Page 61 of My Boss

I look at the dark windows of the deserted office buildings. And suddenly a light goes off in my head

Holy crap, Christmas Eve at my parents’ house! I’m patting down my jacket looking for my phone, but I only have cigarettes, a lighter, and gum in my pockets.

“What time is it?” I ask Jan.

He puts the cigarette in his mouth, lifts his hand, pulls up the cuff of his shirt and, squinting from the smoke, looks at his watch.

“Seven twenty-three.”

“Oh fuck.” I throw the cigarette on the ground and rush to the door.

Damn it! I’m late.

I run like a bat out of hell into the hall. The warm air makes me hot. In a wild rush, I decide to jump over the gate because I obviously don’t have my fucking card with me, and then the voice of reason screams,you’ll kill yourself, you’re wearing a skirt!I ignore it. I’m already getting ready to throw my leg over the bar when I hear Jan’s voice behind me:

“Hold your horses, Maria.” He walks towards me calmly and lazily removes the card from his pants while I’m fidgeting as if I want to pee.

“Well hurry up, for God’s sake,” I hiss.

Jan places the card on the scanner, and as soon as the lever drops, I squeeze through the gate and then move ahead as if shot out of a catapult.

The clatter of my heels drowns out the beating of my heart, and the sound ofOh Come All Ye Faithful,coming from the reception, accompanies my quick steps. I rush past the Christmas tree, on which huge baubles are hanging and lightsare twinkling, then in a few steps I cross the hallway, reach the elevator and press the button on the panel.

“May I know why you are in such a hurry?” Jan stands beside me and slips his hands into his pockets.

Sure, chill out, you slacker. All he needs to do is start rocking on the balls of his feet.

“You may not have noticed, but it’s Christmas Eve today,” I remind him, staring at the door, which slides open slowly, as if full of Christmas goodies.

“Anyone waiting for you?”

His question causes an unpleasant pressure in my throat. Waiting? Good grief. I’m sure the whole family has started without me. They’re probably already gobbling mushroom soup and grumbling that Maria, the big corporate lady, is late again. The career has gone to her head! And she earns only peanuts there.

In fact, I don’t have the faintest idea why I’m even in a hurry to go to this fucking Christmas Eve supper. After all, I don’t have the slightest desire to see them, eat supper with them, give each other unwanted gifts and pretend we’re a happy family. I am torn apart, totally conflicted with myself. But some strong inner compulsion tells me to spend this evening with them. “Why? God only knows.”

As if on cue, a voice reminiscent of a priest’s sermon from the pulpit rings in my head:

Because it’s tradition.

Because it’s a family holiday.

Because it’s the time to forgive.

Because it is the time of love, peace and unity.

Christ Almighty. Shut up, damn preacher, because I’m ready to puke.

One day a year and what, suddenly everything will change as if by some magic wand? I’m supposed to just forget all the snideremarks, sour faces, lectures I’ve experienced for the entire year, throughout my damn life?

Didn’t Jesus teach, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself?” Today is the eve of His birth, when one should take His wise words to heart even more strongly. Meanwhile, my parents care for Jesus’s commandment of love just as strongly as they care that there are fifteen pits in the dried plum compote instead of five.

They never loved me. I never felt that I was important to them. I was always a Maria who wasn’t as successful as her brother was.

I feel a horrible pain between my ribs. I would gladly trash this Christmas and show them that I don’t need them for anything.

They gave me life, raised me in their twisted, judgmental way, and that’s where their role as parents ended. So, why don’t I just ignore them?

Because I’m just a coward who fears further moralizing comments. I know they’ll spew them anyway, regardless of whether I am an hour or an hour and a half late, but at least I won’t have to listen for the next year that I didn’t bother to bring my dear ass to the Christmas Eve gathering.

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