The Bureau of Holiday Affairs

by Andi Marquette

  “Come on,” Jill said. “Double selfie.” She moved closer, and Robin automatically made a goofy face as Jill held the camera out and took a photo of both of them. “Serious, now. I don’t want Madison to think you’re totally insane.”

  “Too late.” Robin did a genuine smile for the next couple of photos, and then they both did funny faces for the three after that. Robin laughed when Jill scrolled through them.

  “Not bad,” she said. “We almost look normal.”

  “Emphasis on almost.” Jill looked over at the tree, a huge fir decorated from top to bottom with lights. “Think you can use your crowd management skills to get a photo of me by the tree?”

  “Definitely.” Robin took her phone again and secured her a spot that got almost the entirety of the tree behind her.

  “Come on,” Jill said. “More selfies.”

  Robin obliged and they mugged again.

  “That should do it,” Jill said. “Our insanity clearly documented.” She scrolled through.

  “Well, well,” said a familiar voice behind Robin.

  Oh, no. Of course she had to be in this part of the city at this time on this day. Robin braced herself and turned. “Hey, Cynthia,” she said, trying to sound at least polite.

  “I see you’re feeling better.” Cynthia shot a calculating glance at Jill, who looked up from her phone at Cynthia, then over at Robin, then back at Cynthia.

  “Hi,” Jill said, with a dazzling smile. “I’m Jill. A friend of Robin’s from college.”

  “Oh?” That seemed to surprise her. Cynthia looked back at Robin, who nodded.

  “Yeah. We haven’t seen each other in years. Jill, this is Cynthia. I work with her husband,” Robin said, pleased that she managed to sound smooth and professional. She held Cynthia’s gaze, as if she was challenging her.

  “Charmed,” Cynthia said with one of her fake smiles.

  “Doing some shopping?” Jill asked. She’d always been good at making conversation, no matter the circumstances, and Robin was glad she was there.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Cynthia looked pointedly at Robin, but then a woman who should have been leading an Amazon tribe into battle appeared out of the crowd, carrying two paper cups of coffee. Easily six feet tall, she was built like an athlete. Robin pictured her as either a soccer player or maybe basketball. She wasn’t sure whether the newcomer was the woman who had been with Cynthia the other night and decided she didn’t care.

  “Hi,” the Amazon said. “Greta.”

  “I’m Robin. This is Jill. I work with Cynthia’s husband.” Greta had to know Cynthia was married, since Cynthia didn’t keep it secret and she always wore her wedding ring, even when she was having sex with people outside the marriage.

  Greta nodded politely, but it was clear she didn’t care. She handed a cup of coffee to Cynthia.

  “Greta handles accounts for Diamant Mining out of Germany,” Cynthia said.

  “Sounds interesting.” Jill put her phone in her pocket. “But I’m sure you’d like to get on with your afternoon. And it’s a beautiful day to see the tree. Nice meeting you.”

  Greta seemed to appreciate Jill’s out, because she took Cynthia’s arm with her free hand and started to move away. Surprisingly, Cynthia let her, though she looked back at Robin. The expression on her face was cold and maybe a little predatory. Since Cynthia seemed taken with her latest toy, Robin opted not to care about any hidden message that might have been a part of Cynthia’s gaze. As long as her attention was diverted, she’d probably forget all about her. Robin did wonder, though, how long Cynthia had been screwing Greta. Probably as long as Robin had been in the picture. She wished there was a soap to wash away mistakes.

  “Coffee.” Jill said and Robin nodded, glad again that Jill was with her.

  “Yes. Now. And before you ask, that was one of the things I’m not proud of.”

  “It’s not my business,” Jill said as she started through the crowd. “Unless you want to talk about it.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then let’s focus on coffee, which I recall you said you were buying.”

  “That’s right, I did. Part of my asshole penance.”

  “Stop with that.”

  “What?” Robin caught up with her.

