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Light snow dusts the tips of his good shoes as the wind picks up, breath visible in the cold air. The valet isn’t necessary, but he places his car keys in the hand of a stranger anyway and unwraps his scarf as he turns towards the marble staircase of the art museum downtown. An uptempo jingle travels through the vestibule, underlined by the sound of laughter echoing through the space in a distant cacophony.
It’s seven thirty-two. The party started at seven. He nearly backed out until a hail mary phone call with Devon convinces him to go through with it. Attend at least one Lumon party in his life or forever wonder how much ass kissing really goes on. Not let another year go by without partaking in the holidays because he’d rather swallow glass than celebrate with his brother in-law. Not to mention he already bought a gift for the toy drive.
“Is this the coat check?”
A woman stares at him, unimpressed, and points at the sign behind her.
“Right, thanks,” he tells her and slides the heavy wool jacket off his shoulders.
His nerves come to a head. He’s been to pretend dinner parties. Attended book readings against his will. But he hadn’t gone to a big party in a long time. Not since the end of the year faculty party at Ganz when Germma was still alive and he could buy into all the clichés in the holiday songs that play in every department store and dominated the radio. Invitations to the annual Lumon holiday party went straight into the trash, unopened.
This year, he pinned it to the fridge.
And on a particularly good day, by his standards, he finally responded to the RSVP.
He was starting days like that more often. Days where his chest didn’t feel so heavy and one beer didn’t turn into a six pack. The allusion that he was actually doing better. It was the reason he didn’t quit his job after the overtime contingency incident nearly pushed him over the edge. A month ago he felt like a sell out. He accepted the pineapple basket from Mr. Milchick. The pay raise. But the truth is he’s not sure what’d he do without his job keeping him straight and narrow.
The solace you have given him down there will make its way to you.
The art museum is completely transformed. Lumon brought a fifteen-foot tree on a flatbed truck, stood it in the center of the room, decorated it with thick garland and blue and white ornaments. Twinkle lights hung overhead, casting a glittering effect that reflected off the glass doors and made the red tablecloths seem to pop. But he can’t decide if it’s the Keir-shaped ice sculpture or the fake snow that really propels the party into festive territory.
Mark goes unnoticed with ease, slipping through cracks in the crowd, accidentally eavesdropping on men complaining about their wives’ wish lists and exchanging fake pleasantries. Forced laughter that comes across as natural only because the amount of booze being poured. The bar comes into view. He stands in line, plays a game of counting how many faces he recognizes. Everyone is a stranger except for Milchick and Judd.
The bartender calls him up.
“A whiskey, please.”
He raises two fingers to signal for a double and leans against the bar top. He feels a pair of eyes on him before sees her. Has to do a double take to confirm she’s looking at him and not the bar to help decide what her next drink will be. He forces his gaze down to check his tie isn’t out place. Looks at his white shirt to make sure there weren’t any stains. Maybe it’s just his face, he thinks.
I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.
The glass rolls across the top of the bar. He closes his fingers around the rim, swooshes it around near the edge before brining it to his lips. When he looks back, she’s engaged in polite conversation. Her head tips back and she laughs, restrained like the rest of the way she carries herself. Auburn hair pinned up in a clip accenting her features. A deep green, silk dress that barely touches the floors in her heels.
In a room full of strangers, he feels like he knows her. A familiar feeling stirs in his chest, like he’s been a room with her before.
Just like the one I used to know.
And then she’s gone.
Then he hears it clearly. The clinking of glass ricocheting throughout the main hall. He follows the crowd turning towards to the makeshift stage near the back of the room. A tap of the microphone brings the room to a quiet hush, and none other than Jame Eagan takes the stage.
Mark knows nothing about his work. Nothing about the triumphant successes and prosperities vaguely alluded to in the speech. But he nods and claps along anyway, too concerned with being the odd man out. His innie know what Jake Eagan was talking about. The funny, pain-free version of himself that cares for other people.
He’s found love.
