The Plight Before Christmas(3)

“Yeah, it sort of happened this week.”

The fact that she seems to be apologetic about it only worsens my guilt. My own assistant can see the depths of my despair.

“That’s wonderful.” I give her my most genuine smile. “I’m so happy for you.”

It’s hard not to spot the relief in her eyes. “Thank you. I’m excited and nervous.”

“No need to be. They’ll adore you. He’s the lucky one, and don’t you dare forget it.”

Another dazzling flash of teeth. “Thanks, boss.”

“Zoe, for the millionth time, call me Whitney.” I turn back to the party as the deafening sound of feedback from the karaoke microphone blasts through the floor, announcing that most everyone will be calling an Uber.

“That’s my cue,” I jest. “I’m right behind you.”

Zoe nods and briefly lifts the iPhone she forever has plastered to her hand. “I’ll have my phone on, just in case.”

“Don’t you dare,” I say sternly. “I won’t. Take the time off. You’re going to need it. We may be down, but we’re not out.” Even I can hear the false bravado in that statement. My get up and go has fucking left the building, and I make the decision to follow it.

“Merry Christmas, Zoe.”

“You, too. And thanks so much for the bonus.”

“You earned it.” It’s all I can manage around the now consistent burn in my throat due to the unwelcome emotion threatening to overtake me.

Zoe does me a solid by playing immune to my rapidly glossing eyes and, with one last wave, walks toward the elevator.

Tiptoeing around the arrival of my mid-life crisis, I bid farewell to those closest to me as I grab my coat from my office. Ambling down the hall to make my overdue exit, I wince as the onslaught of the worse imaginable rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” is belted out by our graphics guru, Paula.

Sophie appears by my side as I scan the party one last time, trying to muster the ability to match the same confidence I had in my step this morning.

“Oh, my God, Whitney, you’re not going to believe this!” Sophie belts in an intended whisper that ends up more like a scream, only matched by the donkey-sounding wails erupting from Paula. I pray to God no one is recording her because surely tomorrow she would deem it blackmail worthy with sober ears.

Turning to Sophie, I give her a grin. “I saw. Walk me to the elevator. I can’t handle this.”

Sophie giggles, giddy, a rare sound from the cynical friend I adore so much. But the cynic seems to have been swallowed up briefly by the six-foot shot of dopamine just injected by her crush. Love does that to people.

I knew what that felt like once.

“I know. She sounds like a donkey on crack.”

There’s my girl.

“I was just thinking the same.”

“You know you could blow the roof off this place, and you should.”

“Hard pass.” I glance over to soak in her glow. “I saw you two huddled in the corner. Spill.”

“He’s taking me for drinks after he shoots off one last email and locks up.” Snatching an oversized cupcake with a mountain of green icing, I flick off the paper Holy Jolly Santa standing atop it as we stride toward the elevator.

“We made small talk at first, it was innocent, but after a few minutes, it was like…we both finally had enough of skirting around the attraction. I was just about to speak up, and he beat me to it…and gah…” She practically bounces on her heels.

“What did he say?”

“He said he was tired of wondering what I was thinking. It was just, Jesus, the way he said it.”

For the second time in ten minutes, I manage a genuine smile. It seemed that the people in my every day were experiencing the opposite effect of the three-week kickoff to the winter of my discontent.

It was a boyfriend you didn’t have feelings for.

Your toe has almost healed.

You’ve needed a new car for years, not weeks.

Stuart got the promotion. You’ll deal.

Even as I try to coax myself into better thinking, the weight of the last blow is too heavy to ignore.

“Sounds like it’s going to be a good night. I’m so happy for you.”

Sophie gives me a concerned side-eye as I push the elevator button.

“I’m so sorry about the promotion. If it helps, you handled it like a rockstar. If you need me tonight, I can—”

“Don’t you dare. I’m leaving for North Carolina first thing tomorrow, and I still haven’t packed. I’ll deal. I really am so happy for you, and you better text me.”

“Sure?”

“Positive. I’m good, swear.”

She glances toward the party as Jonathan emerges from his office, his eyes searching for her in the crowd. We both watch as he scans the space, and I can feel the anticipation rattling from her frame.

“Go,” I urge, and she pulls me into a quick hug. I have to fight to keep my cupcake intact.

“Merry Christmas, Whit.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I shake off the emotion, too afraid for her to see just how much I needed her hug.

“Merry Christmas,” I murmur. “Go get your man, and don’t you dare forget to text me.”