Page 61 of Ho Ho Oh No

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” he says.

“I’d have to be as sharp as an overcooked noodle to reject an offered gift from the one and onlySanta Claus on Christmas Eve.”

Beaming at me, he gestures an open palm toward the conference room door.

“My present isn’t in your bag of goodies?” I fling my thumb toward the red sack on one end of the big conference room table.

“Nope. Down the hall.”

With a casual shrug, I head out, grabbing a cheese cube from the monstrous table on my way.

Sammy and I made Leo and the boys move the gigantic thing against the wall for decorating and food-holding purposes. ThenI put a train set on top of it, surrounding the tracks with fake snow and little trees. Beside the train is a buffet of deliciousness and then supplies for the gingerbread house contest. Sammy and I decided to let everyone get good and sloshed on eggnog and jack frost punch before we did any contests or games. It’ll be funnier that way. Even though we can’t drink, there’s no harm in watching everyone else get silly.

‘Tis the season for alcohol-induced bad decisions at office holiday parties. Or however the saying goes.

Although this place doesn’t feel like an office. It’s more like our second home. Literally and figuratively.

When we approach the door, we’re stopped by an overzealous Buddy the Elf, squealing like the dickens and jumping around while pointing at Big Al. “Santa!Saaannnta!I know him! I know him!”

My father just waves him off, pushing me toward the door. As we go, the laughter from the party at Sawyer’s antics carries behind us.

Once in the hall, I swing my head from left to right, feigning being lost. “Which way, Boss Dad?”

“It’s at your desk.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this a trap to get me to do work?”

Teasingly, he purses his lips and wags his finger at me. Given the beard, hat, and Santa costume, it’s a hilarious sight. “Not tricking you. You’ve already done enough. This whole night is because of you.”

“And Sammy,” I remind him while we stroll a few feet toward my desk.

“Yes. She helped, but I’m well aware of how much work you took on, especially with her condition.”

“I have the same condition,” I quip, tapping my growing baby belly.

“I meant her Grinch-like attitude. Not the pregnancy.”

The more I’m here, the more I understand that one of Redleg’s love languages is shit-talking. It’s really growing on me.

“Oh, stop,” I chide him while searching all available spaces for something gift-wrapped. “Sammy’s about to pop any day now. The poor girl has earned any attitude she may have.”

“Yeah, but she’s always been this way. More sarcasm per capita than?—”

I shriek with glee, cutting off his teasing mid-sentence. “Is that what I think it is?” Like they have minds of their own, my hands start clapping out thunderous applause. I even jump and bob on my toes like Sawyer was doing a minute ago.

While I’m busy resembling someone in the studio audience at a game show, Boss Dad sneaks behind my desk and extends his arms toward my chair, all flashy-like.“Ta-dah. Merry Christmas, Lettie.”

“A new chair? Butter my biscuits.”

Squealing with overflowing joy, I plop into the seat, unwilling to wait a second longer to test it out. I don’t care that I’m in a skirt, I cross my legs like I’m a kindergartner at storytime.

This man got me an ADHD chair.

It’s the type where I can cross my legs, hoist up a knee, or do whatever my fidgety, dopamine-seeking body needs to do while working. It’s wide, cushy, and it rocks. Has a tiny knee rest too.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

It’s adorable how he seems unsure. As if my over-the-top reaction didn’t answer him.Man alive. I must look like a five-year-old who just got a new puppy. Or a pony.

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