Work Text:
Paul Matthews did not enjoy Christmas. Indeed it was like placing a drop of oil into a cup of water, solely separated from the form around him. For him, the countdown to that festive day was, safe to say, head-ache inducing.
First of all, each radio station he’d switch on would play the same handful of iconic Christmas songs. And if not those, then covers of them. Additionally, each TV ad was paired with its own distinctive jolly-good tune that instead of glad made him want to drill his head in a box and never come out again.
That is why Paul was quite enjoying his alone time in his cubicle. No one was giving him the time of day, too busy trying to get their work done in time so they could clock out and hurry into making preparations. Paul was privately glad that he had no hosting to be doing this year, he’d probably be out and about to his parent’s house with Richie for the holidays. Maybe Bill would be bugging him to accompany him to church, perhaps Richie’s school had some bazaar he’d be roped into as well. Nothing too exciting.
Typing away, Paul zoned off. When the sound of files being placed on his desk unceremoniously made him jump up in surprise. He snapped to the cause of the noise.
“Hey Paul.” Melissa said, a soft lull of a sound.
“Hey, Melissa.” He replied and a long pause lasted as Paul awaited. He cleared his throat, fiddling with a pen on his desk he didn’t remember using, “Can I help you?”
Melissa was still smiling wide at him as if he hung the moon and stars, tilting into his desk, but catching herself before she fell over. With an embarrassed flush on her face, “No, no. I…thanks for asking, you’re so kind.” Paul continued looking at her as she stumbled over her words, at odds on what to say – he would have been concerned too had he not been distracted by his own thoughts, “Well, what I wanted to come to you about was this.” She offered a flyer, Paul glanced down.
He had to blink a few times, a neon red covered the whole page – an unfortunate choice of a background colour. Really, when people associated neon green with radioactiveness, surely they had not seen this flyer. Because it was completely striking (to be kind). Second to striking – was it loud. Very much so. Busy was his eye as he scanned the page, littered with pictures of cats. This was not a product from corporate, that he was sure of.
“I made it! What do you think?” Unsurprising. Melissa was now looking at him with her big eyes, pinning him in place. He fiddled with the flyer.
“It’s…” He paused, contemplating, “Effective.”
That it was. The too yellow-y of lime text read to him with bold letters:
DIRTY SANTA
Melissa smiled at him, almost glowing with pride, “That’s so sweet, thank you, Paul. It took me weeks to make.”
“Did it?” Paul’s eyebrows furrowed, the words slipping out, “Looks…effortless.” In every sense of the word.
Melissa seemed to not catch the irony, she continued, “Yeah, and I’ve been giving out everyone’s Secret Santa. For the party and all.” She tilted her head, “You’re coming, aren’t you, Paul?”
Paul’s answer was immediate, “No thanks.”
“Oh.” Melissa said, “Do you have…a party to go to that day?”
“No.”
“Family gathering then?”
Paul shook his head, “Not really.”
“Oh, I know!” Melissa grinned, proud of herself, “You’ll be doing some charity work? Giving back to the community and all.”
A slight pause, “No.” Sounds dreadful.
Melissa looked stumped, noise wrinkling in confusion, “What is it then?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean ‘nothing’?”
“Nothing as in ‘nothing to do’.” Paul said with blunt honesty, “I’ll stay home with my nephew.”
Melissa frowned, crossing her arms, “You should totally come, Paul! It’ll be fun.” Her voice tilted with musicality, like a viper trying to lure him in.
“I think I’ll be okay.” Paul shrugged, beginning to turn back to his work, “Thanks anyway.”
Melissa seemed to want to press on the issue but saw Paul had already turned away and gave up. She quietly pressed the flyer with a small envelope on top of the files she brought, “Bye Paul. Hopefully I'll end up seeing you this Saturday.”
“Bye.” He doubted that.
She left. Paul turned back to his work (as in Facebook), glad to be disturbed no longer. The sound of the clearing of a throat interrupted that fantasy, prompting him to raise his head once more. Bill stared at him with narrowed eyes.
“What?” Paul asked. Surprised by the pinning gaze directed at him by his (usually) mild-mannered friend.
“It’s awfully rude to turn down a young lady, you know that, Paul? Especially when you have no reason to!” Bill shook his head, “I expected better from you of all people, Paul.”
Paul wondered if he should feel guilt. It took him only half a second to reach to a resounding no. He sighed, “Are you going to the office party, Bill?”
“Sure am. Unlike some, I do appreciate a good party.”
Paul looked anything but convinced, “Do you?”
“Hell yeah I do. Back in the day I perused the bars all the time, may I say.” Bill raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t you? In your college years?”
“I was a bit too busy caring for my nephew to have a nightlife.” Paul replied, flat. For the first time, Bill had the courtesy to look apologetic.
“Ah, right. That’s that.” Bill trailed off only for a moment before gaining back his previous energy, “Still, that’s more of a reason to come to the event on Saturday.”
“I don’t want to. I’d rather stay home and sleep.”
“What’s this about sleeping?” An unfortunately familiar voice slithered into the conversation, Ted Spankoffski hanging off of Paul’s cubicle separator, “Who’s messing around with who? Is it you, Billy-boy?”
Bill rolled his eyes, throwing a nasty look in Ted’s direction, “No one’s messing around with anyone! This is an adult conversation, Ted. Buzz off.”
