Page 1 of Their Christmas Miracle

For Juan...

My Christmas miracle.

A Holly Jolly Christmas

I

Toner Boner

Joshua

Iwasn’t expecting to bump into anyone else tonight. Not en route to the photocopy room. Not at half-past-eight on Christmas Eve. And I definitely wasn’t expecting the pastel-haired willow-branch of a girl idly leaning against the wall outside my boss, Mr. Hill’s, office.

“Evening,” I murmur in surprise, lifting a hand to adjust spectacles I don’t wear anymore. “I… didn’t know anyone was still here.”

The girl looks up at me, dark eyes wide, the glow of her cellphone illuminating porcelain skin and a surprising lack of makeup. Surprising, because the rest of her clothes are so colorful it almost makes her face look bland in comparison. If you don’t factor in those limpid eyes of hers.

“Would’ve thought it weird if you did,” the girl says as she slips her phone into the pocket of the floppy, oversized cardigan dangling from her shoulders. She turns to me, cocking her head to the side as she steps closer.

I hurriedly change direction, realize I still have photocopies to make, and almost run into her as I turn back.

She’s right in front of me, watching me like a cocker spaniel.

“I—do you work here?” I manage to sound indignant and a little annoyed all at once.

“Does it look like it?” The girl cocks a thick, unruly eyebrow at me and then laughs. “Relax, guy. I ain’t here to steal the toner.”

“Good then,” is all I can manage.

I step into the photocopy room, the Davidson file hanging from my fingertips. I hear her follow me in and have an insane urge to head out again, back to the safety of my office further down the hall.

“Just… need to make some copies,” I say, hoisting the file in case she’d missed it.

She gives a vague nod and moves up to the photocopier. Her jaw works around a piece of gum as she watches me feed my document into the feeder tray.

“You live here or what?” she asks with a nonchalance that makes my hair want to stand on end.

She must be all of what, nineteen? Twenty?

“No.” I glance aside at her, frowning. “Why would you—”

She cocks her eyebrow, sighing as she slides her hand over the photocopier’s plastic cover. Her nails are tapered, painted the same shade of pastel blue as her hair. Well, the bottom of her hair, anyway. It starts off purple, by her crown, then graduates through hues of greens and blues—

“Like it?” The girl’s voice snaps me out of my trance. “Took, like, almost three hours. Long time to sit in a chair, three hours.”

I let out a low laugh, and then clear my throat when she frowns at me. “Sorry, I thought you were referring to my—” I cut myself off, turning my attention back to my photocopies.

You’d think a multi-million dollar company could afford a faster photocopier.

“Sooo… whatcha doing?”

I press my lips together, refusing to answer while I will the damn machine to spit out my pages so I can leave. My evening hadn’t included bumping into an intrusive stranger who would then trail me into the photocopier room like a stalker.

“Ugh, I’m starving,” the girl says, leaning forward and resting her head on the side of the photocopier, less than an inch from where my hand is pressed. “You eat supper yet?”

“Uh, no. Not yet.”

“Any good places around here? I’ll eat just about anything right now if you put enough fucking catsup on it. Even spaghetti, and I fucking hate spaghetti. My mom used to make it.” Her words falter a bit as she turns her head away to look at the wall behind her. “Fucking hated it.”

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