Page 16 of Texting My Secret Santa

Me:Just something boring and Christmassy.

My Secret Santa:Thank you for that very specific and enlightening answer. I now have a much greater understanding of what you’re talking about.

I laugh, reading the text in her voice. It’s easy to do. Sarcasm has always come easy to her, even when we were kids.

Me:All I know is that I will lurk like a ghost at the feast.

My Secret Santa:That’s a choice you’re making.

Me:Are you going to give me a motivational speech?

My Secret Santa:Don’t be an ass, she replies.I don’t know your circumstances or understand why this is tricky for you. Sometimes, I get in a dark mood. When that happens, I have to play a role and pretend I’m in a good mood. “Fake it until you make it.” I think that’sanother reason I love the holidays so much. Half the population is faking it, maybe more.

I knew nothing about her dark moods. I’m instantly intrigued.

Me:Why do you get in dark moods?

My Secret Santa:Because I’m a human being … duh.

Again, I laugh. Knowing, or at least strongly suspecting, that this is Holly makes every text come alive. Her facial expressions, voice, and a confident eyebrow raise all play in my mind.

Me:You love being sassy and sarcastic, don’t you? I was asking for specifics.

My Secret Santa:Being sassy and sarcastic is my specialty when it comes to you, Secret Santa.

Reading the text, I get irrationally angry. She doesn’t know she’s talking to me. We’re flirting, but she thinks she’s speaking with somebody else. There’s no way, out of a company of hundreds, she could know that fate or luck would throw us together.

What am I going to do, then? Tell her? I’m already opening one can of worms tomorrow with Mom. I don’t need a second to deal with.

Me:Are you going to answer my question?I type.

My Secret Santa:Lots of things can put me in a bad mood: the state of the world, my reflection in the mirror, just the usual stuff. I’ve been lucky that my life has been blessed in many ways. It’s easier for me to be positive than for many others. I acknowledge that.

One line stands up above all the others.

Me:What do you mean by “your reflection in the mirror?” Why would that put you in a bad mood?

My Secret Santa:I’m not saying it always does. But if you can find a woman who hasn’t sometimes felt a little blue about her appearance, you’ve found a unicorn.

Me:Describe your appearance to me, then. Let me be the judge.

My Secret Santa:Are you trying to get my identity again?

Me:I will not run around the office scanning every employee,I reply.

My Secret Santa:Let’s just put it this way. You won’t see me at the MET Gala anytime soon.

Me:So, you’re curvy?

My Secret Santa:That’s one way to phrase it.

Me:There’s nothing wrong with that,I reply, thinking of her in the kitchen earlier, wearing her work clothes, a hip-hugging pencil skirt highlighting her plump juiciness. My rod hums with tension.Some men prefer the curvy look.

My Secret Santa:Are you one of those men?

I prefer theHollylook, but I can’t tell her that.

Me:Yes, in fact, I am. You should be proud of your appearance.

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