“Actually, I have been thinking about buzzing it all off.” Ted said, ignoring the red in the face Bill fuming at his side, “But women like a bit of hair. You know how it is. Right, Matthews?”
Paul remained unimpressed, “I’m really not keen on answering that, Ted.” He turned back to Bill, “It’s still a no, sorry.”
“You’re pig-headed, you know that?”
Ted interrupted, raising a finger, “–Waitwaitwait, did I hear that right? Paul Matthews, you’re not coming to the party on Saturday?”
Paul raised his eyebrows, “No?”
“Why the hell not?”
Paul held back a groan of frustration, when in the world did people care that much about his social life? It felt like conversing with his mother when he was a teenager at that point. He pinched his nose, “Because I don’t want to. That simple.”
Ted placed both of his hands on his sides, taking a wide stance, “C’mon, dude. Don’t be a sourpuss.” He said, “You’re already a bore, don’t be a hermit too.”
“Is that supposed to convince him?” Bill asked, dryly. Ted elbowed Paul, the latter held back a pained sound.
“He knows I kid, Bill. Unlike you, Paul and I have a great relationship. Right, Paul?”
“Not really.” Paul answered honestly, as he often did. It seemed to go right over Ted’s head though (as things often did too), because he continued like Paul had agreed with him.
“Right. Which is why he'll come to the party – just for me.” He said, “I mean, come on. It’s called Dirty Santa, nothing could be better than that.”
“I’m sure for you that would be the case.” Bill said, “With the creep you are! But, Paul’s nothing like you.”
Paul felt reclined to agree. The name Dirty Santa could only deter him from attending (even more than he already was determined to avoid it).
Ted shrugged, “I’m a simple man, Bill. Put the word dirty in front of anything and I’ll go watch it.”
Much like a caveman, Paul thought.
“Anyway.” Ted continued, “You have your Secret Santa, if you don't come. Then it basically ruins the game.”
“When have you ever cared for fairness, Ted?”
“You’re a horrible judge of character, Billy-boy. I always play fair.”
Bill sighed, “I hate to agree with Ted–”
“Rude.”
“But, he’s right on that one. You should at least drop your gift even if you don't stay.”
Paul felt horribly robbed by that. He didn’t even want to come! Shouldn’t he agree before he was included in the very thing he didn’t want to do? He sighed, he really couldn’t care less. And he hadn’t even glanced at the piece of paper.
If it’s Ted then I can skip this without remorse.
“I’ll see.” Paul mumbled, just to get them off his back.
They both nodded in satisfaction, awfully in sync.
Just in time Charlotte passed by them, catching the end of the conversation. She looked horrifyingly scandalised.
“Paul, you’re not coming to the party?” Dear God.
~~~
Hours later. Paul was in his car, he carelessly unfolded the piece of paper. Squinting down at the name scribbled down.
Please be Ted, please be Ted. Please be someone I don’t care about offending.
The paper stared back at him mockingly.
Charlotte. Sweet, sweet Charlotte.
Fuck.
~~~
Paul sat on his uncomfortable leather couch (when did he ever think it was cool?). Phone in hand as he began googling ideas for gifts.
“She likes coffee, maybe I could get her a mug.”
He shook his head. He turned back to Google. It greatly frustrated him that when he searched gifts for women, all the websites listed were for ‘Gifts for Her’. The items suggested being all from nightwear clothes to scented candles (that must be a HR violation. And if not that then cheap as fuck)
At this point, one might wonder why did Paul Matthews, the one known for his inane ability to really not give a fuck, searched to such lengths for a Christmas gift for Charlotte Sweetly,
It all started on New Year's 2010, a year into his work at CCRP Headquarters. In a setting much like this one, a Dirty Santa game in order, he was gifted handmade gloves from none other than Charlotte Sweetly. She had known him for only a year and went to such lengths to give him such a gift.
Then followed 2013, once more she was his Secret Santa, she got him heated slippers. Everyone knows what hell is winter in Hatchetfield, Michigan. So these were very much appreciated.
Year 2014, noise cancelling headphones. Ones that she got him because she noticed he often disliked noise-polluted areas.
In 2015, she got him a paperboy hat after she learned he used to deliver newspapers for years. Just to poke at him.
In 2016, a vinyl record with all the hit alternative pieces of the 90s. Which she swore wasn’t that expensive. Paul did not believe her.
And 2017, last year, she got him a heated coffee mug because he kept complaining how quickly his coffee would get cold.
Long story made short, Charlotte always got him well-thought out gifts, he couldn’t just buy her socks for goodness sake!
Which led him to this dilemma, what should he get her then?
~~~
Richie shrugged when asked if he was planning anything on Saturday.
“Dunno.” He spoke with a full mouth, still chewing on the mac and cheese.
Paul sighed. His nephew would be staying at home too then. That’s that.
~~~
It was Friday and he was still stumped. The best he had come up with was a tea set. But then he remembered he didn’t have money for a tea set. Also Charlotte was not the type to have tea sets of all things. She used the same three mugs for her coffee interchangeably. Next was a kindle tablet, but Charlotte was notorious about liking the feeling of a book in her hands.
That’s all he had come up with and it was the result of hours-long research. It felt pathetic, he couldn’t lie. When did he become so terrible at gift-giving?
His self-pity session was interrupted by the bearer of his struggles.
“Paul, dear, you’re standing in front of the coffee machine.”
Paul snapped out of his thoughts, looking at Charlotte, she nodded at the coffee machine behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, catching himself.
