Page 32 of All About Christmas

“And then there will be a Christmas tree.” I point my pen at the spot behind the little platform where Gabriel will stand to join Maggie and Olaf in marriage. He has become a wedding officiant for one day for this occasion.

I turn to Pippin. “That one really needs to be decorated quite a bit, in the same colours as Maggie and Olaf’s outfits. Maggie is wearing a white dress, and Olaf a blue tailored suit.”

Pippin nods. “The tree will be delivered soon. The Christmas centerpieces have also been ordered, but there was a shortage of holly, so now they’re just using pine branches.”

“That’s fine, as long as it looks nice and Christmassy,” I say as I go down the list in my hand.

“We’ve found a Christmas choir to sing ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ when Maggie walks up the aisle accompanied by her daughter; the catering has been arranged—although Olaf’s granddaughter has gluten allergies, which I’ll have to pass on later. ”

Pippin smiled. “This is really going to be a fantastic segment, Holly. Olivier can kiss that promotion goodbye.”

I chuckle. “Thank you.” I twist my shoulders for a moment, which have been seizing and making creaking noises for the past few days.

“Would you mind waiting for the tree for a little while?” I ask and look at him pleadingly.

“So I can go to the office for a little bit to finalize things with the caterer.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem.”

“You’re the best.” I grab my coat from one of the wooden pews and pull it over my shoulders. I wrap my scarf tightly around my neck. “I’ll see you soon, then. And if anything happens, call me.”

“Will do, Holly,” says Pippin, chuckling. “It’s a Christmas tree getting delivered. Not a nuclear bomb.”

I give him unamused look and turn to walk toward the exit.

As I push open the door, I’m greeted by a flurry of snowflakes.

There’s a wafer-thin layer of ice on the Vecht river, and I see a few children trying to see if it’s firm enough to skate on by pressing down tentatively with their shoes.

When a loud crack is heard, they pull their feet back again, screaming.

Sliding through the snow, I walk to the bus stop. The bus is—and how could it not be—delayed by a few minutes. When it finally arrives, my cheeks feel icy cold. I get in and watch as thicker and thicker flakes fall from the sky.

It just might be a white Christmas.

My skin tingles from the heat as I step off the elevator. I hate peeing on the train, which is why my bladder is currently under more stress than Gabriel is before a live show. I look at my watch. I still have time to go to the bathroom; the caterer is available until five o’clock.

I step into the gender-neutral restroom, before leaving the train station, find a stall and let the urine flow with a sigh of relief. I’m just about to tear off a piece of toilet paper when I hear two doors open in succession.

“I’m putting my money on Holly’s idea,” says one voice, vaguely familiar to me. “Her idea is loving and original. How many dating shows are there on TV already?”

A deep sigh draws out. “I really like Olivier’s idea, too, you know.”

I bite my lip. Shit. That’s Norbert’s voice. I need Norbert to be on my side.

“And Holly’s is genius, too. It creates a real Christmas feeling.”

Exactly! I mutter to the door. Down with kitschy dating shows.

“But...” Norbert’s voice softens, and I have to strain to hear what he’s saying.

I softly press my ear against the wood. My heart pounds fanatically against my ribs. But what, Norbert?

“Can you keep a secret?” he asks in a whisper.

“Always,” the other voice says, curious.

The sound of water splashing from the faucet in the sink fills the restroom. “There’s nobody here, right?” my boss wonders aloud.

I continue to sit silently. There are statues that have moved more than I have at this moment.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. All right then.” Norbert lets out a deep sigh. “The execution of their projects doesn’t matter much anymore. It has already been determined that Olivier will get the promotion.”

It’s as if someone has punched me in the stomach, and all the air has fled from my lungs. My eyes sting and my mouth becomes bone dry. I swallow. Again. And again, but it doesn’t seem to help any.

“What?” asks the other voice, not nearly angry enough in my opinion.

Again, the sound of running water is heard. “The promotion was always going to go to Olivier,” Norbert clarifies. “Well, not always. Before John called me, I saw Holly as José’s designated successor. But then again, the Wolfs family are industry elites. I could hardly refuse him.”

My throat is squeezed tight. I have to do my best not to burst into tears right here and now. Crying can be done later. Crying can be for when they are gone.

“Shit, man,” says the other voice. “I get that you have to do what your boss says, but why the whole show? Why let them both make a segment? Why give Holly that hope at all if it’s in vain anyway?”

“That was a request from Olivier,” Norbert says after a deep sigh. “He was afraid that if he got the promotion so easily, he wouldn’t be taken seriously. That people would only see him as a nepo baby because he got the job through his father.”

My forehead falls silently against the closed stall door, and I squeeze my eyes shut stiffly.

Nepo baby . I think back to Steven and Maud’s wedding, when Olivier came to sit next to me on the bench.

