Page 17 of All About Christmas

“All right, I want to talk to you about the rules of conduct.” Tina looks at us sternly from behind her desk.

My hands are folded together on my lap, and Olivier is sitting next to me.

It feels a little like we stole each other’s marbles on the playground and are now being reprimanded by the principal.

“Adherence to the rules of conduct is important for a safe working atmosphere.” She slides her pen tray to the side an inch so it’s right next to her stapler.

“Following the rules of conduct is professional. Dealing with each other in a friendly manner is professional. What is not professional is orally gratifying your colleague in the ladies’ room during the biggest award ceremony in the Dutch-TV world. ” She purses her lips disapprovingly.

Startled, I slap a hand in front of my mouth. “That wasn’t...” I begin.

But Tina has not yet finished. “And in the middle of the public restroom area,” she continues, shaking her head. “Shame on you. At least have the decency to use the privacy of a bathroom stall.”

“But you don’t understand...” I try again.

“I thought you hated each other,” she adds. “I almost felt compelled to schedule a meeting to talk about the contentious work atmosphere. But I think you’ve already solved that issue.”

“Listen,” Olivier begins, “it’s not what you think it is.”

Tina gives him a reprimanding look. “Oh, come on, Olivier, I know what I saw. Very unfortunate for you that you happened to be caught by the head of HR, but that’s reality.”

“I had spilled champagne on him and was helping him remove the stain,” I say quickly. “I wasn’t...”—I swallow for a moment— “... orally gratifying him.”

Tina snorts. “Yeah. Like I haven’t heard that excuse before.”

I open my mouth to continue my argument, but then the words she just said sink in. “ Heard that before ? Where have you heard that before?”

“Yes, well, Pippin...” She waves her hand impatiently. “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that this is a clear violation of the rules.”

“But nothing happened!” I exclaim.

“Sure, Holly.”

“Listen, we don’t even like each other.” I wave my hand in the space between me and Olivier to reinforce my point.

“I’d rather drink twenty ginger shots than.

..” I swallow the rest of the sentence because what I wanted to say is far from appropriate.

And not even true. I cough and continue, “What I mean to say is that you don’t have to worry about that.

Nothing will ever happen between us.” I turn to Olivier because he has been conspicuously silent throughout my monologue, and I could use a little support.

He looks stoically ahead, his jaw muscles tense. “Right?” I prompt.

He nods briefly.

Tina’s eyes flash from Olivier to me and back again before reluctantly accepting the truth.

“Okay… But if anything does happen between you or at all with another colleague, I want you to report it. These things are a lot more complicated these days than they used to be. It makes a big difference that there is no difference in the balance of power between you now, although that will change when one of you gets José’s job. ”

“Again,” I say, “you have nothing to worry about.”

Tina nods slowly. “Well, all right then. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” She conjures a smile on her face so quickly it’s almost scary. “That’s it, then. You can leave.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. Thanks.”

Olivier stands up abruptly, also muttering a thank you, turns, and walks with brisk strides toward the men’s room.

Our office must be one of the few that is already fully dressed in the Christmas spirit in October.

Between the ceiling tiles hang transparent wires with Christmas figurines of snowflakes, angels, reindeer, and stars made of gold foil.

An enormous Christmas tree stands prominently in the centre of the office space.

Curtains of Christmas lights hang in front of the tall windows, and I have taken it upon myself to adorn random pens in pencil cases with little Santa hats.

The candy jar in the kitchen—which is normally filled with rock-hard fruit candies that no one ventures to eat—is now filled to the brim with chocolate wreaths.

I’m still a little shell-shocked from the conversation with Tina when I sit back down at my desk.

There are more arrangements to be made for Maggie and Olaf’s wedding, such as a live band that will agree to a Christmas setlist, a caterer, and the wedding cake.

It will be a short ceremony followed by drinks.

An all-day wedding—including an evening reception—would simply be too exhausting for the future couple.

It takes a while for Olivier to return from the restroom.

He doesn’t look at me as he takes a seat behind his desk.

I shift and peer over the edge of my monitor at him.

He seems tense and, for some reason, I feel a little responsible for that.

I take a sip of my tea and start on one of the four chocolates I stole from the candy jar.

“So, that was uncomfortable, wasn’t it?” I say after a while.

Olivier’s eyes flash to me for a moment.

“Do you think she believed us?”

“Yes,” he says gruffly.

“Why?”

“Because she said so.”