  “Calling yourself that. It’s okay to own that you did some things that you’re not proud of, and that you’re still doing them, but now you need to quit dragging it around and do something about it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Robin said with a half salute.

  “I saw that. Now buy me some damn coffee.”

  “Right this way.” She took the lead and, a few minutes later, stopped and gestured, triumphant.

  Jill laughed. “Who knew there’d be a Seattle’s Best here?”

  “I figured you might be homesick.” Robin pulled the door open and ushered her inside. As they stood in line, she thought about how she enjoyed that Jill called her out, because it was something she had done when they were together, and it was familiar and comforting. It meant Jill cared. Robin had felt it years ago, and in their exchanges over the course of the afternoon, she sensed that Jill was still Jill, no matter the years that had divided them and whatever they’d both been through. Jill didn’t waste time on a lot of words with people she didn’t let into her inner circle, and Robin wanted to be in that circle again, and she liked this reconnection. Even though it was tentative because of their shared past, she liked that, so far, it involved no bullshit.

  They found a place at the end of the counter that ran the length of the picture window. Jill took the empty stool, and Robin stood next to her, watching the people streaming past and thinking about the man she’d shared the elevator with who was so excited about Christmas. She used to get excited about it, even when her dad wasn’t around. What had changed?

  “So what are you doing for Christmas?” Jill asked.

  “I actually don’t know.”

  “What do you usually do?”

  Robin stared at her coffee. “Work.”

  “Why?”

  “Armor.” Robin half smiled. “But I don’t think I’ll do that this year.”

  “I wish I’d known. I’m going to Vermont to visit some friends. I can call them and see—”

  “Don’t worry about it. Go have fun.” Nice offer, but no matter how she and Jill seemed to be hitting it off right now, Robin wasn’t sure she was ready to spend time with her and her friends. That might be a little too much for her to deal with right now.

  “How about New Year’s? I’ve got another showing scheduled for New Year’s Eve. Weird art people. Wine and cheese. Any of that interest you?”

  “Yeah.” Robin grinned. “Nothing says Happy New Year like weird art people. Are you showing more of your mixed media?”

  Jill stirred her coffee. “Yes, but also some watercolors and a few drawings.”

  “Sounds good. Text me the time and place.”

  “I will. It’s a later gathering, so we can all celebrate midnight at the gallery. Is that okay?”

  “Yes. Sounds fun, actually.”

  “Do you usually work New Year’s, too?” Jill sipped her coffee.

  “Yes. But clearly not this year.”

  “So do you have friends? A social life?”

  “I manage.” That was mostly true. “I told you,” she added hastily, “I’m at an assessing point.”

  “Well, if you ever want to visit Seattle again, let me know. I’ve got a spare room.”

  “It’s not Madison’s, is it?”

  Jill smiled. “No. She has her own. She’s entering that age where it’s important for her to get away from her uncool parents.”

  Robin nodded, empathizing. “I vaguely remember that age.” Getting away from uncool parents was much easier, though, than getting away from yourself. “But I didn’t
really have the emotional room to do that.”

  “Because you felt responsible for Frank while your mom was working and your dad was out doing whatever he did. Maybe you need to let yourself re-do some of your early years.”

  “Maybe.” She sipped her coffee and lapsed into silence for a while, but it was a comfortable, safe silence with Jill.

  “You’re not envisioning yourself living like Saint what’s-his-name, are you? Might’ve been one of the Francises. Self-flagellating and hair shirt?” Jill said.

  Robin laughed. “Busted.”

  “Okay, fine. If the hair shirt fits, wear it, I guess, since clearly, you’re working some things out. Regardless, I’m really glad I ran into you.”

  “I am, too.”

  “I was really worried about what I’d say to you if you ever agreed to talk to me again and even more worried that you still wouldn’t want anything to do with me, even after the fact.”

  “Honestly, I had several martyr scenarios about that.” Some of them were funny, thinking about them.

