Which of course, I was.
Thanksgiving, for all its faults, had at least been a reminder that I missed my family. I liked my family. It was okay to spend time with them and not feel bad, lonely or guilty.
For yearsfeeling badhad been my level state of existence, which was why I’d preferred numbness.
Only, numbness was no longer an option. Andfeeling badforever seemed a bit morose.
Perhapscontentmentwas within reach.
I could jog with my dad. Enjoy my mother’s fussing. Stay up with Rebecca watching movies and drinking too much.
Instantly, I flashed back to the memory of Flowers sitting on my couch, her bare feet on the cushions, her green dress hiked over her knees, while she held the gaming console in her hand, and her tongue darted out to the corner of her mouth.
That would be missing from this next holiday event.
She would be missing.
But I certainly couldn’t blame her for not coming, and in fact, I was relieved she was as adamant about it as she was. I didn’t want a repeat of my behavior, and I really had no sense if I had any control over that.
What if I…horrifying to even think it…made a pass at her?
Nothing premeditated of course. Something entirely unplanned.
Here we were, away from the office, away from Houston. Just two lonely people trying to give each other some comfort on Christmas.
Was Flowers a virgin?
Of course, I had no idea. And certainly, it wasn’t my business. She’d mentioned that the state home where she’d grown up had been co-ed, and she’d gone to public school. Surely there had been boyfriends. Sex.
Although she had mentioned she hadn’t actually dated. When she’d gone on that date with what’s-his-name.
Why was I thinking about this?
Because I was thinking about sex. With Flowers.
No, I wasn’t.
She stepped into the office and placed the box down in front of me. A red box, with a white bow afixed to the top of it.
It was here. The moment was now. Was I going to fake it? For her?
“Merry Christmas!” she announced, with a hint of mischief in her eyes.
The glint in her eye immediately had the hair on the back of my neck rising. That feeling only increased when the box, which she’d placed in the center of my desk, moved. I stood up and looked down at it, waiting to see if it happened again.
It did.
“Flowers,” I said, even as I reached for the top. “What did I tell you?”
“It’s not a puppy,” she said.
I lifted the small ginger kitten out of the box and held it with one hand while it mewled pathetically.
“What is this?”
“A kitten!” she said, jumping up and down. “Not anywhere close to the work of a puppy. He’ll use a litter box, all you have to do is leave some food out. I’ve already notified your housekeeping team…”
“No.”