“Ah, right. Sorry about that.” He moved to the side, gesturing for her to move to it. He sipped from his mug. It was still warm thanks to that damn heated mug Charlotte bought him. The heat only reminded him of his struggles.
“Are you alright? You seem…tense.” Charlotte asked as she poured the coffee in her cat-themed mug. She liked cats, perhaps he could get her a…a pet. He shook his head, no, a living animal is not an appropriate Christmas gift to get to your co-worker.
“Paul?” Charlotte asked again, Paul blinked.
“Oh, uh – I’m doing good, Charl. Don’t worry about me.” He sipped on his coffee, “Just thinking.”
“Thinking, huh?” Charlotte said, "Ain't that swell. Anything I can help with, you think?”
Yes actually, give me a list of your top ten must haves so I can get you one of them. Preferably something that can fit in my very limited budget.
Paul did not in fact say that, instead:
“Don’t think so, I’m afraid.”
Charlotte nodded, taking a long sip, savouring the taste, “Sure then. I’ll see you around, alright, Paul?”
“Okay.”
Charlotte turned away, retreating towards the door when something fell from her pocket. Paul leaned down to pick it up.
“Hey, Charlotte. You dropped something.” He took a good look at it, it was a small bottle that was labeled lavender oil. He frowned.
Charlotte turned around, taking the bottle from his hands, “Ah, right. Thanks.”
Paul’s curiosity got the better of him, “What’s that?”
Charlotte bit at her nails, “Lavender oil, it helps with sleep and whatnot.”
“Why do you need that?”
“Well, y’know. I’ve been havin’ some trouble sleeping for a couple of weeks. Drivin’ me nuts.” She laughed, an awkward sound, “This sorta helps.”
“Oh.” Paul said, “Okay.”
“Yeah.” Charlotte cleared her throat, “Well, uh, see ya Paul.”
“Bye.”
Paul sighed. Turning back to staring at the wall. This conversation not gotten him any closer to figuring out what to do.
~~~
Melissa was staring at him in a very much strange way. He didn’t want to be rude, but even he could spot the intense eye contact she kept making his way. He focused on typing out the spreadsheet he was supposed to have finished by now.
After a minute, he glanced up and she was gone.
Very quickly he forgot about the whole incident altogether.
~~~
“Figured out what you wanna do?”
Paul snapped out of his stupor, placing a hand over his heart, “My God, Bill. You scared the crap out of me.”
Bill did not look apologetic in the slightest, raising his eyebrows in question, “Well? Reached your decision yet?”
Paul sighed, “About what?”
“The party, stupid!” Bill rolled his eyes, “You coming, or not?”
Paul massaged his temple, “Why do you care, Bill?”
“Because you’re my friend, Paul!” Bill said. Paul raised his eyebrows, not believing for a second that’s the only reason for Bill’s adamancy.
It took only a minute for his friend to break. Bill cleared his throat, face flushing in embarrassment, “And well…”
“Yes?” Paul asked.
“Ah, fuck it.” Bill’s eyebrows furrowed, a very serious look on his face, “I need emotional support.” Knew it. Paul relished in his small victory. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
“From me? Why?”
Bill pursed his lips, taking a second to decide if he wanted to tell Paul or not. He leaned down, whispering as if he were sharing a conspiracy, “I have Ted as my Secret Santa.”
Paul couldn’t help but laugh, “Okay? What’s the issue with that?”
Bill scowled at him, not amused at his reaction, “Okay?” He echoed Paul, in disbelief, “That’s all? It’s just my luck to have that rotten egg as my Secret Santa!”
“That’s a bit dramatic, don't you think?”
“I really don’t think so! And I don’t appreciate you downplaying this, Paul.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Paul said, raising his hands in surrender, “You’re right. It is very serious.”
“That’s right.” Bill was frowning at him in a very serious fashion. It was almost funny.
“So.” Paul said, “What are you getting him?”
Bill shrugged, “I have no idea.”
They were on the same boat then. Paul had considered asking Bill what he thought about his predicament, but at this point he recognised Bill was too busy trying to figure out his situation to be helpful.
“You could get him a beanie.” Paul suggested.
“No.” Bill sounded pained, “That doesn’t sound right. And anything above twenty dollars is too much to spend on a Spankoffski. ”
“That kind of limits things.”
“Trust me.” Bill sighed, “I know. At this point I’ll just get him socks and be done with it.”
“What’s this about socks?” Ted appeared in the blink of an eye, this man must be sneaking up on them purposefully, “Whaddya talking about?”
“Gifts.” Paul said, scratching the back of his head.
“Lame.” Ted drew the world. Hands behind his head, “That’s the most unoriginal gift of all.”
“What are you getting your Secret Santa then?” Bill said, a defensive tilt in his words. Paul threw him a look.
Ted was oblivious to it all, clicking his tongue as he thought, “Something that’s within my budget.”
Paul frowned, “What is your budget then?”
Ted grinned, “Five dollars.”
Both Paul and Bill stared at Ted with blank expressions, in complete shock.
“Five dollars?” Bill asked, properly at odds, hands on his hips, “You…you jerk!”
Ted raised an eyebrow, “What’s wrong with a budget? All the finance dudes preach on and on about how important budgets are.” He said, “And I’m very responsible with my money.”
“Didn’t you buy two-hundred dollars worth of baseball gloves because ‘they looked cool’?” Paul asked, voice blank.