  “And now?”

  “None. Guess I had a change in perspective.”

  Jill smiled. “I’m glad. And as weird as this should be—hanging out with you like this—it’s actually not. It’s…comfortable. That’s the best word, I think, for how it feels.”

  Robin smiled back. “Yeah, it is.”

  “And sadly, I have to go. Art stuff and a Skype date with Madison.”

  “That’s not sad. Tell her I’m not nearly as nuts as the photos suggest.”

  “But you are. And in a really good way.” Jill slid off the stool, and Robin followed. They threw their cups away and emerged into late afternoon sunlight that sliced through the shadows that gathered between the buildings. Robin thought about how the light would affect her sketches—she caught herself. She hadn’t thought in those terms in years, but there it was, automatic and unbidden.

  She liked it.

  “So I’ll text you the time and place for New Year’s Eve,” Jill said as she zipped up her jacket and adjusted her hat over her ears. “I really hope you decide to come.”

  “I’ll clear my schedule.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that to attend an event that didn’t have anything to do with work. She liked that, too.

  Jill moved as if she wanted to hug her, but seemed to catch herself. “Great.”

  “It’s okay,” Robin said.

  “What is?”

  “A hug. I’m not that big an asshole yet.”

  Jill laughed. “Drop the ‘yet.’ That isn’t something you want to strive for.” She pulled Robin into an embrace before Robin had time to prepare. It was all too familiar but somehow new, and Robin automatically hugged her back, thinking that she hadn’t really hugged anyone in a while, or felt as if the other person had genuine affection for her. Jill’s cologne smelled sort of like teak or maybe sandalwood and carried none of the cloying sweetness that some women’s scents did. Whatever it was, it smelled really good and triggered memories of incense and candles and the first time they’d slept together in Jill’s studio apartment in Eugene on the futon in the corner of the room.

  “See you later,” Jill said as she pulled away and Robin nodded, trying to banish that image to the back of her mind.

  “Yeah. Hope your Christmas is good.”

  “Yours, too.”

  Robin watched her walk away, and a few moments later, Jill looked back over her shoulder, smiled, and waved. Robin waved back, and the warmth from Jill’s embrace seemed to linger. Somehow Jill had been able to retain the essence of who she was, even with the things she’d gone through. Robin was a little envious, actually, of that. When had things shifted so dramatically, that she herself had cut all ties to her past and tried to be someone so different? And why? Robin adjusted her scarf, which smelled a little like Jill, now. She started walking. Maybe she’d get dinner on the way home.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Good morning, Ms. Preston. Happy Monday.”

  “Hi—Mike, right?”

  The guard smiled and nodded.

  “Hope things don’t get too crazy for you between now and Christmas.” Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, after all.

  “Same to you. Hope it’s a good one for you.”

  She got onto the elevator with several other people, some of whom chatted on their way up. Robin hadn’t heard anything from the Bureau, which made her wonder if she’d been dreaming everything over the past ten days. Except Jill had texted her yesterday to thank her for a fun day and to send some of the selfies they’d taken. Was Jill real? She must be. Cynthia had met her. Or was that whole thing just part of some kind of delusion she was stuck in?

  Robin really hoped Jill was real. She stepped off the elevator onto her floor and went to her office.

  “Good morning, Ms. Preston.”

  “Hi, Laura.” Robin paused at her door. When had she gotten so caught up in formality, that she wanted people to keep her at arm’s length like that? She hadn’t been that way before she came to Frost. She glanced at the rings on her fingers—three, now. Rebel streak, Lady Magnolia had said. Maybe it was true. “It’s Robin,” she said, and it felt good saying it, but not so much rebellious as familiar, like finding some lost memento that she didn’t realize she’d missed. “You’ve worked here long enough to call me that. Anything I need to know about today?”

  Laura raised her eyebrows. “Just your usual Monday meetings.”

