by Max Monroe
As I typed out an email to our Finance Department, my phone vibrated across my desk. I glanced down and sighed heavily.
Incoming call: Dr. Crazypants
Now that I’d let my mom know—via email, this morning, about an hour and a half ago—we wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas with my family on Christmas Day, but instead, would be celebrating it together the week after, I’d been dodging her calls.
The red dot on the little phone on the left-hand bottom of my screen read ten—they were all from her.
Just woman up and answer it.
With a deep breath, I grabbed my phone and put it to my ear. Then I realized my body had protested the idea that I should answer all on its own and declined to hit the accept button. I quickly pulled the phone away, told my body to stop being such a pussy, and rectified my mistake before putting it back to my ear.
“Hey, Mom,” I greeted in the happiest voice I could manage at noon on a workday.
“Hi, honey. Your father and I are both on,” she responded, and my father chimed in, “Hi, Georgie girl.”
Uh-oh…They’re using the double-team tactic…
Their voices were too cheery, and my spidey senses immediately signaled Danger! Danger! Dick and Savannah only utilized the double-team tactic when their motivations revolved around getting what they wanted. Right now? They wanted Christmas together. I’d bet my blueberry crumble muffin on it—and I was really fucking hungry.
Stay strong, Georgia. Stay fucking strong.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, and I swallowed hard against the awkward ball that had appeared inside my throat. “What are you guys up to today?”
“Well,” my mother began, “we are getting our shopping list together and need to know what the girls want for Christmas.”
I waited a few extra seconds for the rest of her spiel. I knew that had to be just the beginning, and the begging, pleading, guilt-tripping—bribing—had to be coming soon.
But, surprisingly, the line stayed silent.
“Georgie?” my dad asked. “You still there?”
My brows drew together in suspicion. What the hell was going on here? “Sorry…I got distracted by…” I searched my office for something to use as an excuse. “Jockstraps,” I nearly shouted as my eyes landed on a poster of the current Mavericks team.
Jesus Christ. Jockstraps?
I squeezed my eyes tight and banged my head against the desk.
You’re fucking ridiculous, Georgia.
My mom’s voice was enthusiastic. “I can definitely see why that’d be distracting.”
Cripes.
“You got jocks in your office, George? You doin’ inventory or somethin’?”
“No. Just…never mind about the jockstraps.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” my dad grumbled.
I sighed and did my best to pretend the conversation hadn’t even happened. “I have a list of possibilities for toys I can email you, along with the girls’ clothes sizes. Does that work?”
“That’d be perfect,” my mom said. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“No problem. Is there anything else you need?” I cringed and shut my eyes at the same time. Why the fuck did I ask that? Just hang up, you idiot!
“Nope,” my dad answered.
What?
“So, we’ll see you, Kline, and girls on the twenty-ninth, right?”
“Right,” I answered and slowly opened my eyes in disbelief.
“We’re looking forward to it,” he said without any inkling of irritation. In fact, his tone was one hundred percent jolly. “Well, we’ve gotta head out and finish up our shopping. Love you, Georgie girl.”
“Oh, okay…”
“Love you, sweetheart,” my mom added, and then the phone clicked dead.
Hell’s bells, what had just happened?
I stayed frozen in my office chair for a good thirty seconds and stared at the wall.
I was shocked, to say the least. Any other holiday I’d ever tried to skip had been met with stern rebuttals and Dick’s I’m not putting up with your shit face. I hadn’t been able to see his face on the call, but he hadn’t sounded at all constipated—a telltale sign of frustration for Dick Cummings.
I guessed I should’ve just been thankful they weren’t suffocating me with guilt.
But I couldn’t deny it made me a little suspicious…
Maybe they have plans of their own? Maybe they know something I don’t?
I shook off those crazy thoughts.
Only Kline and our friends knew about our Christmas plans, and they knew not to spill the beans. Seriously, I’d done everything but threaten lives to keep the secret from any and all uninvited guests—aka my parents and the rest of my entire fucking family. I’d seen enough familial air humping and emergency situations for this holiday season, thank you very much.
