I should know better than to use the radio alarm the week after Thanksgiving. With haste, I take a hold of my alarm clock and throw it across the room the second “Jingle Bells” blares through the speakers. The radio stations play Christmas music earlier and earlier, it seems, and I’m sure soon they’ll be adding the holiday tunes the day after everyone hangs up their Halloween costumes. Once everyone’s bellies are stuffed full of turkey, pumpkin pie, and enough whipped cream to pass as a snowstorm, every local station pumps out Mariah Carey’s “Merry Christmas” album.

I’ve had it. And it’s not that I don’t like holiday music.

I hate it.

I don’t throw my radio with enough force to break it, so I groan when the next song comes on. I’m left no choice but to pull my covers off, walk across the room, pick up the clock, and press the OFF button. Tonight I’ll set the alarm to use the buzzer. As much as I despise a loud beep shrieking into my ears in the morning, I’d rather listen to that than another verse of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

Maybe Rudolph didn’t want to join in on the games. Did the other reindeer ever think of that? Maybe he was happy being a loner and watching the others make fools of themselves. Perhaps he liked his shiny nose and couldn’t give two craps about what the others thought.

Maybe.

I can’t waste time contemplating Rudolph’s innermost thoughts and desires this morning, though. No. Work calls, and when I’m done with my real job, I’ll grab a bite to eat at Panera, a half roasted turkey and avocado BLT with a cup of potato soup, and head over to my part-time gig.

Nine dollars an hour to dress up in a silly costume and make sure kids don’t sit on Santa’s lap too long may seem painful, but the extra money is worth it. I’ll be the first to admit that working as one of Santa’s elves is perhaps an interesting choice for someone who would rather the holiday season just pass over, but I have my reasons. And I do enjoy watching the smiles on the kid’s faces.

I used to smile like that once.

Letting out a yawn, I stretch my arms overhead, pain radiating through my chest and armpits. A full day yesterday of lifting boxes and moving them from one office to another sure took its toll on my body. After many years of hard work, I earned my own office. It’s not enough to make me completely happy, but I’m content enough.

As a financial manager at Booker & Smith, I oversee some of the largest clients the company represents. From local television personalities to even some of the biggest sports figures in the state, my responsibility has exploded upon my promotion. No more doing the petty work the assistants do. I’m big-time now, and I have to show it.

After a hot shower, I blow dry my hair, pick out an outfit, and sit down for breakfast. My oatmeal is steaming hot, just the way I like it.

My phone dings, interrupting my first bite, and I cringe when I peek and see it’s a text from my mom.

Hunter will be out soon. December 15th. We should get together for Christmas this year.

Of course she thinks we should. I’ve got news for her—it will not happen so she should quit asking me before she wastes any more of her time or mine. I exhale a huff and swipe left to activate the delete button. I allow myself a second’s hesitation before I press the button.

Screw my mom, screw Hunter, and, most of all, screw Christmas.

* * *

I let out a big sigh of relief as the last box makes its way into my office. I bribed Bill, the janitor, to bring a few of the boxes from my old office into my new one. My back can’t handle much more of this. The minute I turned thirty-eight my body gave out, I think. Creaky knees, a sore back, a constant need for chocolate. Okay, maybe I’ve always had that last one, but I swear my desire for the sweet foods is so much more now that I’m two years closer to forty.

Oh, forty. How did I get here? The years sneak up on you when you’re not looking, that’s for sure.

I rip open the first box, not prepared for the unpacking. I don’t think there’s anything worse than unpacking. The actual setting up part doesn’t bother me. That’s the fun part. But taking the time to remove items from the boxes and sort them is almost as bad as putting them in.

As luck would have it, I began with this box. Ugh. I pull the picture out, a framed photo of me, my mom, dad, and brother, Hunter when we visited Disney World. This feels like eons ago. I touch my finger to my scrunched up face, the Mickey Mouse ears sitting lopsided on my head. I remember when we took that picture. The temperature hit over ninety degrees and the sun tried to burn my eyes out, hence the squinting.

We were so stupid back then, me and Hunter. There I was, an eight-year-old girl who wanted to do cartwheels all day or play the Nintendo. Hunter lived for baseball at age ten and spent all his time trading baseball cards. I tossed the photo back in the box. We had no clue that less than a year later our world would come crashing down on us. And now, thirty years later, we’re still here, our world still shattered, his a ridiculous mess. I’m not sure we’ll ever put our lives back together again. But Hunter, he’s pretty broken.

He’s Humpty Dumpty.

“Don’t be a Grinch!”

