Not sure if I needed to hear about my boss and this particular kind of passion in the same sentence, but more power to her. I hope someone still wants to rip my clothes off when I’m in my fifties.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Oh, a lot of little things that probably seemed about as petty as our arguments these days. I’m not sure either of us could pinpoint a single event that caused it.” She says this breezily, but she’s not making eye contact. Instead she’s watching Seth across the room, laughing with a trio of anchors and their spouses. “I figured one of us would leave KSEA, give the other some breathing room. But either we’re both too committed to the station or we’re playing the world’s longest game of chicken.”
I think about that for a long moment as the band starts playing a jazzy version of “Winter Wonderland” and couples head to the dance floor. I get the distinct sense there’s more to the story, but I’m not about to push.
“Plus,” she continues, “our son Patrick—his wife’s pregnant. Due in May. I never thought I’d feel this way, but I can’t wait to be a grandmother.” At that, her face changes, smile turning genuine. “I wasn’t close with my grandparents, and I always wish I’d been. I love the idea of being able to babysit whenever they need it, being there for every birthday and holiday. I don’t think I could leave Seattle. And I’m guessing Seth feels the same way.”
“That’s really great,” I say, meaning it. Of all the things I didn’t expect from Torrance tonight, a confession that she can’t wait to be a grandmother is near the top of the list. That gooey center of my heart—it’s fully activated. “My brother has five-year-old twins, and they’re pretty fantastic.”
“You should bring them by the station sometime. Give them a tour.” Torrance covers my hand with hers. Her nails are painted silver with tiny white snowflakes. “And Ari, we should really talk more.” I don’t point out that she’s been the one doing most of the talking, and I don’t care if she’s drunk—this is too nice. I want to enjoy it as long as I can.
Buoyed, I turn back to my cookies, biting off Santa’s ruby-cheeked face. It tastes a whole lot sweeter than it did a few minutes ago.
Seth waltzes up to us. “Excuse me, ladies,” he says in this faux debonair tone that makes me cringe. “I’ve come with a peace offering. How about a dance, Tor? For old times’ sake?”
“You remember,” she says, eyes lighting up.
“Of course. How many people’s favorite Christmas song is ‘Run Rudolph Run’？”
“Plenty,” she insists, like this is something they’ve joked about for years.
“I feel like I owe it to you after the white elephant debacle.” Seth gives me a half-hearted shrug, as though that’s all he needs to do to be forgiven. “Sorry about that, Ari.”
“I guess I can’t say no to that.” Torrance throws a look over her shoulder at me as she takes Seth’s hand, as though to say, this is what I meant.
And to my utter shock, the two of them start swing dancing, Torrance laughing as Seth twirls her around the floor. We’ve slipped back in time. They’re good, and I have to assume they danced all the time when they were together. I can’t help wondering when it turned sour, if it was five years ago exactly or whether it built to a crescendo, and if it happened the way Torrance said: a lot of little things that eventually became impossible to ignore. With my parents, it was one big thing—I’m certain of it, even if I haven’t heard from my dad for about fifteen years. And then with Garrison, it was a little thing that he turned into a big thing, though I realize it didn’t feel little to him at all.
As the song changes to something I haven’t heard before, I’m starting to think that maybe this is okay. Maybe Torrance and Seth have realized they’re making all of us miserable. Maybe this really was a peace offering.
Of course, that’s when I hear it.
“You never appreciated anything I gave you,” Torrance is saying from the middle of the dance floor, dropping her arms from around his neck.
“Is this still about the fucking sandwich maker?”
“The sandwich maker is a fucking metaphor!” she shouts back. “You never appreciated the sacrifices I made, or the kind of effort that it takes to do my job well. And now you can’t even appreciate the hard work that went into this party?”
Silver lining, silver lining . . . there has to be one. It’s what keeps me from falling apart: focusing on something brighter, something joyful.
But I’m alone at the table, and everyone is fixated on the Hales.
A few hotel staffers dressed all in black have started to approach, ready to intervene if necessary. I get to my feet on instinct, unsure what to do but whatever it is, I can’t be sitting down for it. I’m furious and disappointed and embarrassed, most of all. These are my adult coworkers, adult bosses, and they’re making a scene in public.
“Hey, man, let’s take a walk,” morning anchor Chris Torres says, reaching for Seth’s sleeve, but Seth shrugs him off.
“We can handle this,” he says through gritted teeth.
Torrance storms over to the rack of awards. “Maybe you didn’t care about that story, but it was important to me.” She runs her snowflake manicure along Seth’s Emmy. “Just like this is important to you.”
Before anyone can stop her, Torrance grabs the statuette, draws her arm back, and pitches it through the ballroom window.
4
FORECAST:
A full night of wallowing gives way to a little light scheming in the early morning hours
THE HOTEL STAFF swoops in to clean up the broken glass. A tarp is draped across the window. The sugar cookies rebel inside my stomach.
For a brief moment when the glass shattered, I was awed by Torrance’s strength. Then again, maybe I should have expected as much from the woman who once ate a ghost pepper on live TV.
Torrance and Seth are asked to leave immediately, and with all my remaining optimism, I do my best to salvage what’s left of the party. Most of that optimism went out the window with Seth’s Emmy, but there’s the slightest glimmer left.
“We have the band for another hour,” I tell news producer Avery Mitchell and her wife as they’re shrugging into their coats. Yes, I was dreading this party, but this can’t be how it ends.
“Babysitter,” Avery explains. “Sorry. They really went overboard this time, huh?”
Hannah gives me a sympathetic look as she swipes one last cookie. “I think we’ve more than overstayed our welcome. I doubt the Hilton will be having us back anytime soon.” She places a hand on my arm and squeezes. “You don’t have to try and fix it, Ari. I’m not sure anyone could.”
“It’s not all bad,” I say in a quiet voice, not fully believing myself. There were moments Torrance and Seth didn’t entirely hate each other. Too fleeting, sure, but they were there.
When it becomes clear the rest of my coworkers would rather head home to sleep off this fiasco than take more selfies with baby Jesus and Rudolph, I find myself wandering toward the bar. Now all I want is a strong drink and a wretched hangover—because I’m no longer sure I can find a silver lining.