But the most important thing right now wasn’t paranoia or finding spots for my friends with the fishes. It was the fact that I only had seven days until Christmas, and just a few days until we’d leave for the Catskills.
The holiday countdown was on.
My to-do list was a mile long, and I had to get most of it done before the two-hour drive to our cabin in the mountains. Not to mention, with three more Mavericks’ endorsement meetings scheduled this afternoon, and the rest of my workweek just as jam-packed, time wasn’t on my side.
But come hell or high water, I’d get it done. I’d make sure this was the best Christmas Kline, my girls, or my friends had ever seen. I was determined to make this holiday flawless.
Perfect tree. Perfect decorations. Perfect food. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. People would be Pinteresting our freakin’ Christmas for years to come once I was through with it.
“Hey, Georgia,” Winnie greeted as she walked into my office. “Wes said you just scored a huge endorsement deal this morning. Congrats, you little overachiever.”
I shrugged. “All in a day’s work, you know.” If I was being honest, it was one of the hardest deals I’d ever nailed down. Who knew a company that’d made its fortune off of sports drinks and energy bars could be so damn difficult?
She grinned and sat down in the seat across from my desk.
“But enough about the work chitchat,” I redirected to the priorities. Million-dollar deals, schmeals, Christmas was number one on my list. “What time do you think you, Wes, and Lexi will get to the cabin on Christmas Eve?”
“We play at four on the twenty-third, so if everything goes smoothly, we’ll be there early on Christmas Eve. Probably around ten.”
“Man, I hope we win this one.”
The Mavericks had two games left in the season, and this game, the one they’d play on the twenty-third, was a huge game. It would seal their spot in the play-offs and most likely ensure they only had to play one game to win the championship for their division.
“We will.” Winnie winked.
“I dig the confidence, Win.”
“Confidence is easy when our quarterback is in the best shape of his life.”
Huge things were happening in the Mavericks organization, and if Quinn Bailey kept throwing touchdowns in the play-offs like he had been during the season, our team had a really good shot at winning The Big Game. The final game that decided who was the best team in the entire league.
Don’t worry. I know it’s called the Super Bowl. I’m not that sports-terminology challenged.
If we ended up pulling that off, scoring more million-dollar endorsement deals would be a piece of fucking cake for me.
“It also helps that my husband has a huge vested interest in the team,” she teased. “It’s pretty much Mavericks talk, all day, every day with Wes these days. I honestly have no idea how I managed to keep him focused enough to finish the rest of our Christmas shopping in the city last night.”
“That you managed to get Wes to actually do the shopping is the part that amazes me,” I admitted. Winnie was literally the only person on the planet who could get Wes Lancaster to
engage in shopping—holiday shopping, at that. If that wasn’t proof he worshiped the ground his wife walked on, I didn’t know what was.
“Oh, by the way, you can send your presents with us if you want,” I added. “Cass and I are going to wrap everything on the twenty-third while Kline and Thatch watch the kids.” Well, none of them was actually aware of that plan, but minor details, right?
Needless to say, I had everything mapped out to a T.
Meals, décor, and exact times when everything would occur. This Christmas was going off with a jolly-fucking-bang that would be devoid of Meals on Wheels, Twilight arguments, and grill explosions.
I’m making this Christmas my holly jolly bitch.
“Wow,” Win replied, relief evident in her voice and the tension release in her shoulders. “That would be fantastic if you guys could manage that, but I don’t want to add any more to your plate… I know you’ve got a lot going on.”
I waved her off with a nonchalant hand. “Oh, it’s no problem.” I mean, time wasn’t on my side, but again, minor details. I didn’t want any hiccups during this holiday, and the more things I had control over, the better.
Gratefulness kissed her lips in the form of a smile. “I’ll have to make sure I text Cassie and tell her thank you.”
