by Kimberly Rae
The dripping of a faucet resonated through the room as I rubbed my hands across my forehead, lingering in my solitude.
Poor Jack.
****
The spreadsheet on my screen flashed, refreshing itself — again.
“You’re not finished with the trace back reports yet? They’re due tomorrow.” Jack’s voice broke through the fog, jostling me back into reality.
“Uh, yeah… ummm… no.”
“Slugger, you usually slice through these things. What’s up?”
I took a deep breath. “It’s about Monica.”
He sat in the chair beside my desk. “Yeah. I wanted to ask you… what do you think would be the perfect gift?”
“Diamonds, sports car, a yacht...”
“I was thinking about chocolate. Everyone likes chocolate, right?”
“Better make it the expensive stuff,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Jack, listen. I don’t think you and Monica together is a good idea.”
He leaned back. “Jilly-Jill, are you jealous?”
“No. Of course not. I care about you, and I don’t want you hurt.”
He pursed his lips. Disappointment crossed his features. “How about you have a little confidence in me?”
“I do. I think you’re great. It’s Monica I have issues with.”
He leaned across my desk. “Listen,” he whispered. “You’re my best friend. You of all people know how crazy I am about this girl. Why are you doing this to me when I finally have a chance with her?”
Everyone’s had their chance with her. I rubbed my forehead. “I think you can do better, that’s all.”
“Do better than Monica? Do you need glasses or something?”
I took a deep breath. “I wish you’d consider that maybe you’re still hung up on a teenage crush.”
Jack sat back. “I wish you would consider that maybe she wasn’t my first choice.”
“What? Who? Please tell me it’s not Amanda.”
He shook his head. “Never mind. Listen, I like Monica. Why don’t you give her a chance?”
“She’s pompous, overbearing, conceited…”
“I can’t believe you’re being like this.”
“What… caring about my best friend?”
“Best friends support each other, Jill.” He turned on his heels and stomped out the door.
Jill.
My own name stung like razors slashing my skin. I’d been Slugger, or Jilly-Jill, for nearly five years now. The detachment in his voice horrified me more than the thought of him sleeping with the bimbo.
I rolled back my chair and stormed over to his office. “I am being supportive. Jack, please…”
The furrow in his brow startled me. “You gotta get over whatever stinking jealous grudge you have with Monica.”
“I am not jealous!”
He slammed the door shut behind me. “No? I see the way you look at her, and then you look at yourself in the mirror with that stupid, annoying, crinkled nose.”
“I do not.” Except for in the bathroom this morning.
“Oh, sure you don’t.” His eyes softened. “You’re pretty, and have nice legs, and beautiful brown eyes, and an amazing smile if you’d ever use it, but you can’t see all these great things because you’re always too hung up on wishing you had what everyone else does.”
My jaw tensed. “I am not like that.”
“Bull. Ever since Bill left you’ve been detached… cut off.”
“I have not!”
“No? What about the time Nicky broke the necklace your mother gave you before she died?”
“Don’t you dare bring that up.”
“You threw it away, Jill. You threw it away, and it meant the world to you.”
“That has nothing to do with this!”
“It does. It has everything to do with this.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Listen. You are my best friend. I don’t want you ticked off at me, but you really need to get a grip and move on. If you’d just open your eyes, you’d see…” His gaze locked on mine. Sadness touched his eyes before he blinked and eased into his chair. “Never mind. We need to get back to work. I’m sure the vultures are circling by now.”
Trembling, but relieved the uncomfortable conversation was over, I slipped from his office, closing the door behind me. Heads peeking up from the tops of partitions darted for cover as I nearly knocked over Cole Peters in the hall. Rachel and Eleanor spun to the charts on the cubicle wall beside them, pretending they hadn’t been listening.
Eavesdropping idiots.
At the far end of the hall, Monica stood fanning her cleavage with a manila folder. Had she heard too? I wanted nothing more than to rip the smug smile from her perfectly painted lips.
I set my jaw, slipped into my cubicle, and flopped into my chair. A gentle massage of my temples did nothing to deaden the ache in my skull. My stomach twisted, constricting my insides into a pent-up bomb waiting to explode, while lunch threatened a second appearance.
The spreadsheet refreshed as I tapped my mouse. Line ten prompted for a comment. I pulled myself up to my computer, refusing to give in to the nausea nudging my gut. Was Jack right about me? Do I really dwell on what others have? I tapped my fingers across my keyboard and pushed Jack out of my head. These trace back reports weren’t going to analyze themselves.
****
Line twenty-six: Insufficient data. I ran my fingers through my hair and pulled. The clock on the bottom right-hand corner of my monitor changed to five-fourteen. I have to get home to Nicole.
“Hey.” Jack leaned in. “Do I still have an open invitation to sit on your desk?”