“ Oh well, you would too if you found out your boss is going to give the promotion you worked very hard for to some nepo baby, right?” My own words come back to me like a boomerang.

And then I remember Olivier’s statement from when we laid in bed together the morning after.

“ Some things you just know ,” he had said about the promotion.

I thought he was joking. But he did already know.

I’m getting nauseous. Have I been working my ass off these past few months purely for Olivier’s ego?

Have I been working long nights, turning down parties just so Olivier wouldn’t be seen at the office for what he was: someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth and getting sought-after jobs as if they were preschool colds?

Something that just happens to you without ever having to wait for it?

By now the voices have faded into the background. When I hear the door to the hallway slam, I hoist up my pants and walk to the sink. I slowly wash my hands and look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are red, and the first tear of frustration is already trickling down my cheek.

Apparently, the apple doesn’t fall so far from the tree after all. But from this apple, I am going to make applesauce.

I snatch some towels from the dispenser, turn around, and when I step outside, I’m suddenly face to face with the last person on earth I want to see right now. Truly, at this very moment, I would rather have a cup of coffee with Voldemort than with Olivier.

The smile that graced his face when he saw me disappears like snow as he takes in my expression. “Holly, what’s wrong?”

I turn and walk to the door leading to the stairwell and almost run toward it. I don’t hear the door close and, judging by the footsteps behind me, Olivier follows me.

“Holly, wait!”

I ignore him and step into the revolving door. A cold gust of wind greets me when my shoe hits the snowy sidewalk outside, but it feels nice on my tear-stained cheeks. Cooling. Relieving.

A warm hand lands on my shoulder. “Holly…” Olivier’s voice sounds concerned. The jerk. Where does he get the nerve to be concerned?

I turn slowly and look at him with such anger that he takes a startled step back.

“W-what is it?” he stammers.

“You got the promotion,” I say. My voice trembles with anger. “But of course you already knew that.”

A confused expression appears on his handsome face. His full lips sag open a little and snowflakes stick to his hair. He should be cold, clad only in his tailored suit; I’m already cold in my winter coat. I’m surprised my tears don’t freeze the moment they leave my eyes.

“What?” he asks incredulously.

I throw my hands in the air and laugh joylessly. “The whole reason I put my heart and soul into my segment is to stroke your ego!” I exclaim.

Passersby look back, but I don’t care. I’m too angry. Olivier can get thrown into a Christmas tree.

“I’m not even in the running. This is all a sham so that our colleagues won’t think you got that promotion because the unlucky sperm that conceived you happened to come from the biggest dick in this whole world!” I frown for a moment as I register my own words. “Figuratively speaking.”

Olivier’s eyes widen. “What?” His hands ball into fists and then relax again as he absorbs my words.

“Yep. I found out. Too bad, huh?”

He looks around somewhat awkwardly, raking his hand through his hair. He holds the slightly longer tufts on top of his head in a fist. “Holly, I didn’t know about this. I asked Norbert to give us both a fair chance to—”

“Oh, don’t lie!” I exclaim. “I know what I heard.”

He blinks his eyes in dismay, his breathing forming a garland of tiny clouds of condensation in the air. But then he folds his arms, his jaw tense. He starts to get angry, too. “I would never do that.” His voice sounds hollow. “You know me.”

I snort. “Well, I’m strongly questioning that now. I know what you look like without clothes on. But that’s something completely different.”

I should have known better: men with perfect pronunciation and Armani suits are not to be trusted.

“I. Did. Not. Know,” he repeats, emphasizing every word. His eyes spit fire. “And if you can’t believe me, then I don’t actually know what we’re even doing.” He throws his hands in the air in a hopeless gesture.

I snort and shake my head. “It’s like you’re reading my mind,” I say derisively and cross my arms. Olivier opens his mouth to respond, but I’m ahead of him.

“I’m going to take care of the last things for the catering now.

Maggie and Olaf will have the wedding of their dreams, and after that.

..” I straighten my back and look at him sternly. “After that, I’m gone.”

I turn around on my heels. Taking another quick glance over my shoulder, I see that Olivier is still standing in the same position, looking bewildered.

A thin layer of snow is forming on his shoulders and head.

When Pippin comes walking down the street, I direct my gaze forward again.

I don’t feel like talking to him right now.

Quickly, I hop up the stairs. Moving is good.

I have to get rid of the adrenaline that is now coursing through my body.

When I reach the fourth floor, I push open the door and walk with brisk steps to my desk, my chair squeaking a little when I plop down.

But then my gaze falls on a huge red heart with a gold bow around it. In cursive letters it reads LINDT, CHOCOLATES DE LUXE. I swallow as the words Olivier said a few months back come to mind.

“Should I ever fall in love, I’ll get you a heart-shaped box full of chocolates.”

With trembling hands, I pull out the card from under the ribbon and slowly turn it over. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Tears prick my eyes again as I read it.

I am a gracious loser—Olivier.