Page 1 of Unwrapping His Gift
1
DAISY
As I sit hereon the windowsill, cold as a piece of ice fresh out of the freezer, gazing out at the black night and the tiny white wisps of the waves breaking in the river across the street, I can’t help think about my father and how much I hate Christmas because of him.
Ten years ago, when I was thirteen, he died on Christmas Eve, and ever since then, I haven’t been able to enjoy the holidays because of him.
He said he was taking the car out to pick up some Chinese food for everyone so my mom wouldn’t have to cook the night before the big day, but really he was going out for a late night joy ride with a bottle of whiskey in his stomach. It had been raining that night with just below freezing temperatures, and my father lost control of the car – the only car our family owned – and ended up rolling over four times before plummeting into the river. Police say the cause of death was more than likely drowning.
I try not to think about it, but every time the holidays roll around and I see the Christmas lights go up, all those memories just keep flooding back like a dam letting loose.
I always wonder what he was thinking when he left that night.Oh, I’ll just have a quick drive and I’ll be back before the gals even notice,orWho cares if they notice? I’m the man of this house, I can do what I want!
Did he even think about it? Or did he just sneak out like some teenage boy who’d just had his first few drinks and had taken his dad’s car out for a late-night ride? Surely a grown man like him should have at least taken a look at the weather and seen that it was not a night to be out driving, regardless of whether or not you were sober.
But nope, he just hopped behind the wheel like a numbskull and got himself killed, leaving a wife and a daughter behind. Some kind of man he was.
I always looked up to my dad too. He made me feel safe and secure when he was around – when I was with him. And then one day he was just gone. Like a snap of the fingers, I had to just come to terms with the fact that I’d never see him again.
Police officers just showed up at my door with this news that I could barely even comprehend, like a surprising, devastating Christmas present meant to destroy me. And that’s why, ever since then, I’ve done everything I can to avoid everything about the holiday.
Normally, I just lock myself in my room and watch movies or whatever show is hot right now until I’m able to come out of my cave and most of the celebration has blown over, but this year is different. This year I’ve been compelled to take part in the “festive occasion.”
The company I work for is throwing a mandatory work party, and seeing as how I am but a lowly secretary with no pull whatsoever, and have clearly not been sick at all recently, I have no way of getting out of it. I am, however, doing my best to avoid most of the festivities – the drinks, the buffet, the fake tree, and Tasha (who loves singing Christmas songs until her voice is hoarse), which is why I am here, in an out-of-the-way conference room, sitting on the chilly windowsill with a glass of red wine in my hand, staring out into the black of the winter night.
Has it started snowing?I can’t quite tell as I gaze out the window, but I’m pretty sure it has. To be honest, I’d rather be out there on a bench shivering than be up here where it’s warm. That’s just my mood right now.
“Still sulking, I see.”
The voice behind me instantly causes me to smile, and I turn and see my friend Marissa standing behind me with some kind of Christmas cocktail in her hand. Marissa is a regular person, so Christmas doesn’t bother her. In fact, she really gets into it, and she is dressed up as a sexy elf, but nottoosexy, because after all, this is still a work party.
She tugs on a little cord hanging from her hat that causes her big green ears to flare up, while at the same time cracking a silly, over-the-top smile and kicking her back left foot up like a 1950s pinup model.
“Like my outfit?”
“I think you look like you should be working at Costco selling Christmas trees,” I reply.
Marissa frowns. “Don’t be jealous because you know I’d be Santa’s favorite.”
“Tell me the others didn’t send you in here to get me.”
“The others didn’t send me in here to get you,” she says, taking a seat beside me. “None of them care enough that you’re in here. It’s only me, girl. The rest didn’t even notice you’re gone.”
“Oh, well that’s comforting.” We both laugh.
“It’s not that they don’t like you,” she replies. “It’s just that we’ve got a Santa out there, and let’s just say he’s got basically all the girls’ attention.”
I groan. “Please don’t tell me someone hired a male stripper.”
Marissa cracks up and takes a sip of her drink. She shakes her head and puts a hand on my thigh. Marissa and I have been friends since somewhere near the end of high school. She was the one who got me this job, and we’ve been through so much together. I owe her a lot.
“No, no, but that would beawesome,” she laughs. “Although I don’t think the guys in the office would care for it.”
“What then?”
“Well…I think the best way for you to understand would be to just come out and see.”
I sigh – probably a lot more dramatically than necessary. “I’m really quite happy right here, Marissa–”