Chapter 3
HOLLY
There’s a tiny knock at my door, and a few seconds later, Joy cracks the door open. “Boss, do you have a minute?”
Well, the truth is, no. I’m trying to get all these contracts for the new year finalized before every other business takes their damned Christmas vacation.
However, I want to know if she and the other Christmas lovers have chosen a day for their stupid party.
“Yes.” I wave her in, letting go of my mouse and crossing my arms over my chest.
She enters fully, closing the door behind her as always. She runs her hands down her shirt, as if smoothing it out, but the flushness in her cheeks tell me she’s nervous—so does the faint way her wings flutter.
“So, we chose a day for the Christmas party.” She gives a forced smile. “Next Friday, the 6th.”
Against my will, my eyes widen. Next Friday? Only a week away?
I guess I’m not the one planning or paying for anything, so in theory it doesn’t matter. But…I feel unprepared to avoid it.
Nodding, I pick up a pen, jotting the date on a sticky note. “Very soon. You’ve already planned it all?”
“Yes, even some entertainment.” She nods, the smile turning more genuine.
Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “What entertainment? Carolers?”
She lets out a nervous laugh, shaking her head. “No, no…it’s a surprise. You should come, even if it’s just to see the surprise.”
I instantly reject the invitation. “I’ll pass—my curiosity isn’t that piqued.”
Her smile falters and she nods. “I figured, but the offer still stands, of course, boss.”
I don’t say anything else, but Joy doesn’t leave. She shifts where she stands, her lips thinning.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I drop the pen onto my desk. “What is it, Joy?”
“Well, I—we—were just wondering if you’d given the holidays any thought?” Her voice is soft and low, as if she’s afraid to even be asking.
I’m not a frightening person—I’m just work oriented. That’s how everyone should be.
“Not yet.” I stare her down.
She nods, and even from this distance I can see her swallow. “Okay well…thank you.”
With that, she scurries from the office, closing the door behind her. In the brief moment the door was open, I could hear Christmas music playing.
One of them turned on the damn radio.
I have a strict no-radio policy for the months of November and December. All the stations play is Christmas music, and it will drive me up the wall.
Now I’ve got the tiny bit I heard playing on a loop in my head. Goddamn it, how am I supposed to focus with this awful track taking up my valuable brain space?
Reaching into my desk drawer, I pull out earplugs.
This is going to be a long ten days.
It’s Wednesday, and the office has been abuzz with the excitement of their upcoming Christmas party. They quiet down when I walk by, but it doesn’t help my growing irritation.
If only they were all this excited about work.
I don’t get the excitement and anticipation for something they all know is coming. It’s just an excuse to drink and spend money frivolously. Why is that exciting?
Besides that, every day Joy enters my office with the same sheepish grin, asking the same question—have I thought about the holidays yet?
I told her last time that if she asked me again, I wouldn’t even consider giving them extra time off. So far today, she hasn’t.
Actually, she hasn’t even come into my office at all.
Oh well, I’m enjoying the peace.
As the hours pass, I’m able to get lots of work done now that I’m not having my focus disrupted by unimportant questions. It’s a miracle how much you can accomplish when you are left alone.
Unfortunately, I still have lots to do, and I really don’t want to be here late on Friday—anything to avoid even having to look at the tacky decorations that will inevitably be strung up around the office.
My stomach rumbles, and I begin to gather my things. I have to stop at the grocery store before I head home.
The last time I tried ordering my groceries to avoid the holiday madness, they didn’t fulfill my order correctly.
If you want something done correctly, you’ve got to do it yourself.
Leaving the office, I hop into my car. Now that there’s consistently snow and ice on the ground, it’s driving season. The roads are usually plowed—though I hear the city is understaffed right now.
Probably approved too many holidays.
I’m assuming it’ll only get worse as the holidays get closer. Grudgingly thinking of the holidays, I really should decide whether I’m shutting down the office for an unnecessary extension.
Even though I think it’s absolutely ridiculous that a holiday means people want extra days off, I know that happy workers are better workers. So, I need to really hunker down and look at the calendar.
When I get to the store, I grip the steering wheel tight. Every parking space is taken. I can only imagine how packed it is inside.
As I enter the store, I physically cringe as the Christmas music fills my ears. What a jumble of nonsense and crap.
Flying reindeers? A man who somehow travels the whole world in one night and gives gifts to every child?
Come on, let’s be realistic.
