Page 65 of When in December

“I miss you and the office.”

“I miss you too. And I found out you’re the only one who ever cleans the microwave in the break room.”

I rolled my eyes.

“But seriously, once the holiday wraps up, you’ll be sick of me again,” said Hannah.

Soon, I’d be back in the office with her, post-cabin and post-Aaron. We’d be able to put this entire holiday month behind us. My favorite month once again felt completely draining.

And also, suddenly, it was already ending too soon. It was all moving along too fast—and not just because of the holiday deadline.

“I did get the wildest call the other day,” she said, changing the subject.

“Tell me.”

“There was a guy with a ham that ended up on the kitchen floor of some bachelor pad on the west side.”

I barked a laugh. “What did you tell him to do?”

“I told him to pour some cola over it and call it a day.” She lifted a shoulder in nonchalance.

“You did not.”

“I did. I’m pretty sure the poor guy would’ve believed me, no matter what I said, so it was the basics.”

“Our vegetarian preparing a ham.”

“Gotta do what I gotta do.” Her led lulled to the side as she recounted the call. “He seemed more than a little stressed out, getting ready for some kind of family get-together. He has three sisters, which I can imagine would be hell enough, especially since they’d already thought that he was completely going to flop the meal. Whenever he started to lose it, he’d do this chuckling laugh sort of thing. That’s when I knew I had to rein him back in off a culinary ledge.”

Sounded like a long call.

“It was a good thing that he found the hotline number,” I said.

“It was.”

“And then what happened?” I nudged her. “With the guy?”

“Oh. Nothing. He must’ve pulled it together,” she said simply. Though her voice sounded off.

I could tell she was keeping something to herself. But like earlier, before we got into my own issues, I knew better than to pry into Hannah’s cards, which she always kept just close enough to her sheer hot-pink blouse.

“Are you getting sick?” I asked instead.

“What?” Her brow furrowed before she must’ve realized what I was talking about. “Oh. Maybe? I swear my roommates come home with something new every other week, especially with the one working at the little heathen school of booger pickers.”

“Gross.”

“Another reason I don’t ever want children,” she said.

“What number is that on the list? Fourteen or eighty-two?” I teased.

She tapped her finger against her chin. “Somewhere in between, I think.”

“Maybe you’ll end up having a holiday romance, but not me.”

“With who?”

“Mystery ham guy?”

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