Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Santa would come down my nonexistent chimney first.
9
DOMINIC
You’d never know by the looks of the Marks Wealth Management building that I hated the holidays. It was currently decorated for Thanksgiving with huge cornucopias set up on the receptionists’ desks and fall wreaths on office doors. The decorations appeared early in November, and every year, Albert shook his head at them in bemusement.
“After all these years, I still wouldn’t take you for a big holiday guy, boss,” he said to me again this year.
“That’s because I’m not,” I said shortly, pushing a ceramic turkey to the very edge of my desk. “It’s for company morale.”
Albert was still sure that wasn’t quite the truth, but he knew better than to push. The truth was that I did it because Jake’s dad, Mark, had loved the holidays. Every year, he made a huge deal out of them. The first time he spent Thanksgiving with Marjorie and me, we spent most of our time shooting looks at each other that said is this guy serious? Was he really starting to brine a turkey on Wednesday? Who the hell made mashed potatoes from actual potatoes; didn’t he know you could buy them already mashed? It had been the same routine as Christmas. When Jake came along, it was the two of them waking us up at the crack of dawn because they couldn’t wait for Christmas morning.
After he died, Marjorie and I did our best to carry on his traditions. She might have still actually loved the holidays. I sure as hell did not.
“I’ve got my festive tie on,” Albert said, flipping a god-awful strip of turkey-printed fabric at me.
My lip curled. “That’s hideous.”
He shrugged. “My kid got it for me. And I figure if I can’t wear it to the holiday happy hour, when can I wear it?”
I didn’t bother suggesting he could not wear it ever again, that a tie like this was meant for the greasy, disgusting bottom of a public trash can. Besides, the other thing he’d said was distracting me.
“The holiday happy hour is tonight?” I pulled up my schedule. That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t already be Friday of the second week of November. But fuck, it was. And there it was on my calendar.
“See you there, boss,” Albert said, wisely making his exit. When he pulled my office door shut behind him, I let out the volley of curses that had queued up when I saw the date. The last thing I felt like doing after work was socializing. I wanted to grab a stiff drink either alone, or potentially with Molly, even though the other night hadn’t been the exorcism I wanted it to be. The woman was as beautiful as I remembered, the sex was as good, but it hadn’t worked.
I’d still thought of Selena on the way home.
Later, I called my friend Julian to make sure he was coming to the happy hour. Just two years ago, my whole group would be there, but Garrett, Con, and Landon all had little families now. The speed at which it had happened still made my head spin. First Con had fallen, then Landon, then Garrett. I had a bad feeling Julian would be next. It was like a horror movie, and I was the final girl standing.
“You’re not about to propose to a teenybopper are you?” I asked when he answered the phone.
“No,” he said immediately, understanding without context. “Next question.”
“Are you coming to the happy hour tonight?”
“Your company happy hour? The one day of the year you have to fake merriment? Of course. I bought a new tie for the occasion.”
“Does it have a fucking turkey on it?”
Julian was the only person whose love of the holidays rivaled Mark’s. He didn’t have a kid to buy him an ugly ass tie, but I wouldn’t put it past him to buy himself one.
“Yes, it does,” Julian confirmed, “and it’s fucking awesome so keep your mouth shut about it when I get there.”
There was little to no chance of that happening, but I didn’t say that because I didn’t want him to bail. I needed him at that party so there was someone I could talk to that I didn’t have to put on an act with. Fake merriment, as he had put it.
The day passed too quickly. I was up to my neck in work like I always was this time of year. Instead of a big holiday party, we did this happy hour and then I gave the company December third through January second off. It was great for morale, but it made for a tough lead up to the holidays as we tried to get ahead of the work.
At 5:30 sharp, I heard people pushing back from their desks. Mrs. Flannigan glanced in at me questioningly, and I told her to go ahead. I’d be there in a minute.