Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
My Secret Santa: Somebody’s gone quiet.
I’ve been avoiding messaging her on this phone.
One, it violates the principle that we’re supposed to be friends, nothing more. Two, she doesn’t know this is me, and it hurts thinking of her flirting with somebody else.
I turn the phone face down and try to ignore it. Yeah, good luck, Asher.
Me: Maybe I’m so busy getting into the Christmas cheer that I haven’t had time to text.
My Secret Santa: That seems unlikely coming from you.
Me: Your texts have changed me. This part isn’t even a lie, though I know she understands I’m being playful and sarcastic to some degree. I was a miserable guy before, but not anymore. I’m going to make you proud soon.
My Secret Santa: How’re you going to do that?
Me: By doing something I would never have imagined myself doing before we started texting.
That’s not a lie, either. Before coming here, I never would’ve dreamed of kissing my best friend’s sister or never imagined touching and obsessing over little Tarantino. The age gap, the betrayal, and the taboo of it were unthinkable.
Not anymore. It’s all I can think about.
My Secret Santa: Care to be more specific?
I can’t do that without revealing who I am, though I think she knows. For the millionth time, I think about smashing this phone to pieces.
Me: You know I like to keep things mysterious.
My Secret Santa: Yeah, it’s one of the most infuriating and interesting things about you.
Me: That’s my specialty: annoying you and making you curious simultaneously.
My Secret Santa: I think I’ll get you “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” for Secret Santa. It suits you. You can never decide which version of yourself you’re going to be.
Me: I know we’re joking around, but that is an extremely impressive insight, I tell her. Doesn’t that apply to all of us? We all have multiple versions of ourselves, like stockings on the mantlepiece, and every day, we need to decide which one we will explore.
My Secret Santa: We make a good team, she replies. You’ve just taken my point and made it even better. Later, I’m going to be a good teammate, too.
I clench my jaw. She’s digging, trying to discover if this is me. Is it time to rip off the Band-Aid? We’ve overstepped so many lines already.
Me: Oh? I text, which is the most I can manage.
If I asked her what she meant specifically, it would be tantamount to lying to her.
My Secret Santa: I’ve got to dress up as an elf to help with a toy drive. I’ll have to make sure I’ve got bucketloads of Christmas spirit and a big smile on my face.
Me: That should be easy for you.
My Secret Santa: The only issue is that the Santa is just as much of a Grinch as you. I’m not sure he’s up to the task.
I shove the phone in my top drawer. We’ve reached an impasse. If I keep texting without admitting that I’m the Santa, it’s deception. I decide to leave my office.
I’ve got some tasks I’ve been putting off: introducing myself to the heads of other departments and chasing up some overdue paperwork in accounting. I need busywork to distract from my guilt for not texting her back.
My errands take me about an hour, then Dan calls me and says he wants to see me in his office. A call from my best buddy never used to make my gut tighten with nerves. I miss being excited about seeing him without this cloud hanging over us.
He’s obliviously happy when I walk into his office, tossing a baseball from hand to hand as he paces near the window.
“Good news?” I say.
“Great news. We had some feedback about the Secret Santa game. It’s going strong, and so far, no HR disasters. That was my biggest fear when we went live with this.”
I wonder what he’d say if he knew I’ve been using the little game to text his sister.
“That’s not why I called you up here. I wanted to ask you something delicate. Sit down, Asher.”
He suddenly becomes serious, far more than usual. I swallow what feels like a tangle of razor blades.
This is it, then. Somehow, he found out about Holly and me. I doubt she told him. Maybe he sensed something was off? Or perhaps he has access to the Secret Santa texts and inferred something was going on.
We sit on the couch, not at his desk. It should make it feel more casual. It doesn’t.
“You’re probably going to freak when I suggest this,” he says. “So, before I say it, I want you to know it’s important to me. I’ve got buddies here, of course. I’m not some social freak, but nobody like you, Asher. When you’ve got ties that run as deep as us, that matters. Don’t you think?”
I wish he’d get to the point. Drawing it out is just making me feel more like a heel.