My neck tensed. “Are you sure you want to be near me and my jealous grudge?”
The wall shifted as he propped himself against it. “Okay, listen. It’s like this. I love copy machine talk as much as the next person, but it’s not as fun when it’s about me.”
“You mean us.”
“Well, yeah.” His lips formed a rigid line. “The office consensus is that I was a jerk. So here is me sucking it up and apologizing. I said a lot of things I didn’t mean earlier.”
I forced a smile. “So you don’t think I have nice legs?”
“I didn’t say you had nice legs.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Prove it.”
I snickered, tapping my fingers on the edge of my mouse. Jack stood in the center of my cubicle, arms folded. He’s waiting for your apology now. Ugh! But he was such an idiot! I had to say something, though. “I suppose I could give Monica a chance.” Oh no. Did I really say that?
The cockiest of smiles crossed his lips. I was about to smack it off his face, when it faded.
He pointed at my monitor. “You didn’t finish the trace back report? Crap, you barely even started it!”
I rubbed my forehead. “I know. I’ve been preoccupied.”
“Slugger, you need that done by tomorrow’s meeting or Chambers will have your rear in a sling.”
“I know, I know. That’s why I’m still here.”
Jack sighed. “Tell you what. I haven’t seen the munchkin in a while. How about I stop over tonight and help you analyze those stupid numbers. I’ll bring Chinese.”
He leaned on my desk. The muscles in his arm stretched against his shirt. Wow, maybe he does have some pecs. I dragged my eyes from the taut fabric. “You know what? That’d be great.”
He tweaked my nose. “I’ll be there around seven. I need to stop on my way home to get a box of chocolate for Monica. It will only cost about ten, fifteen bucks, right?
I pressed my lips together. Every ounce of me screamed not to help him, but I caved. “Sweetie, if you want to impress a girl, you’re going to have to do better than fifteen dollars.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, if you were a girl, what kind would you want?”
“If I were a girl?”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Jilly-Jill. You know what I mean.”
“Two days before Christmas? I’m not going to the stinking mall!”
I threw my hands in the air. “Go ahead. Buy whatever you can find at the drug store. She's going to sleep with you anyway.”
“What?”
Oh no, please tell me I didn’t say that! Sweat beaded on my brow and temples. “Ummm, I mean, she’ll probably be happy with whatever you get her, you know?”
The left side of his lip turned up before the right side — one of my favorite quirks about him. “All right. I guess I’m going to the stupid mall.” He pointed toward my envelope. “So, who are you shopping for after work?”
I slid the envelope beneath my keyboard. “That’s my little secret.”
Jack winked and turned to leave. “You better get something to knock his socks off and slip him into your bed.”
Yeah. Sure. That’s never going to happen. “I’ll see you at seven, hotshot.”
****
“Why exactly did you buy Uncle Jack a mug?” Nicole tilted the gift box, her gaze running over the lettering.
“I told you, I got him for Secret Santa.”
“But a Best Friends mug? Isn’t that a little lame, even for you?”
I snatched the box from her hand and folded a piece of teddy-bear Santa wrapping paper around it. “Well, what was I supposed to get him? We’ve never bought presents for each other.” I rubbed down the last piece of tape, and the doorbell rang. “That can’t possibly be Jack already. He only left a few minutes before me.” Nicole headed toward the door as I slipped the package under the tree.
“Chinese is here!” Jack’s voice boomed as he entered the kitchen. “Hey Nicky-Bomb.”
“Hey, Uncle Jack.”
He placed the bags on the table.
“You got here fast,” I said. “I thought you were going to the mall.”
“Nah, I jumped on my phone instead. Gordoba.com had guaranteed delivery on all orders placed by five-thirty. I got in just under the wire.”
“The party is tomorrow afternoon. Aren’t you worried about it not getting here?”
Jack removed a tub of egg drop soup from the bag and set it on the table. “For the price I paid for shipping, it better get here on time — and hey, do you know how much that Gordoba stuff costs? It’s crazy.”
Nicky ripped open a pack of egg rolls. “What’d you ask Santa for, Uncle Jack?”
Jack eased into a chair and slipped a paper plate in front of him. “Oh, I don’t really get presents anymore. Well, except for the stupid mugs I get every year for Secret Santa.”
I flinched. “Mugs?”
“Yeah, you’ve gotten them too, haven’t you? It’s the basic ‘I don’t care so I just got the first thing I could find’ present. I hate that. I always bring them home and donate them to the shelter. I mean, how many stinking mugs do you need, right?”
Nicky glanced in my direction. I did my best to not react at all.
She pointed her egg roll at him. “So, if you could have the perfect gift, the one thing you’ve always wanted, what would it be?”
A smile crept across Jack’s face. “Honestly? I’d love to have a copy of Tales from the Cotton Fields.”