“No need. I’ll let her know.” After I let her know she is the one and only mandatory participant in my present-wrapping party…
Win quirked a curious and far-too-knowing brow. “You haven’t told her, have you?”
I shrugged and avoided eye contact like the plague. “Uh…I can’t remember…”
“You can’t remember?” she questioned on a laugh. “I call bullshit, Georgie.”
“Fine,” I said on a groan. “I’ll call her now, and we can both tell her.”
She grinned. “Fantastic.”
Of course, Win just wanted to witness Cassie lose her shit over the idea of wrapping a million presents in one evening, but the call was much-needed. I had a bunch of other Christmas-related things to get finalized with Cass.
Plus, I had to make sure she and Thatch were all set for our car ride up to the Catskills. If there was one thing my best friend and her giant of a husband were good at it, it was running at least fifteen minutes behind schedule. And that was on a good day.
Their chronic tardiness was not going to put a hitch in my thoroughly planned and plotted Christmas itinerary. There was no way in Hades I was leaving my house any later than eight a.m. on the dot the morning we would head to the cabin. I had too many things to accomplish to be running even a minute behind schedule.
I grabbed my iPad off my desk and sat down beside Winnie. Two rings later and Cassie’s pretty face was on my screen.
“Hey, ya floozies. Look at you two, rubbing tits together in the middle of the day. How’s it hanging?”
Winnie and I laughed at our friend’s colorful description but didn’t address it. When it came to Cassie, it was almost always best to avoid falling further into her trap.
“Are you ready for the Catskills?” I asked, and Cass rolled her eyes.
“Good Lord, you’re like a little Christmas Nazi, Wheorgie. But do not worry, my neurotic friend, the Kelly clan will be ready for the Catskills,” she responded. “We still have a few more days until we leave.”
“I’m not a Christmas Nazi,” I refuted. I wasn’t. I was the complete opposite, if you asked me. Everyone that was going to the cabin was about to have the best freakin’ holiday of their lives. Hell, they’d be calling me Santa Claus before the festivities were through.
“You’re a little over the top,” she added. I settled for rolling my eyes rather than engaging in a verbal tug-of-war. I didn’t have time for small, meaningless chitchat. This was a purely business conversation. The business being the best, most perfect Christmas that would ever occur.
“Anyway, I was calling to let you know you guys need to be ready to leave by seven.”
“In the fluffing morning?” she questioned on a snort. “There is no way in hell I’m leaving at seven in the morning.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “Eight.”
“How about nine?”
“No. Eight. I don’t have time to waste, Cass.”
“Fluffing hell, G. I’ve met drill sergeants who keep a looser schedule than you seem to have planned.”
“We are going to have a perfect Christmas. Perfect. I refuse for it to be anything less.”
Winnie cleared her throat, and I sighed.
“Also, you and I are going to wrap all of the presents on the twenty-third, which will fit into the schedule perfectly because—” I tried to sugarcoat the present-wrapping party, but Cassie cut me off before I could even spread the verbal icing.
“I hope by ‘wrap,’ you mean we’re going to throw all of the shit into gift bags.”
“Gift bags?” I gasped. Nightmarish visions of half-assed bags with crinkled-up tissue paper filled my head. “Hell no. There will be no gift bags. Everything will be wrapped. And don’t worry, I bought the perfect paper and ribbon and bows for us to use.”
Cass looked at Winnie. “Tell me you’ll be joining us for the Christmas present sweatshop.”
Win shrugged. “Sorry, Cass. We’re not getting to the cabin until the next morning.”
“Then let’s reschedule Satan’s wrapping marathon until then, Wheorgie.”
“Nope,” I responded immediately. “Christmas Eve is booked. We have breakfast at nine. Ice skating at ten. Hot cocoa and a Christmas movie at noon. Baking cookies for Santa at two—”
“Holy fluffing shit.” Cassie cut me off. “Are you kidding me with this schedule right now?”
