Sleep didn't come easily. The thought of the tinsel, the plastic trees, and the forced merriment waiting for me at the office hung over me like a deadline.
The next morning, the sun was too bright.
It felt like an uninvited guest.
When I walked into the office, the transformation was already underway. The smell of pine-scented spray and dust filled the air. My boss, usually a man of rigid spreadsheets, was wearing a Santa hat that sagged sadly to one side.
"There she is!" he boomed, gesturing toward a cardboard box overflowing with tangled lights.
"Grab the other end of these, will you? We need to brighten this place up."
I dropped my bag at my desk and took the cold, green wires in my hands.
As I worked on the knots, my mind drifted back to the mirror last night.
Lost on your side.
I wondered if the person I was wishing to be with was also looking at a box of tangled lights somewhere, or if they were truly free of all this.
"You're quiet today," a coworker said, bumping my shoulder.
"Not a fan of the holidays?"
"I'm just tired," I replied, the standard lie. "The lights are just... a lot."
I pulled a strand of LEDs tight, and for a second, I imagined them as a fuse. If I pulled hard enough, maybe the whole routine would finally short-circuit.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A vibration against my thigh. I knew it was one of them—either the friend or the boy who wanted to know me. But as I stood on a stool to drape the tinsel over the cubicle wall, I realized I wasn't ready to be known by anyone yet.
I was still too busy trying to find myself in the clutter of the day.
The office was a flurry of forced cheer. The metallic scent of tinsel mixed with the stale aroma of office coffee, creating a cloying atmosphere that made my head throb.
I spent the morning perched on a rolling chair, taping paper snowflakes to windows that looked out onto a gray, indifferent street.
By lunch, I couldn't ignore the weight in my pocket anymore. I retreated to the breakroom, found a corner shielded by a large, artificial tree, and pulled out my phone.
The NotificationsFromMessageJennie
"I'm at the mall and everything reminds me of last year. I wish you were here."
K-City Boy
"I saw a scarf today that looked like something you'd wear. It made me realize I haven't heard your voice in a few days. Hope the office isn't working you too hard."
I stared at the screen. Jennie's message felt like an anchor—heavy, dragging me into her familiar whirlpool. But his... his message felt like a soft touch on a bruised shoulder. It was kind, yet it demanded an energy I simply didn't possess. To reply was to open a door, and right now, I just wanted to lock the house.
"Hey, don't hide back here!"
My boss's voice cut through my thoughts.