“Ah, yes. Good point.” I begin my second wreath.

Olivier grabs a pen from his pen tray, plucks off the Santa hat without saying anything, and writes something in his notebook.

“Did you have a good time at the afterparty?”

Olivier pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, then looks at me. His eyes look tired. “Listen, I don’t need you to fill these silences. I have a date tonight, so I can’t work late. I just want to make some more progress on my segment and head out of here, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Although I know it’s silly, I still feel a tiny bit offended.

More than I would have felt before the Golden Televizier-Ring Gala.

The word “date” rings in my ears. Would he date someone?

Why not? He’s handsome and can be nice, I’m sure, if you don’t smear his jackets with things like your champagne, coffee, or stomach contents.

A few minutes tick by as I replay the past few hours in my head. Finally, I give it a shake, and plunge back into my work.

By the time it hits five o’clock, I have gotten quite a bit done, but not enough. My phone vibrates on my desktop. I ignore it. There’s more to check off if I want to stay on schedule.

One by one, our colleagues fade away. Olivier remains at his desk as well. My phone vibrates again, but I hardly notice it. After a while, Olivier gets up and starts packing his bag. He’s still in a bad mood. Worse than usual, and I don’t understand why.

“Is something wrong?” I ask as I watch him slide his laptop into its designated compartment with stiff movements.

Olivier says nothing, grabbing his notes and putting them in his bag as well.

“Olivier,” I repeat emphatically. “Did I do something?”

The atmosphere is even worse than usual. Normally, some nasty comments go back and forth, but they are somewhat playful. I hate being silenced to death.

“No,” he says finally. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t mean that?”

My phone vibrates again. Olivier casts a glance at the device. “Maybe you should answer your phone. It seems important since you get calls more often than a customer service line.”

I snort but decide to acquiesce since I’m officially free. I swipe the green phone symbol up. “Hello?” I say as I watch Olivier slip his long arms into the sleeves of his coat.

“Holly!” Papa sounds out of breath. “Why don’t you answer when I call you?”

At that tone, my heart begins to beat with concern. “I, um... I was working,” I stammer. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Dad,” he says in a trembling voice. “Hubert, he... he...”

“What?” I ask, sliding to the edge of my seat.

Olivier, who was just preparing to walk out, turns around again. A worried frown appears between his eyebrows.

“Papa, what’s going on?”

My father lets out a deep sigh. “He had an accident. Sideswiped by a car as he was crossing the street on his bicycle. He’s in the hospital.”

“What?” My lower lip begins to quiver and my eyes sting. The knot in my stomach tightens. “How is he doing? Is it bad? What hospital?”

“I don’t know much yet. I just got the call.” He swallows aloud. “He’s at St. Antonius Hospital in Leidsche Rijn. I’m going there now.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

“Thank you, dear. See you soon.”

With trembling hands, I hang up and begin to gather my things together in a trance. Everything is a blur of papers and tabs that I click away.

“Holly?” Olivier’s voice seems to come from far away. When I don’t respond, I feel a warm hand between my shoulder blades. “Holly, what’s wrong?”

“My... my father is in the hospital,” I sob. My cheek gets wet from the first tear rolling down it.

“Your father?” repeats Olivier. “But that was just him on the phone, right? Then at least he’s still cognizant.”

“No, my other father,” I clarify. “My other father is in the hospital.” I swallow again. “I have to go.”

I grab my coat from the back of my office chair and put it over my arm. “Shit, where did I put my bag again?”

“Here.” Olivier bends down to grab my backpack and holds it in front of me.

“Thank you. I, um... Good night.” With large steps, I walk toward the exit.

“Holly, wait a minute!” Olivier’s quick steps reverberate through the room.

I turn around for a moment. “What is it?”

“How are you going to get there?”

“Um, just by train, I guess. And then by bicycle.”

Olivier fishes his car keys out of his coat pocket. “You’re in no condition to bike in traffic right now.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up his hand. “I’ll take you. My car is downstairs.”

“But—” I bite my lip. “What about your date?”

“That can wait.”

“But...”

He places his hands at his sides and looks at me sternly. “Holly,” he says with an authority I’m used to seeing only from Norbert. “I’ll take you.”

I don’t really understand why he’s offering to do this.

And while he’s still not very high on my list of candidates for an emergency ride, it’s an enticing proposition.

It’s faster than me having to take the train first and then bike a long way.

I look at the ground for a moment, but then nod.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Okay, thank you.”