“Why would I joke about something like this?” I questioned in outrage. “This is Christmas we’re talking about, Cassie!”
“Just take a breath, Mrs. Fluffing Claus,” she muttered. “Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine if you stick to the schedule and wrap presents with me on the twenty-third.”
“Fine. I’ll wrap one million presents with you. Hell, I’ll even ice-skate and bake cookies with Santa’s balls on them, but you have to do something for me first.”
“And what’s that?”
“Convince Dean to watch Philmore.”
“Seriously, Cassie?” I questioned. “It was hard enough to get him to stay at our house and watch Walter and Stan.”
My fabulously gay best friend and old work husband nearly had a heart attack when I asked him to watch my giant dog and slightly persnickety cat. It’d actually taken an outrageously costly gift in the form of Prada shoes to get him to agree. How in the hell was I going to convince him to add another pet, a mini-pig, to be precise, to his pet-sitting duties? A new winter wardrobe courtesy of Versace?
Holy smokes, it was an expensive business to make Christmas perfect.
Don’t tell, Kline.
“Take it or leave it, G.”
I sighed. Once. Twice. Three times. Until finally, I came to the realization that I had no other option. “Fine.”
“Perfect,” she responded with glee shining in her eyes, and if the conversation had been in-person, I would’ve been real fucking tempted to smack her.
Once I’d ended the call and Winnie had left my office to head toward Wes’s office to have a “chat” with the “boss,” I pulled my Christmas agenda out of my purse and added yet another to-do item on page two of what felt like the never-ending list to achieve perfection.
Christmas To-Do’s Cont’d
December 18th:
11. Organize the daily “Holiday Songs” playlist on iTunes.
12. Stocking stuffers for the kids.
13. Cookie decorations—sprinkles, ingredients for homemade icing (see page 15), chocolate, food coloring, marshmallows, Hershey Kisses, M&Ms.
14. Pick up and make copies of sheet music for Christmas Carols.
15. Fresh wreaths and garland will be ready for pick-up at the flower shop at 3 p.m.
16. Convince Dean to
watch Philmore. (Preferably without an all-out catfight or expensive designer purchases.)
And this was just part of today’s list.
Tomorrow’s list made this one look like mere child’s play.
It’d only taken a fifteen-minute subway ride and a four-minute walk, and I was inside the all-too-familiar offices of Brooks Media. After Win left, I’d rushed through my work so I could move on to the important stuff—Christmas—and the first thing on the list was Philmore.
Cassie had made it clear that her helping me with wrapping—one of the most important parts of the holiday—was contingent upon convincing Dean that pigs were cute and not just for bacon. Seeing as one of Dean’s absolute favorite things was meat, I figured I had my work cut out for me.
Every time I stepped into this building, reminiscent memories of my days working for my husband hit me like a really warm wave. They were some of my fondest years, especially the one I’d spent falling in love with a man I’d held at arm’s length for that long.
I missed working side by side with my favorite person on the planet, but I loved what I was doing at the Mavericks too. I had more room and freedom to spread my wings, and I never had to worry that my coworkers and peers were silently thinking my achievements were based on my relationship instead of my work ethic. With the Mavericks, it was all me. One hundred percent Georgia Brooks.
That still didn’t stop my husband from trying to convince me to come back to work for him, but I didn’t mind. It wasn’t meant to be offensive; it was meant to be foreplay.
Believe me, it worked.
After a few hellos in the lobby to my favorite security men and a short ride on the elevator, I was in the hub of one of the biggest cyberbusinesses in the country.
But I had a singular goal in mind today, so my heels click-clacked across the sleek, hardwood floors of the Brooks Media lobby without even a hello and went immediately in the direction of Dean’s office.
Normally, I’d announce my plans for a visit, but in these circumstances, I felt that unexpected would only play in my favor. He’d have less time for interrogation.
“Knock, knock,” I said as I rapped my knuckles on the half-opened door of Dean’s office. “Got a minute to chat with an old friend?”
