The Plight Before Christmas(4)

She blinds me with her smile, and I see her demeanor shift as she tosses back her shoulders and confidently strides toward Jonathan—a slight sway in her hips. A sway Jonathan’s gaze doesn’t miss when his eyes land on her, a sexy, satisfied smile upturning his lips.

Soaking in the vicarious moment, I envy her as I live it with her, excited for the text to come. Even in my disgruntled state, I feel an ancient part of me—a part that constantly hoped for those types of moments—stir to consciousness as the elevator opens.

Once inside, I juggle my purse and my consolation cupcake and check my phone to see a missed text from my sister.

Serena: When are you coming?

Tomorrow.

Serena: What time are you getting here?

When I show up.

Serena: Give me a time.

Annoyed, I cram the enormous cupcake into my mouth to free my fingers.

Curious as to when your babysitter is arriving? You’re going to have to stick that duty on Grandma this year. Heads up, I’ll be drunk the entire time.

Serena: You’ve been so bitchy lately. I’m just excited to see you. Or I was.

Sorry. Just found out Stuart got the promotion.

Serena: I forgot you were going to find out today. I know how much you wanted it. I’m so sorry.

Thanks.

Serena: Well, hurry up and get here. I’ll cheer you up. And just wait until you see the place. Mom went all out. It’s going to be great. You’ll see.

Normally, I’d jump at the chance to spend time with my family, but no part of me is excited about the days to come because of the amount of enthusiasm I’ll have to fake to make it through. Any amount of Christmas mojo I had was snatched away with the VP announcement. At the same time, a tiny ray of hope buds inside of me that my family may just be the thing to knock me out of my slump.

K. Excited. Love you.

Mouth stuffed beyond capacity, I begin to wipe the excess from my face when the elevator door opens. It’s when I hear the strangled karaoke streaming in that I realize, along with a napkin, I forgot to push the lobby button. Not only that, the entirety of my mouth and chin are covered in neon green icing as I come face to face with the two most attractive of my co-workers, Jared and Wes. Both early thirties recruits Rich brought in this year, stating they were ‘the future of the firm.’ They came in guns blazing and snagged a campaign from beneath me. Two men I threatened to take down just minutes after the client left. Two men who now gape at me with widening eyes as I furiously wipe the icing away from my squirrel nut-filled mouth—humiliated. Wes lowers his eyes in embarrassment for me as I do my best to swallow some of it down.

I take a step back as their collective colognes fill the elevator, and both turn their backs to me. Jared makes a show of pushing the L button, his frame shaking with silent laughter before he speaks up with a salty tongue.

“Tough break on the promotion, Collins.”

Wes—the less cut-throat of the two—glances at me over his shoulder, pity evident in his gaze.

This is rock bottom.





Suitcase open and waiting on my bed, I sip on the wine I uncorked last night, rather than popping the champagne I bought three months ago in preparation for celebration. An expensive bottle I charged when told I was in the running for VP. A few gulps in, I submerge into my waiting bath, body humming with relief when my phone pings. Unable to resist due to Sophies impending update on Jonathan, I lift it from the side of the tub to see yet another email chain from my father. Allen Collins—much like my mother—does not mess around when it comes to Christmas. Holiday enthusiasts would be an understatement where my parents are concerned.

Dad’s got a serious agenda this year and even included a mission statement. It amazes me how creative he’s become since retiring. So far, he’s got our family holiday mapped out to the point that it seems more like a war plan. Google documents have become his latest obsession. So far, I’ve filled out four. Tonight’s document is solely for the purpose of karaoke music requests. I blame my father for my organizational skills and the lack of sanity that occurs when things don’t go according to my grand plans. Hence the hard loss that I’m trying to numb myself from and the sting that I was supposed to be celebrating tonight, and possibly on the prowl for a new part-timer like Kyle. As my career aspiration bubble bursts, I fight to stay in relaxation mode as long as possible, knowing that the next week is going to be nothing short of chaotic. Foregoing a reply to drown in my pity tub, it becomes impossible with the slew of incoming replies.

December 19, 2021

Subject: Collins Christmas Karaoke Dear Clark,

I know you mean well by gathering intel on the importance of choices like Christmas turkey or ham, but my son just literally took a dump in my hand. So, while I understand the significance of a good karaoke selection, I must insist that we fly by the seat of our pants and live a little. Spontaneity never hurts anyone. Right now, I’m in the mood to sing gangster rap. Tomorrow might feel like an eighties rock ballad.

Sincerely,

Your son with literal shit to deal with.

Brenden Collins

CEO Networth Inc.



December 19, 2021

Subject: Collins Christmas Karaoke Son,

In all the time you were ranting that you had no time, you could have filled out the form. Get it done. No excuses. And stop comparing me to Clark Griswold. He has an ass chin. I’m much, much better looking.