“Yes, but others have been here longer and bring more value to the company.”
That’s a bunch of bull.
“You do understand, right?” He nods, expecting me to join him in this twisted acceptance of corporate logic.
I remain still, even though my gut is telling me to stand up and fight—to give this man a piece of my mind—to tell him how incredibly unfair this is.
He should know my department can’t function without me.
And the people who’ve been here longer are lazy.
But the suits in the room are turning me into an insecure mess.
I suppose that’s the whole point of them being here, isn’t it?
My shoulders sag, and an audible huff escapes my perfectly pink glossed lips.
“We have to protect marketing first and foremost. It’s why we’re here.” His lips soften, and an infuriating grin plays at the corner of his mouth. “Your department isn’t the only one seeing cuts,” he reassures me, although it’s doing nothing of the sort.
My thoughts gravitate to Anthony, an expensive new hire in sales and a proud new father to twins—will he be next? Dang, the corporate greed machine.
Nausea churns in my stomach, threatening to spill over onto the polished conference room table in front of me, a table that likely costs more than a month of my salary.
All the work I poured into this job—all the late nights and early mornings—only to have it culminate like this.
“That will be all, Ms. Jones.” He gestures toward the door. “We do wish you a Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, standing. My throat is tight as I nod, struggling to keep my composure.
Thank you?
Why on earth did I say that?
He just fired me.
My legs wobble as I walk out, tears brimming from my eyes. On autopilot, I swipe an obscene handful of cookies from the table—the very cookies I wished to enjoy just moments ago—and mope back to my desk, all eyes still on me.
I slide open the bottom drawer of my file cabinet and retrieve my purse, coat, and a reusable shopping bag I keep on hand for emergencies, quickly filling it with my belongings.
Well, I guess that’s everything.
Gretchen watches me closely and follows me into the hallway. The instant the door swings shut behind us, I crumble. The floodgates burst open, and an uncontrollable sob takes over me.
“What the heck just happened?” she asks. “Why are you leaving?”
I shove a snowman-shaped cookie into my mouth, attempting to drown my sorrow in sweetness.
Tears stream down my cheeks and into my mouth, mixing with the sugary bliss, turning it sour.
“They let me go,” I manage to choke out.
“I think your job is safe,” I add between bites, waving the snowman in Gretchen’s face.
“I’m not worried about me right now, Jemma.” She waits until I finish chewing, then pulls me into a tight hug, her thick, wild, caramel-colored hair wrapping around me like a comforting cape. “Ugh, this is so unfair! I can’t believe they’re doing this to you right before Christmas.”
“I can,” I sob.
Gretchen pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. She studies me with a familiar intensity, and I brace myself for one of her signature uplifting pep talks. It’s what she’s known for. Feeling sad? Go to Gretchen. Need a mood boost? Go to Gretchen. Sometimes I think she should write a self-help book.
“Jemma,” she begins, wagging her finger at me. “You’re not going to let this get you down. You got that?”
I can’t seem to get my mouth to do anything but frown, so I force a nod to appease her.
“Now, hear me out,” she insists. “This sucks. I’m mad for you. Like, seriously mad. This isn’t cool. But what can you do about it?”
I crinkle my nose. “Where are you going with this, Gretch?”
“I said hear me out. So impatient.” She smirks, tossing her thick hair over one shoulder. “You’re a workaholic, Jemma. I know your goal was to move into marketing, but sometimes the universe has other plans for you. You were missing out on life, and for what?”
I huff, crossing my arms defensively. “I don’t know, maybe to pay rent?”
Truth is, this layoff couldn’t have come at a worse time. I need the distraction.
Gretchen rolls her eyes. “Okay, true. But there’s more to life than just a job.
Think of this as the universe showing you it’s time to realign your priorities.
You eat three meals a day at your desk. You haven’t been on a date in God knows how long.
When I met you, all you talked about was traveling and visiting places like Paris. What happened to that Jemma?”
That Jemma doesn’t exist anymore.
“Find her,” Gretchen says as if she’s listening to my very thoughts.
“Things like this don’t happen without good reason.
” She gives my shoulder an encouraging pat.
“Find the silver lining in all this. Do the things you’ve been putting off, like taking a trip somewhere—anywhere.
I’m begging you to do something for yourself. ” She’s practically shaking me.
“Traveling without a job isn’t exactly smart, Gretchen,” I protest, even as the thought of my well-padded Christmas bonus lingers enticingly in the back of my mind.
“Regardless,” Gretchen says, pulling us back as the door swings open.
I hear voices, but I don’t turn around. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.
Gretchen shoos them away before continuing.