Ted scoffed, “And they did! All the ladies loved touching them, and that’s not the only thing they touched, if you know what I mean–”
They did in fact know what he meant, Ted was never subtle with his gross innuendo talk.
“You’re rancid, man.” Bill said, eyebrows knitted together.
“Whatever, Billy-boy.” Ted cleared his throat, “Welp, I’ve gotta go. Good talk, boys.”
As Ted walked away, Bill and Paul shared a meaningful look.
A part of Paul told him that Bill would not stick to his previous twenty dollar budget after all. He’d be shocked if it would be higher than ten.
~~~
The bell above the door of Beanie’s announced his entrance. The creepy cardboard cut out of Basil the Bean, Beanie’s mascot (Nora had taped a cardboard cut out of a Santa hat on top of its head) grinned at him. Shivers run down his spine, they still hadn’t gotten rid of it?
Paul nibbled on his lips, having run away from work when Bill’s sulking became too much for him to bear. He really couldn’t deal with his friend’s issue at the moment, he had his own stuff to figure out.
Speaking of which. He glanced around Beanie’s. It was surprisingly festive, Christmas garlands decorating the doors, adding a certain pizzazz to the coffee shop. To the very right, a slender – quite short Christmas tree was decorated with mint green and white decorations. The lights turn on and flashed colourfully. On one of the tables a menorah lit up as well. A mistletoe hung on the front of the registry. Behind the counter, the familiar figure of Emma Perkins was scrolling on her phone, seemingly bored out of her mind.
“Welcome to Beanie’s, how may I help you?” She asked in a monotone voice, not having glanced up once.
“A coffee would be nice.” Paul said. That snapped Emma out of whatever cloud she was on.
“Paul, Jesus fuck – finally. I was wondering when you’d drop by.”
Paul tried to bite back his smile, but it broke through anyway, “Hey Emma.” He greeted her with half a wave. Despite how awkward it must have looked, she still smiled at him the same. An amused glint in her eyes.
“Hey, man. Let me guess. A black coffee?”
“Crazy, right?” He asked, a bit self-depricating. She shrugged.
“Better than the usual long-winded order. You couldn’t believe what my ears have endured today.”
“That bad?”
“Oh, you know it.” Emma started on his order, ranting as she usually did, “You would have thought from the five new limited edition Christmas drinks that Nora stole from Starbucks’ recipe books that all drinks would have an equal amount of orders, right?” She said, “Nope. Everyone keeps ordering the Peppermint fucking Mocha, the one with y’know the twelve whole pumps of syrup each if its a venti?” Emma shook her head, “The smell alone is enough to make me sick.”
“That’s a lot.” Paul agreed.
“That’s a fuckin’ understatement.” Emma said, “In addition to that special sort of hell, Nora has made us learn a new tip song that’s more and I quote festive.” Emma narrowed down at the coffee cup which she was currently putting the lid on, “For preview, it contains the phrase ‘Santa’s helper gal.’. Need I say more?”
“That…sure paints a picture.”
Emma snorted a laugh, shaking her head as she gave him the cup, “Yeah. And don’t get me started on the fucking mistetoe here–” She begun but then paused. Offering him a look, as if analysing him.
She was raising an eyebrow at him at the moment, “Hey.” She cleared her throat, “Uh, enough about me. What’s up with you?”
Paul offered the money for the coffee, “What do you mean?”
“You look…perplexed.” She leaned forward on the counter, raising an eyebrow, “You sure you’re okay?”
Paul sighed, taking a sip – perfect, “I’ve been trying to figure out what to get my coworker, Charlotte, for Christmas.” He looked at her knowingly, she stared back blankly in turn.
“You think I know your work friends’ names?”
Paul paused, “That’s fair–” “–Anyway, yeah that’s it. I have no idea what to get her.” He looked off to the side, “I’ve never been good at this gift-giving business.”
“Yeah same.”
Paul’s shoulders drooped, for some reason he thought Emma of all people would have his answer. Emma seemed to notice his reaction, because she smiled apologetically, “Sorry, Paul. I can’t help you.” She paused, “But, I guess I’d say you could get her something…practical? I think that’s better than novelty items anyway.”
“You think?”
“Sure.” She shrugged, “But then again I have literally zero family to have the obligation to give gifts to so take my words with a grain of salt.”
At that, Paul couldn’t help but chuckle. This was the most useful advice he’s been given yet, “Thanks, Emma. You were a big help.” He tipped the coffee in her direction, “I’ll see you around?”
“No problem, Paul.” She smiled, nodding, “And yeah, I’ll see you. Happy Holidays.”
“Happy Holidays.”
Something practical. Curious
~~~
‘Something practical’ was in fact, turns out, vague as fuck, Paul realised this on his way back home. What was practical? Well toothbrushes were, but that’s not really a good Christmas gift, was it?
And the worst part was that he really did not have that much time to ponder. It was Friday, unless by some miracle the whole calendar system transformed to his benefit. Somehow Paul doubted that.
He unlocked his apartment door, he got inside. The moment he did, he heard a faint sound of laughter. Paul frowned, he closed the door behind him and followed the sound. Leading him to Richie’s bedroom, he knocked.
“Come in.” Richie’s voice was muffled by the door.
Paul stepped inside. Finding…
“Ruth.” Paul said, “And I thought I heard someone.”
