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Ev chuckles as he walks away. My face is still hot as I begin to pack up my stuff. As much as I don’t want to go to the party, I also don’t want to stay here. It’s typically a 25-minute subway ride back to my house on a normal day, but with the slushy snow/ice combo we got last night and into the morning, the trains will be delayed. But I need to get to this thing early. If I drag my feet, I’ll talk myself out of going, Christmas bonus or not. But that bonus will cover all of my travel expenses to go back home for the holidays, so I have no choice but to suck it up and go.
With one more glance at my station, I slip on my coat, throw my bag over my shoulder, and head out.
2
ALEX
“Mom, I already told you. It will just be me coming home for Christmas this year.” Just like last year and the year before that, I add silently. “No matter how many times you nag, it won’t magically make me get a boyfriend to bring home.”
Mom scoffs over the phone line, and I lean back in my desk chair, closing my eyes. I love my mom; I really do. I know she means well and just wants me to be happy, but I really don’t need her calling me every day for a month leading up to my visit home for Christmas, reminding me, yet again, that I’m thirty-five and still painfully single.
“I knowthat,darling. You know that I just want you to be happy.”
I sigh and scrub my hands through my strawberry-blonde hair. I really need to find time to get it cut before I leave for Mom’s house. That will be yet another thing she nags me about. “I know that, Mom, and I appreciate it, but I don’t need a boyfriend to be happy.”
It’s Mom’s turn to sigh now. “Yes, Alexander, I’m aware. But, I know you’re lonely. I can see it in your eyes every time you visit. I hate that for you.”
I open my mouth to respond, more than likely with a blatant lie, claiming she’s wrong, even if we both know that’s not true. In a city as big as New York, you’d think it would be impossible, but sometimes I’ve never felt lonelier than when I’m walking the busy streets back to my apartment alone.
I don’t get to respond, however, as I see one of the big bosses, Brian, walking past my office. I already have the door closed and the lights off, but Brian is a nosy fucker, and I know he’ll be peeking in the offices looking for anyone hiding, so I slump down in my seat and wait till he passes.
Bad enough the office looks like the set of a Lifetime Christmas movie vomited throughout the lobbies and hallways, and that holiday music has been blaring since Halloween in all of the public spaces, but now they’re forcing us to attend a Christmas party? That can’t be legal, can it? How can you make what’s supposed to be a fun activity mandatory? Yet somehow, my boss managed to do that.
I’m one of the lucky ones, though. As the head of the marketing department, I have my own office with a locking door. Most of the other employees can’t say that. So, at least I have a place to hide from the majority of this stupidity. I showed my face earlier and then snuck out when no one was paying attention. I figure I’ll get some work done and then make an appearance when the party’s nearly over. Then I’ll finally head home to my apartment where I can get peace from all this holiday insanity.
“Honey . . . Alexander? Are you there? Did I lose you?”
My boss walks by without noticing so I pick up the phone again. “Sorry, Mom. I’m here.”
“What’s going on, honey? Why are you whispering?”
I think about lying, but this is honestly a perfect way to get my mom off the phone early. She’d never want me to miss a chance to socialize.
“Oh, I’m at my work holiday party. I just slipped into my office to take your call.”
“Oh, Alexander! Why didn’t you say anything? Go! Have fun.Talkto people, please. We’ll chat later.”
“Yeah, ok, Mom. I will.” We both know I won’t. But thankfully, Mom lets it go . . . this time.
“Bye, honey. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and stare at my computer. I dimmed the lighting so there’s no glare under my office door, which I realize is ridiculous. But, I really, really resent being forced to go to this. It’s not that I hate Christmas or anything. I have some pleasant memories of it as a kid. But I don’t understand why, as adults, we still feel the need to celebrate it to this extent. If you want to, great, no one is stopping you, but why am I expected to as well? Or why am I forced to spend even more time at my job than I already do, under the pretense of a holiday celebration? No offense to my coworkers, but I really don’t want to spend more time with them than necessary.
But even with my door closed, I can hear the music playing and my coworkers chatting and laughing, no doubt taking advantage of the open bar. Fuck it, I could use a drink. If they’re forcing me to be here, I may as well get the most out of it.
I power down my computer and sneak to my door. Once I’m sure the coast is clear, I leave my office, closing and locking my door behind me. The majority of the party is taking place downstairs in the large atrium of our building. But there are some additional games and activities on my floor as well, so the place is pretty crowded.
I manage to avoid anyone who knows me as I sneak down to the main floor. I’m barely off the stairs when I spot Brian. I nod and smile at him.Look, I’m here. I’m participating. But, I quickly walk away before we can engage in conversation.
Even I have to admit, this party is impressive. The atrium, which is a large and airy space, looks like a Christmas wonderland. There are two massive trees, one on either side, both decorated impeccably. Garland wrapped in lights is draped throughout the space. Each table has a classy poinsettia centerpiece.
And the spread? Fuck, it looks delicious. Maybe I jumped the gun with my resentment when it comes to being forced to be here. I guess Christmas parties aren’t so bad. There are three long tables covered in food. I mean covered. There seems to be everything from traditional Christmas foods—turkey, ham, sweet and mashed potatoes, pies, green bean casseroles, and more—to a full table of Italian and another with Mexican food.And,that’s not including another table full of desserts. My mouth waters.
Over in the corner, a bar is set up with actual bartenders mixing drinks. I decide to start there.
There’s four guys hovering around the bar when I walk up there. Two of them I recognize as being coworkers, though I don’t know either of their names. I’m pretty sure they’re both editors and don’t spend a lot of time in the office.
