Page 6 of The Office Games

A fluffy pine tree stands guard by the windows, with glass ornaments that hang amidst the special “memory flakes” I hang every year.

In the months after the tragic train accident that cost me my parents, students at my high school wrote notes about me and little things about our hometown to help me remember events. Even though their words never sparked reminiscent magic, I reread them every year.

Walking to the tree, I search for the ornament that features a locket from my closest guy friend, Cameron.

His words are etched in a shiny cursive:

I'll always be there for you, like I know you'll always be there for me. If neither of us have found love by thirty, promise you'll marry me.

I turn it over and head to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine.

Then, I snag a bag of potato chips and plop onto the couch.

Ordering a garlic-free pizza and a chocolate cake to make myself feel better, I curl into a ball on the couch and search for something to watch on TV.

Knock! Knock! Knockkk!

“Coming!” I push off the blankets and head to the door. “Coming!”

I’m expecting to see a delivery guy, but it’s James.

"What the hell are you doing here?” I ask.

"I thought you might want some company after what happened today."

“Company fromyou?"

"Yes."

I start to slam the door, but he wedges his foot inside the frame.

“I bought your favorite wine and a cheese platter,” he says.

“Leave it on the steps and walk away.” I groan. “I have Georgia to talk to.”

“She’s busy dealing with your other cousin’s wedding planning tonight, so I'm sure you can’t talk to her for a while.”

"I don't want to talk to my new boss about it either."

"He’s here tokeep you company,” he says. “He also just told Human Resources to give you a fifty percent raise."

"I thought it was thirty."

"He realized that wasn't enough." He eyes the bottle in my hand. "I really did think Mr. Adeleman was going to pick you."

"Would you have been livid if he had?”

"No," he says, looking genuine.“Can you let me in, please?”

“Only if you agree that this is completely off the record, and you promise to leave after exactly two hours."

“Deal.”

I usher him inside, and he stalls at the sight of all the holiday decor.

“I probably should've said two minutes,” I say. “I forgot you hate the holidays.”

“I can deal with them for two hours.” He takes off his coat and drapes it over my couch.