I turn my eyes upward as I walk past anything to do with wrapping paper, decorations, or gifts. My ears already feel as if they’re bleeding; I don’t need my eyes to suffer too.
After making this a quick shopping trip, I’m slowed by the longest line ever because of all the holiday shoppers. I could’ve been home already if this line were even half this size.
Eventually, I get to the till. The cashier scans my items, shooting me forced smiles between each item. I know what they’re trying to butter me up for, and a few smiles won’t work.
After the last item, the cashier asks, “Would you like to make a donation to—”
“No.” I cut them off, pulling my card out and waiting for the machine to light up.
This cashier is pushy, though. Pushier than most after being interrupted. “It’s for a good cause—those that can’t afford gifts or food at this time of year.”
“Lots of people struggle. How do you know I’m not one of them?” I fire back, gesturing toward the debit machine. “I’d like to pay now.”
All of the fake smiles disappear, and the cashier presses a few buttons until the debit machine comes to life. I pay before slipping it back in my wallet.
As I collect my bags, the cashier barks, “You know, my family used to survive off of donations to those charities. And your suit is a dead giveaway.”
Do they think that I’m going to feel bad? I donate throughout the year, just not to charities that only pop up around the holidays.
“And look at you now, working hard for your money. Good for you.” I hoist my bags into my arms, walking away from the till toward the exit. “Maybe you should buy a suit as a gift to yourself.”
Good riddance, trying to guilt me. This is why I hate the holidays—especially Christmas.
The automatic doors open, and I head back out into the cool winter evening. It’s already pitch black out, something that comes with the season.
It’s one thing I don’t hate about the last few months of the year. Darkness coming earlier means less people out and about in the evening.
It might be the only peaceful thing about this time of year.
Suddenly, my arm is jostled, and my groceries go tumbling to the ground. I fix my footing quickly, staring at the spilled groceries on the ground.
The cool snowflakes that float through the air instantly melt when they hit my skin, the rage burning inside me igniting my skin. What dumbass just bumped into me?
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” a man apologizes, but the words are instantly followed by a bell sound.
That damned bell that those money-collectors ring outside of businesses. Whirling around, I look at the reason for my now snow-soaked groceries.
The man still rings the bell, and he of course is wearing a stupid Santa hat. He just wasted my money while he’s out here begging for it.
“Don’t you watch where you’re going?” I bark, leaning over to salvage what I can of my groceries.
He laughs it off. “I must’ve turned right into you as you were leaving, miss.”
“That’s the problem. Use your damn eyes,” I snap again, aggressively shoving items back into my melting paper bags. “And you don’t even have the decency to help me pick up what you made me spill.”
Shooting a glare over my shoulder, I see the man still waving the bell and shrugging. “This bell won’t ring itself—no seconds to waste.”
Okay, that’s it. This is the last time Christmas makes me waste my hard-earned money.
“If you don’t either stop ringing that damn thing, or move along…” I stand up, clutching the remaining groceries tight to my chest. “I will shove that bell up your ass and have you ringing like one of Santa’s reindeer every time you take a step.”
He straightens out, the bell stopping with his arm still raised in the air. “You are such a grinch, lady.”
“So clever, haven’t heard that before,” I mutter as I turn and hustle back to my car.
This never would’ve happened if it weren’t Christmas. I’d still have all my paid-for groceries. And my bag wouldn’t be disintegrating with every step.
And really, a grinch? So original. Even in his anger at me—which is unreasonable, in my opinion, since his groceries didn’t get spilled—he still has Christmas on the brain.
Disgustingly, even my own threat related to Christmas. I’m going to blame the Christmas music that was blaring inside for that.
I slam my back door shut after I set my remaining things inside, then get into the driver seat. Sticking the key in the ignition, I pause before turning it.
Faintly in the distance, I can hear a rumbling. Accompanying it—Christmas music. Dear God, don’t tell me today is the Christmas parade.
Not now, while I’m out and about.
Starting the car, I pull out of the spot and leave the parking lot. I begin the drive home, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the music and rumbling gets louder. Closer.
At the end of the road, I can see a closure sign. You’ve got to be kidding me.
I detour, but the next road has the same closure sign posted, and I can see crowds of people walking alongside brightly lit-up floats.
What an inconvenience. They can’t do this at a fairground, or something? They have to take over roads?
People have places to be, like me.
I need to be home and away from all this festive crap—and now I have to take the world’s longest detour just to get there.
It’ll probably take twice the usual amount of time. Great.
This is just another reason why I hate the damn holidays.