I poured a gob of soup into my bowl. “The old animated movie? Wasn’t that banned or something?”
“Yeah. I don’t know why. All I remember about it was Hippity Rabbit running away from this dumb fox and my dad and I singing the theme song all the way home after seeing it.” Jack pushed his fried rice around with his fork. “I’d love to bring that to him at the nursing home. I think it might…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s stupid, I guess.”
Nicky pushed out her chair. “I’ll be right back.” She ran to the utility closet and pulled out a sheet of yellow construction paper. A brush of her fingertips placed it squarely in front of Jack. “Here you go. Write a letter and ask for it.”
“What? Like to Santa?”
She raised an eyebrow in my direction. “It can be to whoever you want. But the trick is hanging it on the tree. It always works.”
“Whaddya mean?”
I reached across the table to grab a fortune cookie. “We started this tradition a few years ago. We don’t send our letters to Santa. We fold them into ornaments and hang them on the tree.”
Nicole crinkled the bag of Chinese noodles, spreading a handful across her plate. “Yep, and ever since, everything we’ve asked for has happened.”
“So, I can ask for a sports car?”
I laughed. “We usually ask for something a little more important.”
“Is my movie important enough?”
“Yes,” Nicky said, “since you want it to make your dad happy.”
Jack’s expression softened. “So not necessarily tangible things, huh?” Nicky nodded, and Jack scribbled on the sheet. He stared at the words for a moment and folded the paper in half. “Now what?”
Nicky plucked the page from his hands and adeptly molded Jack’s letter into an origami star. She reached behind her and grabbed a paperclip from my desk. A few twists bent it into a hook as she affixed it to the ornament.
She led Jack to the tree. “Now you wish with all your might and hang it as high as you can.”
Jack fingered the paper in his hands, his expression serene. He reached to the highest limb, easy with his height, and hooked the paperclip over a branch near the angel. He carefully turned the ornament out and stared at the paper star, smiling.
What did you wish for, Jack?
****
Jack slipped his jacket over his shoulders.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for some coffee?”
He raised his hands defensively. “Jilly-Jill, I’ve tasted your coffee. I’d rather get a root canal.”
“Ha ha, very funny. Anyway — thanks for coming over.” I gave him a hug. “I really appreciate the help with that report, and thanks for humoring Nicky with the origami thing.”
“Hey, it’s not like I had anything else to do.” He gave me a tap on the shoulder. “You know I love hanging with you guys. So, are you all ready for Christmas?”
“Yeah, everything is wrapped and hidden under the stairs.”
“Nicky didn’t find that spot yet?”
I chortled. “Even if she did, she wouldn’t look. She is all about keeping the magic of Christmas alive.”
Jack lowered his gaze.
“Are you going to see your dad for Christmas?”
“I don’t know. Christmas hasn’t been all that magical for the past few years. He’d probably be happier spending the day with his friends.”
I raised my eyebrow. “In the nursing home?”
“It just hasn’t been the same since my mom died, ya know?”
His face saddened, and I ran my hand down his shoulder. Even through the cloth his warmth touched me. “You know I’m here if you need to talk, right?”
He sucked in the side of his cheek. His gaze lingered on mine, soaking through my soul. The intensity in his eyes drew me toward a pain deep within him. I took a step forward, but he blinked and backed up.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, clearing his throat. He touched his fingers to the door handle. “I hope it works out for you and Steve tomorrow.”
“How do you know it’s Steve?” I managed to hold a straight face.
He cracked a smile and stole a kiss from my cheek. “I want you to be as happy as me, that’s all.”
“As happy as you?”
He slipped out the door, walking backward toward his car. His face beamed with childish delight. “Yep. I just wrote a letter to Santa asking to spend Christmas with Monica. I’m a shoe-in now.”
The wind whipped up, jostling his hair as he fumbled with his keys. Oh, you’re a shoe-in all right, but I’m not so sure you’re going to be happy afterward.
Jack’s car backed out of the driveway, and I darted for my computer.
“What are ya doing, Mom?”
I typed Tales from the Cotton Fields into the search box. “Finding him that stupid movie.”
“Do you think that’s really what he asked for?”
“No — but I happen to know he’s going to get exactly what he wants, and it’s going to make him miserable. He’s going to need something to cheer him up.”
I scrolled through the screens. Out of Print. Out of Print. Discontinued. Blast it! I flipped over to an auction site. Three hits popped up. Two listings lasting two more days and one Buy It Now. I clicked on the flashing Buy It Now. The window opened up. Condition: good. Overnight delivery if payment received by four o’clock the preceding day. Too late. My eyes narrowed over the two-hundred-dollar price tag. Screw it. I hit the Buy it Now button and opted for overnight delivery. It won’t get here until the day after Christmas, but it would have to do.