“Bullshit!” Bea yells back. “You landed over the line!” A sports car roars down the road, drowning out whatever she says next.
I tell myself to look away as Kate bends over in hysterics, the only hand she has available braced on one knee as she laughs so hard, a wheezing sound leaves her lungs. Bea throws back her head and cackles.
“Work still stressful?” Jamie asks, taking another saucepan from his side of the double sink and towel drying it.
I tear my gaze away and scrub the platter more. “It always is this time of year.”
Jamie stares at me, assessing. “But it’s a little more so than in the past, I imagine.”
“Yes,” I admit. “Nothing I can’t manage, though.”
I’ve been managing it for a month already, when my not-large-to-begin-with investment firm lost two team members in the same day—Jean-Claude, whom I fired, and Juliet, his former fiancée, who was reeling from everything that led to him being fired and to her breaking up with him. She’s been on leave for a month, taking the time she needs, which I’ve firmly supported.
I don’t say any of this out loud, because Jamie’s former friend and roommate, my former employee, Jean-Claude, is a delicate subject. Even though they’re unspoken, Jamie’s thoughts still follow mine.
He stares down at the pan in his hand, somber quiet settling between us.
There’s no getting around the fact that Juliet’s been gone from work for a month and she’s an ocean away from us now because of Jean-Claude’s emotional abuse. His possessive, irrational jealousy of my familial relationship to her led to a fistfight with me during my regular meeting with Jules, whom I retained as a PR consultant.
Jean-Claude’s out of all our lives for good. Now that some time has passed, and Jules is on her self-care getaway, it’s my hope that the echoes of his damage will finally stop lingering.
My hope seems reasonable, given Friendsgiving last night felt upbeat, albeit with a teary group photo that we texted to Jules, saying we missed her. Even tonight the Wilmot family managed a video with Jules post-dinner that put a smile on everyone’s faces. Bea and Kate seem happy outside after talking with her. Maureen and Bill are still content to sit on the front porch with the laptop between them, sipping their coffee as they chat more with Jules.
“It’s been a stressful season,” I tell him. We both know I’m not just talking about work. “But we’ll get through it. I’m confident.”
Jamie nods, a small furrow in his brow. After a beat, he peers up at me, an examining intensity in his gaze. “And after you wrap up this busy year, how do you plan to recharge over the holidays?”
I shrug. “I don’t have the time.”
“Have or won’t take?” he asks pointedly.
“I give my team the week leading up to Christmas through the week after New Year, but I don’t take it myself. Busy year-end or not, I don’t personally have much use for the holidays.”
He frowns my way. “No use for the holidays? What kind of blasphemous nonsense is that?”
I groan. “Jamie. Don’t tell me you’re a holiday fanatic.”
“Not a fanatic. But I do love a quiet stroll in the snow, singing Christmas carols around the piano, a glass of eggnog in front of the newly decorated tree, though not the homemade variety made with egg whites—no amount of deliciousness is worth the risk of salmonella.” He pauses, then says carefully, “Why aren’t the holidays of much use to you? Is it . . . because of your parents? I’m sure that it’s hard, that you miss them especially then.”
I peer down at the soapy water, mulling over how much I want to share. “I do miss them especially then, yes, and that’s certainly part of what makes the holidays less appealing to me now. But mostly it’s the aura of self-imposed stress that saturates everything during this time of year. People seem to lose perspective when it comes to all they do have, with this pressure to be and do even more. I want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them and say, ‘At least you have money to buy presents, to put food on your table and heat your homes and clothe your kids for the cold weather. At least you have loved ones to be stressed about buying presents for. At least they’re here.’？”
Tipping his head, Jamie says, “Perhaps I’m projecting my despicably entitled father who embodies all of that, but does it happen at work, managing wealth? Do you deal with people who have so much yet who’ve lost sight of that?”