“Huh?” I lift my gaze and my best friend and co-worker Carly stands in the doorway, the smile so bright on her face it almost blinds me. “What do you mean don’t be a Grinch?”

“Oh, you know,” she says as she makes her way into the room, planting herself in my chair. “Like you are every holiday season.”

“I’m not a Grinch.” Maybe I am. I try my best not to show it. It’s possible I don’t have a convincing poker face. Poker was never my game, anyway. I’m more of a Solitaire kind of woman.

“You most certainly are. Every Christmas party you sulk at the table drinking gin and tonic and refuse to join in on anything. This year, you are in. You’ll be the life of the party.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Shit, Jules, your stiff body would be a better time than you are alive at these functions.”

She’s right, and I know it. Why is she always right? I want to take offense but it’s no secret I’m not Christmas’s biggest fan. I may be the only elf working at the mall that despises it. The elf job isn’t for me, though. I do it for others. That’s festive, isn’t it? Isn’t Christmas about giving? I do plenty of that.

“Leave me alone. And why are you so bubbly? Did you drink a bottle of bubble bath or something?” I grab the container of pens, staples, and paperclips out of the box and place them on the desk. This is much easier to deal with than the picture of my family with our fake smiles. I don’t know why I keep that picture anyway.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

She dots her face with her fingertips, moving them around from one side to the other. Why is she acting so weird? “Wait.” I stop when I see it. “Are you wearing an engagement ring?”

She squeals and pops out of the chair, rushing over to show me. Her hand misses smacking me in the face as she shows off her princess cut ring, sparkles and all. “Pretty.”

“Pretty? Are you kidding me right now, Jules? This ring is gorgeous and fit for the fairest princess in the land.”

“Which is you, I assume.”

“What crawled into your pants this morning? Or should I ask who didn’t? Another bad date, huh?”

I shrug, not in the mood to discuss my date with Romeo. No joke. My cousin Dana claimed she found the perfect guy for me, and I said yes to a blind date. His name was Romy, like Mira Sorvino in that movie Romy & Michele’s High School Reunion. I’d only ever heard the name Romy from that movie. It turned out he used Romy as a nickname for Romeo. Yeah. Dana set me up with a Romeo because of course we’d be Romeo and Juliette. Barf. I don’t even spell my name like the Shakespearean character, and the last thing I would ever do is poison myself over a man. Dana had her fun. I did not. She’s never setting me up again.

“Let’s say I got home very early, watched an entire movie, and was asleep by ten.”

“Ouch. That is a bad date. Still, Eddie proposed on Thanksgiving! Isn’t that the sweetest? We were all going around the table saying what we were thankful for. He said he was so thankful he walked into Mcguire’s that night and saw me from across the bar. Then he got down on one knee and proposed!”

She presses her hands to her heart as she relives the moment. I try to picture hard-ass Eddie with his out of control dark hair and tattoo sleeves being romantic. I can’t see it. Even if I can, Carly shouldn’t get married. She’s not even thirty years old! She’s known Eddie less than a year. They’re rushing this. And even if they weren’t, fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. What makes her think she’ll beat the odds?

“Congratulations,” I say, forcing myself to show a smile. I hope she can’t read my poker face now. Regardless if I think she should go through with a wedding or not, she’s my closest friend in the world. If I don’t show I’m happy, even if I’m not, I’ll upset her. I don’t want that. Pissed off Carly is a wrath no one wants to endure.

“I should get back to unpacking.”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Senior Associate. I’ll go back to my cubicle after I stop off and fetch coffee for Mr. Tight-Ass.”

She pulls a genuine smile from me. Her boss, Bart Holmes, leaves little to the imagination when it comes to what’s under his slacks—front and back. We don’t know if his wife of twenty-six years has bothered to say anything or honestly doesn’t see it. How can she not see it? There’s a bulge in the front and a vivid outline in the back. I could draw his ass from memory based on what I’ve seen.

“You know, Carly, you should consider applying the next time an opportunity for promotion comes up.”

“You think I should, but I’m happy where I am.”

“Are you?” I’ve always sensed jealousy each time I moved up in the ranks at the company, but she never tried herself. If she’s stuck, it’s her own fault. But she’s talented and a numbers guru. I don’t think she should waste her talent writing up reports and pouring coffee for her boss. She could be her own boss.

“Yes, I am.” She puts her hand out in front of her face, showing off her ring. “And now my life is complete!”

I sigh again, my emotion of the day, apparently, as she leaves my office. I spin my chair, completing three revolutions, turning my frown into a smile as I take in the fact that now I have something I’ve always wanted.

My own office.