“Take this well-deserved time off, and at least do me a favor and try to embrace the Christmas season. I can’t help but feel like you’ve been avoiding it for the past few years, throwing yourself into work as an excuse.
When was the last time you decorated your apartment or visited your dad for the holidays?
And don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking in today without a dish to pass out.
This isn’t the Jemma I first met. Find yourself again.
Make the most of this time off, Jemma. This time is a gift. ”
“Some gift,” I mutter.
But she’s right about everything. However, the thought of spending Christmas with my dad feels far from enticing.
Ever since he remarried just three short years after my mom’s passing, everything feels complicated.
He’s completely wrapped up in his new family—my Step-Monster and her trio of little gremlins.
I appreciate Gretchen’s attempt to make good of a bad situation, but I truly don’t know what I’m going to do now.
“Give some thought to what I said. You never know what amazing opportunities might be waiting for you. I have a good feeling about this, Jem. And you know I’m never wrong.” She laughs, tossing her head back slightly.
Despite all my worries, a small smile spreads across my face. The Gretchen effect.
“I’ll text you later,” Gretchen adds. “Let’s meet up for drinks, my treat. Okay?”
I nod.
“Now I’d better get back to work before I find myself on the chopping block too.” She flashes me a playful wink. “We can’t both lose our jobs today; one of us has to be able to buy those drinks.” With that, she disappears through the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I admire Gretchen’s unwavering optimism; she has an uncanny ability to illuminate the darkest situations. I mean, I just got fired, and somehow, she has me believing this could be a good thing. I guess only time will tell.
I race down the ten flights of stairs, avoiding the elevator to steer clear of any chance encounters with my former co-workers.
Before opening the double glass doors for the last time, I slip on my red trench coat, cinching it snugly around my waist, dreading the bitter cold that’s bound to be waiting for me.
But as I step outside, under the fancy awning and into the chaos of New York City, I’m unexpectedly greeted by a burst of warmth.
Okay, so maybe Gretchen is onto something here. I know it’s just the weather, but perhaps this is the universe’s way of showing me things are looking up, and better things are coming. Or maybe I just drank the Gretchen Kool-Aid.
As I pivot to walk away from the building that I’ll probably never step foot inside again, I come across a man wearing a tattered Santa hat, shaking a sleigh bell, calling out for donations on the sidewalk. Usually, I would shuffle past, eyes glued to the pavement, but something stops me.
Feeling Gretchen’s positivity clinging to me like a fresh coat of paint, I rummage through my purse, pull out a crinkled ten-dollar bill, and toss it into the shiny red donation tin.
The man looks up, beaming, with a twinkle in his eye. “Thank you for your kindness, miss. Merry Christmas.”
“You’re very welcome. Merry Christmas to you too,” I reply, feeling a warmth stir in my belly.
“Everything always works out as it should. Let go and follow the signs.”
“Excuse me?” I cock my head to the side, puzzled by his words, as if he knows what just happened in the building behind me.
But he’s already turned his attention to the next kind New Yorker stuffing dollar bills into his red tin.
I shake my head, questioning my sanity. Either way, I hope everything does work out.
But as I walk a few blocks, panic starts to creep back in.
If I take a left and head toward the subway, I know what awaits me—pajamas, ordering in, sobbing for a few hours, and replaying every moment of the last four years in my head. No, I can’t do that to myself.
Keep walking Jemma. Just go with the flow.
Well, the flow seems to be leading me toward Fifth Avenue. I don’t fight it; I just go with it.
Big, soft snowflakes begin to flutter down as I stroll along Manhattan’s most decorated street—a street I’ve strategically avoided the past few Decembers.
But as I pass the glittering storefronts, each window beautifully decorated for the holidays, one display catches my attention, stopping me dead in my tracks. Tears immediately spring to my eyes.
If this isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.
Amidst the shimmering decorations, a mini snow-dusted Eiffel Tower stands majestically, surrounded by delicate, glistening snowflakes. A flood of tears stream down my cheeks, racing to my chin, chilling my skin.
I miss the old me.
I miss the me that planned to visit Paris one day.
I miss the me that enjoyed Christmas.
Gretchen is right; I need to find her.
I let my imagination run wild as visions of Christmas in Paris swirl through my mind, stirring my soul. I can almost picture the twinkling lights adorning the Champs-élysées and the scent of fresh buttery pastries wafting through the crisp winter air.
If I stay here and find another job, I know I’ll sink back into old habits. There’s a reason I became a workaholic and turned my back on Christmas. Happiness feels like a stranger now. But that ends today.
I press my hand against the cold window, feeling the coolness seep into my skin, grounding me in this moment of clarity.
Paris, here I come.