Page 47 of Santa Baby Maybe
“It had been prearranged,” he explained. “But I didn’t cancel.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do,” he offered.
I set my glass down on the coffee table and stood, walking away from him and back to the kitchen.
“Joy,” he called after me. “I don’t know why I started with that. I just felt like…I couldn’t not tell you. But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.”
I wasn’t listening. I was, instead, pulling out several different plastic to-go containers I’d saved over the years from any time I’d ordered delivery or takeout. Because it was important to recycle. I opened the lid on the pot of garlic and mashed potatoes that were still warming and spooned what amounted to half into one container.
I’d left the baked chicken on the stove also, on a low heat, along with the green bean casserole. I’d taken those out, right before putting the pie in, knowing that by the time we had dinner, the pie would be done and still warm, which would be perfect with vanilla ice cream.
Because that was the trick to Thanksgiving dinner. It was about getting it all out on the table and still warm.
I opened another container and tipped half of the green bean casserole into it. That was easy, but the chicken was going to be harder. Maybe just wrap it up with tinfoil and then throw it at his head?
“Joy, what are you doing?”
“I’m packing up your dinner to go. I spent a lot of time on this food and you spent money on this food. It shouldn’t go to waste when there are people out there in this country who are going to spend this day hungry. If you would like to find one of those people and give them your half, that is your choice.”
“Joy, please. Just hear me out. I know I should have canceled last night. I just thought…I thought if I went through with it, today would be easier.”
“Easier for whom?” I asked, even as I started stacking the containers on my small kitchenette table. I moved to the pantry where I pulled out the tinfoil. I rolled out an arm’s length and set it on the counter, then used two large forks to pull the chicken out of the skillet and onto the tinfoil.
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Look, we both know that there could never be anything between us. We’re too different. What happened the other day was just…”
“A temporary lapse in judgment,” I supplied.
“Yes! We both felt something at the time. Obviously. But if we step back and are objective about it, it’s obvious that it was a mistake.”
“We work together,” I provided, even as I covered the chicken completely in tinfoil. I needed a large bag.
“Yes! Also that. Office romances can be complicated for everyone in the office, not just the two people who are involved. Especially when things don’t work out.”
“And of courseyou and Iwould never work out,” I finished.
I grabbed a paper bag with handles from where I kept my stash at the bottom of the pantry. I loaded the chicken, the mashed potatoes, and the casserole. I hadn’t made the crescent rolls yet, because they were last minute. The pie had another thirty minutes to bake so he was out of luck there too.
Instead, I moved to the freezer and pulled out the soy vanilla bean gelato.
He caught me around my upper arms with his hands when I turned back to him.
“Joy, please. Don’t be this way. Let’s just logically discuss this like two adults.”
I raised my eyebrows in warning and he dropped his hands. I stepped around him and added the gelato to his bag. Then I picked up the bag and handed to him.
“I hope the chicken is to your liking as, for obvious reasons, I don’t ever make it. The pie is not done, and the crescent rolls aren’t made yet so this is all you get. I gave you the gelato to split the difference.”
Then I changed my mind.
“You know what? Fuck you. You don’t get the gelato. I get both it and the pie. So there.” I pulled the pint out of the bag and then handed the bag back to him.
He closed his eyes. Guilt and sadness distorted his handsome features. For a moment, just a moment, I had that urge again. To hug him, give him comfort and tell him it was okay. Because he so badly needed it. But he didn’t want that. Not from me.
“Joy,” he whispered, but then nothing else.
“I thought we could have done this amicably. I really did. But you going on a date after what happened between us before we even had a chance to talk?” I grabbed at my chest where it physically ached. “I don’t know why it hurts. It shouldn’t. It’s not like we were even dating. I just don’t know why you bothered with today and the groceries…”