Ruth was currently kicking her feet, laying on her stomach on the bed as Richie was fiddling with an item in his hands. The mini TV turned on, but on mute. Biology textbooks laid out on the floor, but clearly neglected in favour of their gossip session, “Hi Paul.” She looked down on the floor where one of the textbooks laid, “We’re studying.”
“Yes.” Richie nodded a few times more than was necessary, “That’s what we’re doing. We’re studying.”
Somehow, and call Paul crazy, he doubted that.
“Okay…” He raised his eyebrows, hand on the door knob, “Where’s Pete? How come he’s not with you?”
Richie shrugged, “Someone’s a tiny bit too busy for that. Right Ruth?” He shot an unsubtle look at Ruth, she nodded.
“Oh yeah. He’s with Stephanie Lauter.”
Richie gave her a look, “You weren’t supposed to say that.”
“Why not? Paul’s cool.” This is the only context that Paul was called that, which wasn’t ironic, he found.
“Yeah right.” Richie said in a way teenagers often do regarding their guardians.
Paul ignored it, “My lips are sealed.” He raised his hands in surrender, he glanced down, “Hey, Richie. What are you holding there, bud?”
Richie glanced down in his lap as if he just remembered what was in his hands, he showed it off, “Stress ball. Ruth gave it to me. As a gift.”
Paul tilted his head, curious, “What’s it for?”
Richie looked at him as if he’s got a screw loose, “It’s for stress. Because, y’know, it’s a stress ball.”
“Right.” He shouldn’t have expected any better, “That’s a nice gift, did you thank Ruth, Richie?”
His nephew rolled his eyes again, “I did, Paul.”
“Good.” Paul said, he recognised when his nephew was trying to get rid of him, “Well, I’ll go lay down now. It was nice seeing you, Ruth. You should come by more often.”
“Bye, Paul!” An enthusiastic wave.
“Okay, okay you said bye already, now leave!”
Paul puffed a laugh, closing the door behind him. Kids…
Suddenly, it was as if a light bulb lit above his head.
Stress, huh? Something practical…
His eyes widened. Paul had to go. And had to go right now. Before Lakeside mall was closed for today.
For the first time in a while, he felt good about this.
~~~
It was Saturday. Paul was rotting on the uncomfortable leather couch, which was both cold and made him sweat at the same time. The clock read 5 o’clock, and Paul hadn’t moved an inch. The small red and green gift bag with a name tag reading Charlotte laid on the dining table. Untouched.
He really did not want to go. And he had ignored his phone for this exact reason. No messages from his co-workers (read: Bill) to psych him out of coming. He didn't need any more encouragement, thank you.
At about 6:05 on the dot, there was a knock on the door. Paul sighed, half-raising himself from the couch before he heard wild footsteps, and the blurry silhouette of Richie rushing to get the door.
“Richie?”
His nephew ignored him, opening the door. Paul heard a familiar voice:
“Richie, dude. You ready to party?”
Paul paused. He didn’t have time to react. His nephew’s voice was rushed as he was already pushing the door close, “I’ll meet you outside, give me five minutes at most.”
“Richie–”
“Max Jagerman?” Paul broke through the rushed whispers, eyebrows knitted. Immediately, Richie was pushed out of the way. The teenager groaned and leaned his back into the door, as if accepting his fate.
“Matthews, dude!” Max greeted him with a small wave, much like an thrilled toddler would, a wide grin and messy hair. The teenager was wearing beat up jeans and a graphic tee of a band Paul did not recognise.
“Max.” Paul said flatly, now staring through Richie who was avoiding eye-contact, “What brings you here?”
Max either did not interpret his tone, or ignored it all together because he shrugged, “Richie and I are goin’ to a party at Brenda’s, it’s goin’ to be epic.”
“Is it now?” Paul found the strength to stand up, trying to sport his serious uncle voice (which he very rarely used, thank you), “Is that right, Richie?”
Richie sighed, shoulders drooping, “It is.” He placed his hands under his armpits, “Max, I’ll meet you outside.”
“Totally cool, man. See you, Matthews.”
“Bye, Max.”
The teenager left. Paul and Richie held intense eye contact before Richie sighed heavily.
“Sorry.”
“Sorry?” Paul raised his eyebrows in question, “About what?”
“For trying to hide…whatever that was.”
Paul sighed, “I just want you to trust me, Richie. Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me you were planning on going to a party?” Paul would have been delighted to hear that, he trusted his nephew for the most part – to not get in trouble that is. He felt oddly…hurt. But also a tad of guilt, he had completely forgotten his nephew throughout all of this. Having asked him once of his plans and then focusing on his own worries.
“It’s just.” Richie cleared his throat awkwardly, “I knew you were going to stay alone at home…like usual. I felt bad for leaving you on your own here.” Ouch. His own nephew felt bad for him, that did wonders to his pride.
“I would have been fine, you know that, bud.”
Richie shrugged, “Yeah, obviously. But you’re always sulking and y’know. I want to spend…” Richie paused, looking pained, “Spend, well uh time with you. So…”
“You don’t have to say any more.” Paul said. Seeing his nephew sigh in relief thereafter.
“Thank God.”
Paul wasn’t expecting that that’s how his nephew felt. I guess he must look sort of pathetic while he stays at home while everyone else is at social events. He had guessed that Richie was similar to him enough that he would never mind not being dragged out to social events like other kids were.
Maybe he was wrong.
“We could go to Bill’s dinner party tomorrow if you want.” Paul did not want to go to the Woodward Roast, but if Richie…
“Please no.” Ah, maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong.