  “Thanks.” Robin went into her office, leaving Laura to stare after her. Maybe all this good will she was trying to tap into meant the Bureau wouldn’t have to send another visitor. Unless this whole thing was part of a giant hallucination, and she was going to wake up soon enough in a mental hospital somewhere. She tossed her coat onto the couch and dropped her bag on the floor by her desk before she turned her laptop on. Her office phone buzzed and the ID showed Laura’s extension.

  “Yes?”

  “I sent all the Christmas gifts and cards out to the list of clients and colleagues last week. Everybody should have them this week. Was there anyone else you needed to add?”

  “I totally forgot about that. But no, nobody else that I can think of.” Fortunately, she’d already sent Frank’s gift to him on Friday—a gift card to a local hardware store she knew he liked. Since he had mentioned, in what might or might not be a hallucination, that he needed to get a room ready, she figured he could use it.

  “Then I’ll be doing the severance paperwork for—”

  “Severance paperwork? For who?”

  “For the two people Mr. Olsen wants laid off. You signed the forms already.”

  She’d forgotten about those and winced. “Has HR signed off?”

  Laura hesitated. “No. I was waiting until after the New Year.”

  “Good. Shred them.”

  “What?”

  “Shred them. I’m not firing anybody else.”

  “But Mr. Olsen—”

  “I’ll deal with him right now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ten minutes later, Robin hung up with Olsen, who was extremely relieved that he didn’t have to lay anybody off after all. Speaking of layoffs, Robin checked her email. Ramos had sent her the job description she’d requested, and she approved it immediately and sent it on to HR with instructions to re-hire Joseph Spinelli. She did the same with the job description she’d gotten from Lydia Evans’s former supervisor.

  By lunch time, she’d dealt with three meetings, several phone calls, and gotten some praise from Frost’s second-in-command about a client’s satisfaction. She was about to go get something to eat when her desk phone rang. Mary from HR. Robin answered.

  “Hi, Mary.”

  “All right, Ms. Preston—”

  “It’s Robin. You’ve known me a while.” She liked this going against the grain stuff. It made her
feel more human, more like she’d felt years ago.

  Pause. “I’ve streamlined this procedure to bring Mr. Spinelli and Ms. Evans back on January second, at their same rate of pay. We hadn’t posted the other positions yet, so there aren’t any hitches.”

  “That’s great news. Can they get reinstated without having to start all over on everything?”

  “I suppose we could do that. I tend not to cut people off too quickly at a holiday layoff,” she added, with a bit of condemnation in her tone.

  “Could you please notify both of them and give them the offers?”

  “If they don’t accept?”

  Robin considered. There was a chance they’d gotten jobs in the interim. Or they’d be too pissed to come back, though she doubted it. “Then we’ll post the positions after the New Year.”

  “What do I tell them if they do accept and want to know why they were initially let go?”

  Robin frowned. “Tell them to call me. Make sure they have my work line and my work cell.” She’d made the mess. She’d clean it up as best as she could. Jenny French came to mind again.

  “I must admit, I’m a bit surprised, Ms. Preston.”

  “Robin.”

  Mary didn’t acknowledge the correction. “I’ve never approved of layoffs as a general principle. That’s off the record, by the way.”

  “Noted.”

  “I’ll let you know what Mr. Spinelli and Ms. Evans say.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And Merry Christmas, Ms. Preston.”

  “Robin—” but Mary had already hung up. She was old-fashioned in a lot of ways, and might never call her by her first name.

  Robin sat on the edge of her desk for a while, staring out the window at the river and neighboring skyscrapers. She thought about how easy it had been for her during her master’s degree to close herself off and put on the smooth business persona. How easy it had been to ignore her better self, and to bury her pain under narcissism. She studied her rings again. And underneath her button-down shirt she wore an old black tee with the name of a nineties riot grrl band from Portland. Why she still had it, she wasn’t sure, but it and two other tees from her past had been in a box in her storage closet. So had some of her art supplies.