Paul laughed, “Come on now. Go to your friend. Remember–”
“I know. Don’t get drunk, no drugs and no jaywalking.”
He usually never said it with that order, but technically that was correct.
“Good. Have fun.”
“You too.” Richie said, offering him a look. Paul sighed.
Now even his nephew wanted him to go to that damn party. No allies were on his side–
Unless…
~~~
Em [06:18 P.M]: Paul Matthews, I swear to god if you dont go to that lameass party
Em [06:19 P.M]: Ill make you eat Basil
Nevermind.
~~~
Paul was second-guessing actually going from the time he changed into his Christmas sweater and some jeans, to the whole drive to the CCRP office. He had the free will to just…not go. He was an adult. Yet…
The gift for Charlotte lay on the passenger seat. It looked back at him innocently. He sighed, putting on his seatbelt he started the car.
He pulled up in the employee parking lot, leaning his head back on the headrest, considering. A loud knock on his window pulled him out of his stupor. Paul jerked up, eyes wide. He heard muffled laughter from the other side of his car window. Familiar.
“Ted?” Paul frowned, “What the hell?” He grabbed the gift and got out of the car, locking it when he did. Ted was wearing the exact same outfit he usually did, with the exception of a tie that was littered in gingerbread. Are those the only clothes he has? Paul thought.
“Decided to show up after all, didn’t you Pauly-Pal?” Ted said.
“I did, I had to drop my secret Santa’s gift by.” Paul said, already beginning to walk away. Ted caught up with him.
“Really? Let me see–” Paul expertly switched the bag from one hand to the other before Ted’s grimy hands could get on it.
“Where’s your gift, Ted?” Paul asked, casting him a glance. Ted whistled:
“It’s a surprise, Pauly.” Pauly? Paul sighed. That only meant trouble when those words came from the office sleazeball. He remembered last year’s Secret Santa. Ted had brought Melissa a dancing hula girl for her car. It was…questionable coming from him.
They made their way to the lift. Paul looked at himself on the reflective surface of the elevator’s walls. He sighed. How overstimulating could this be?
~~~
Turns out. very much so.
Once the elevator’s doors slid open, he was bombarded with rows of laughter and booming festive music which bounces on the walls. He placed a hand on his head, considering just pressing the button back to the reception before he was noticed. But that would be too convenient.
Ted placed a hand on his shoulder, calling out to everyone before Paul could reach to the arrays of button:
“Hello, friend-os. Guess who I’ve got here?” You’ve got to be kidding me.
Many pairs of eyes turned to them. Paul searched for a hole to hide in, yet there were none. Ted pulled him in with him and the elevator doors slowly, agonisingly closed, as if bidding him goodbye. His only escape, gone.
Okayokayokayokay–
“Ooh open bar.” Ted said, right next to his ears – Paul winced, he slapped his shoulder, “Sorry, pal. I’ve gots to go.” Before he could even finish that sentence, he was already moving away. There he goes, pulled me into this whole mess and now ditched me too.
Charlotte passed by him, “Hey, Paul.”
“Hi, Charl.” He held the gift bag awkwardly in his arms, she noticed it.
“You can leave that over there by the tree.”
Paul sighed in relief, “Thanks a ton.”
“No problem!”
As he moved towards the Christmas tree, he paused. It was…quaint, to be kind. Like a wind could blow it down with a light breeze, the decorations were coloured gold and red – though they were sparsely placed, the majority of branches left empty. It even drooped a tad, how festive.
He placed the gift bag next to the rest of the presents. There were five that Paul could count, he frowned, there were six of them. Then he remembered Ted, right he pro–
“Paul.” He was pulled to the side, Bill’s voice heavy with panic. Paul frowned.
“Woah. Hey, buddy. What is it?” But he was being pulled to the very far right of the office, right next to the water cooler (where no one lingered)
“I think I messed up, man.” Bill was biting at his fingernails, glancing around at times.
“Messed up?”
“Yeah.” Bill cleared his throat, “Remember how we were talking about my gift to…him?”
Paul glanced where Bill was glaring at, Ted was currently shoving his face with the sausage rolls. Paul glanced at Bill, concerned, “I do…?”
“Yeah, well.” Bill looked pained, “I may have gotten him something bad.”
“And?” Paul raised his eyebrows, “How bad could it be? He probably deserves it.”
“Very bad.” Bill was completely serious now.
Paul grew even more concerned, “Bill. Unless you’ve gotten him a used giftcard or something to that effect, I’m sure it'll be fine.”
Bill did not look convinced.
Before either of them could discuss further, Melissa came over
“Hey, Paul!” She said, looking at him with wide eyes. She was wearing a cat sweater with Christmas lights wrapped around it, “We’re opening the gifts.”
“Oh okay.”
“Great!” She walked away. Not having even glanced at Bill’s direction.
Bill did not seem to even notice though, sighing deeply, “Maybe I should just go.”
Paul’s eyes lit up, “Great idea, Bill. Let’s go through the fire escape.”
“You think?”
Another call out, “Paul, you’re going first!”
Fuck.
~~~
Everyone gathered around the tree, rolling chairs placed so everyone could sit as well.
“So, as you might have noticed on my flyer.” Melissa spoke with a special amount of pride, one which someone carried when they’re very certain they did a great job, “We’re playing Dirty Santa–”
“Oh we know.”
“Shut up, Ted.” Bill hissed.
“Right, well. It’s different from Secret Santa. This time, everyone is able to choose to either open their own gift, or steal someone else’s and so on and so forth.”
“Sounds like a conflict-free game, doesn’t it?” Mr. Davidson said, appearing from nowhere. He was wearing what could only be called a Christmas suit, one littered with patterns that should be only kept on Christmas sweaters, but now are a pattern for both the suit pants and jacket. Paul blinked.
Melissa continued as if nothing weird happened at all, “Yes, Mr. Davidson. Well, let’s start with Paul.” She looked at him under her eyelashes, “Will you open your beautifully wrapped gift, or get one of the other ones?”
Paul got up, glancing at his options. His was wrapped with bright pink wrapping paper with a pattern of bows. He glanced back at Melissa who was staring right through him, he cleared his throat, feeling it’s dry, “I’ll choose mine.”
He leaned down, picking it up in his arms and sitting down to his chair, unwrapping it carefully. He never did like to rip wrapping paper apart. A box, he opened it and what stared back at him was…
“A beanie.” With cat ears at the top of it, as part of the design.
“Do you like it?” Melissa asked, a sweet smile on her face, “I crocheted it myself!”
Paul could see it was masterfully made, yes. But, for a reason he couldn’t name, he felt strange looking at it. He tried to smile, “It’s very soft.” At least that was not a lie.
“I’m so glad.” Melissa said. Paul felt a tang of guilt at not liking this gift, but he bit it down. Maybe he could give it to Richie, who could give it to someone else, hopefully.
Bill smiled at him too, with an intensity that screamed, be nice.
“Thank you, Melissa.” He added. Melissa beamed.
“You’re welcome, Paul! I made it for you since I knew you’d made the cutest Puss with those.”
“Yeah, Paul would make a cute puss, wouldn’t he?” Ted was grinning, Bill, who was sitting next to him, glared daggers at him, “What–?”
Before he could continue, Melissa interrupted, “Charlotte is next!” She smiled, her eyes closed with how much she was smiling, gesturing towards the tree, “So, what would you like to do? Keep or steal?” The latter Melissa said absentmindedly.
Charlotte glanced at her gift, Paul’s small gift bag (compared to the other larger gifts, it did look pathetic, he thought). His hands tightened into fists, he wondered if he was sweating,
After taking her time, she smiled apologetically at Paul, “I might get that off your hands, Paul.”
Whistles filled the room, clapping at the first indication of a steal. Paul’s eyes widened, “What?”
“I’ve been searching for a good hat now that it’s a colder season. That one looks swell.”
Wait.
Did that mean?
“So she can’t look at her original gift now?” Bill asked, oblivious to Paul’s turmoil.
Melissa was silent.
“Nope.” Mr. Davidson answered, glancing at Melissa, “She can’t.”
“Sorry, Paul.” Charlotte smiled and Paul laughed at the irony.
So he did all that hustle… “It’s fine, Charl. Part of the game.” …for nothing?
She took Melissa’s gift from him. Speaking of which.
Melissa was still smiling, but there was a glint in her eyes, Paul did not notice that however, “That was unexpected! How fun!” She said in a higher tone, “Well, Paul. You’ve got to pick a new gift now that yours was stolen.”
“Okay…” He looked at the gifts, those that were left were for: Melissa, Charlotte, Ted and Mr. Davidson (Bill’s was still not here, strangely enough), “I’ll take this one.” Marked for Mr. Davidson.
“Ha-ha, Paul. Good one.” Paul could never tell when the man was serious or not.
He unwrapped it and it was…a box of fountain pens, he blinked, “That’s lucky.”
“You’re happy with my gift, Paul?” Still not sure if he was being sarcastic.
Paul laughed awkwardly. Melissa spared him from replying:
“Okay, then. Since you’re set. The next is Bill.”
Bill smiled, standing up and looking for his own gift. Which he did not find, “Where the hell is it?”
“Right here.” Ted called out, the lights closed and there came…a woman?
She was dressed in a promiscuous Santa costume with Christmas lights wrapped around her, Ted was standing by her with a boombox playing the hit song ‘Santa Baby’. The room was silent. The woman was dancing slightly and moving towards Bill.
“Woah, woah.” Bill moved back, a hand up, the woman stopped. Glancing back at Ted, “What the hell is happening?”
“Only the best thing in your life. Merry Christmas, Billy-boy. This is Samanatha, and she’s a great dancer.”
“You brought me a prostitute?”
“It’s called a sex worker, Bill. Get with the times, grandpa!” Ted rolled his eyes, “It’s just a lap dance, dude. Nothing weird. Besides they say get a gift you'd want, don't they?”
“This is weird! This is so weird!”
“I didn’t take you for a prude.” Ted said, unceremoniously turning on the lights and the music off, “So you’re not getting the lap dance?”
“Obviously not!” Bill said, throwing his arms in the air, “What spirit possessed you to think I want this?”
Ted shrugged, “Ever since your divorce–”
Bill gasped, “Oh, that’s it now! You know what? I don’t even feel bad about giving you coal.”
Silence.
Ted stared, mouth agape, “You did what?”
“You heard me! Or is your hearing as impaired as your brain is?”
“No, you didn’t.” Ted said, eyes narrowing, “You’re bluffing.”
“Go check.” Bill shrugged.
“That’s not how the game is–” Melissa tried to intervene. But Ted was already going to his gift, ripping it open. Coal scattered on the floor, he glared at Bill.
“You– I can’t believe you!”
“Serves – you – right.” Bill crossed his arms, lowering to his seat.
“I want a new gift.” Ted scowled, turning to Melissa. She shrugged.
“You can’t change it. You already opened it.”
“That’s so unfair.”
Bill begun to stand up to speak, but Melissa threw him a look:
“Mr. Davidson. It’s your turn.”
Mr. Davidson scratched his nose, not even commenting on whatever exhange that was between his employees, “Since my gift was stolen.” He threw a look at Paul, “I’ll take that off your hands, Ted. These will go great for my barbecue.”
“Take them.” Ted said, immediately turning to Melissa, “I choose now, right?”
Melissa nodded. Ted sighed in relief.
“Samantha. We’ll talk later.”
She shrugged, looking unbothered by the whole incident that happened just a few moments ago. Sitting at a nearby chair, crossed legs.
“Now…it’s my turn.” Melissa said, looking at the two gifts left. Her own and Charlotte’s. A glint was in her eyes, “I’ll take…this one.” She threw a look at Charlotte as she grabbed her gift and opened it without waiting.
A gift set for teabags that read ‘Relax Tea’. Made of herbs that help relaxation and insomnia.
Charlotte immediately looked at him, he gave her an awkward smile.
“Oh.” Melissa trailed off, unimpressed, “That’s…thoughtful.” She said it in a tone of someone who was very much unhappy but was trying to hide it.
“What now?” Paul asked, glancing at the lone gift labeled ‘for Melissa’ in the middle.
Melissa sighed, “We’ll ask everyone one by one if they want to keep or steal another gift for the last time.”
Before anyone could speak, Bill flew up from his seat, “I’m taking that damn tea. God knows I’ll need it tonight.” He shot a deathly look at Ted. Charlotte and Paul shared a panicked look, but it was too late.
Melissa all but threw it to him, “Okay! Now me. I’m choosing my original gift.”
She grabbed it, and unwrapped it. An office set, “Much better.” She glanced at Paul, “You want to steal anything?” There was an underlying meaning but Paul was oblivious to it.
“No thanks.”
“You’re sure?” Melissa asked again, glancing at Charlotte’s hands.
“I’m sure.”
A long pause, “Alright.” Melissa shifted, glancing at everyone, “Who wants to change their gift?”
Charlotte opened her mouth, Melissa’s eyes narrowed, “You want to trade my beanie, Charlotte?” She asked in that sweetest tone. Charlotte paused, hesitant. She shook her head.
“Uhm, no. I don’t.”
Melissa stared for a long second, then grinned, “Great! We can go back to the party now, yay! Game over.”
Thank God.
~~~
It was an awkward half an hour before Paul decided it was time to go. There was enough grooving that he felt a tad sick, and Ted was beginning to sneak in even more of ‘Santa Baby’ and Mariah Carey that he cared for.
Before he could get to the elevator door though, Charlotte grabbed his arm, “Hey…Paul?”
“Yes, Charl?”
“Thanks for the thoughtful gift.” She said, cutting right to the case, “It was unbelievably sweet.”
“But…you didn’t get it in the end.” Paul said, frowning.
“You think?” She smiled at him, revealing from behind her back…the gift set.
“How?”
“I convinced Bill that the beanie would be a great gift to his daughter. He agreed.”
Paul was stunned, “That’s…wow. You like this then?”
“‘Course I do, Paul. That’s the best gift someone could have given me. Thank you.” She went in for a hug, Paul delivered. A warmth in his chest he couldn’t describe. Knowing that he gave Charlotte even a third of his own happiness over the years with his present felt…big. Like the sentiment could swallow him whole.
He didn’t know what to say, and Charlotte seemed to understand, she patted his arm, “Go now before the karaoke starts.” She smiled at him.
Paul puffed a laugh, “Good call. Merry Christmas, Charl.”
“Merry Christmas, Paul.”
And if Paul Matthews grinning from ear to ear on his way back home, no one was none the wiser .
~~~
The ravaging of noise. Paul groggily opened his eyes, yawning. What in the world…?
He glanced at his clock, it read 3:06 AM, his eyebrows furrowed. A pinch of concern. Was he being robbed?
Now that he was more aware he realised the ‘ravaging noise’ was actually the opening and closing of cupboards. Probably not robbers.
He got up and opened the lights of the living room. Richie was looking at him as if he had been caught with the hand in the cookie jar.
“Richie…?” Paul frowned, glancing around. He heard the faint sound of a car pulling out from the parking lot, “Did you just come home?”
“Uh…” Richie rubbed his eyes, “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Not when you say it like that.”
Richie pursed his lips, “....yes?”
Paul gave him a look. Richie sighed and turned back to the kitchen.
“What are you making?”
“Pop tarts.”
“Did you have fun at the party?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” At least he didn’t seem drunk. But, even if Paul wouldn’t ask, he could tell Richie was just the tiny bit tipsy, “Who drove you home?”
“Max’s chauffeur did.”
Paul nodded to himself, “Great.” He yawned. He should go to sleep before Bill blows his phone with phone calls for church, like he did every year, “Good night, Richie.”
“Night.”
Paul turned to leave.
“Paul?” Richie said. Paul looked over his shoulder, his nephew was looking awkward, staring at the poptart in his hands, “Merry Christmas.”
Paul smiled, small – subtle, “Merry Christmas, Richie.” That warmth again.
And he went to sleep. Dreaming of nothing.