He can’t help but wonder if she’s in the room. If she felt the same away about him down there. What she looks like. It’s more information than he can benefit from knowing. Just a vague curiosity and an intrinsic right to know. And maybe he’s a little jealous that he has a life down there, because no matter how much better he felt because of it, he doesn’t get to have those experiences.
Not if he expected them to just come to him.
The speech ends and his eyes are drawn to flash of red hair exiting towards the patio. He leaves his glass on a tray with other empty drinks and shimmies his shoulders to work his way through the mass of people. Looking through the glass panels, he sees her standing off to the side, and gives himself a silent pep talk before opening the door. He shuts it quietly, careful not to startle her, but the snow crunching beneath his feet causes her to turn around.
“I feel like I know you,” he tells her, realizes it probably sounded like a lame attempt at picking her up before backpedaling. “That’s not a line, by the way.”
“Good, because I was worried that was the best you could do,” she teases him with a warm smile.
“If I was hitting on you it’d be equally as bad, trust me.”
The laugh she responds with is genuine, he assumes, and it makes his stomach flip before he can tame it. Her dress blows in the wind and heels click against the brick as she steps further into the light. He takes it as permission and approaches her, hand extended.
“I’m Mark.”
“Helena.”
He blames her cool touch for the chill that jolts through his body. His palm is soft against her hand, fits like it’s had time to mold itself there when she shakes his hand back. That feeling stuns him again, and he lets go first before awkwardly pointing to the sugar cranberries sticking out of her cocktail.
“Your drink is getting a little frosty out here,” he jokes.
She smiles, amused. “It came this way.”
“Oh, right.”
He grins and nearly forgets that he doesn’t like big parties and that he plans to leave by eight nine o’clock. Their eyes meet and he can’t shake his suspicions.
“Are you sure we don’t know each other?”
“We work together,” she replies smoothly.
“We’re all coworkers technically, yeah,” he quips back with a soft chuckle before coming to terms with the fact that there’s no world in which he would have forgotten someone like her. “Forget it. I definitely would’ve remembered you.”
A deep pink blush spreads across her cheeks and he hopes that wasn’t too corny. He blows warm air into his hands and rubs them together before eyeing her up and down.
“You’re not cold out here?”
“I just needed some fresh air.”
“And miss out on all the holiday cheer?”
She eyes him gently.
“Did you lose a bet?”
“What?” He narrows his eyes in confusion, too distracted by her to remember the set of antler ears on his head. “Oh, these—“
Mark slides the headband out of his hair and chuckles, embarrassed.
“I don’t know. I did the photo booth thing—just trying to get into the spirit.”
To add insult to injury, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a strip of film. Helena moves closer and leans in to get a good look. He has a pretty good idea of which photo makes her giggle, but her expression shifts to something more serious a moment later.
“You did the photo booth by yourself?”
“Yeah,” he tells her, his voice a bit lower.
“That’s depressing,” she tells him as nicely as possible before tilting her head. “Do you want to—”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
She stands straight up, nods. “Natalie.”
“Mr. Eagan is requesting your presence inside.”
The head of the company requested her presence. His brow furrows, bewildered. But she’s unflinching, clearly used to these kind of ‘requests.’ He eyes her wordlessly. In a way, he expects her to explain, but when she turns to look at him she looks almost ashamed if he didn’t know any better. That’s all it takes for him to let it go and step out of her way.
“Have a good night, Mark.”
Helena hands her cocktail to Natalie and steps through the door.
“You, too.”
Mark swallows, forced to watch her leave. Can’t figure out for the life of him how he ended talking on the patio with someone in Jame Eagan’s circle. But she doesn’t make it obvious. She looks too young to be on the board, so he guesses instead that she worked her way up the chain pretty quickly. He adjusts his cuff and lets out a deep breath before heading back inside.
The party drones on.
Trays of dessert finally make their rounds. The floor’s been cleared and the band is starting to let loose. He stands along the wall and checks his watch. Nine twenty-five. His eyes scan the room every so often. It’s every bit of a high school dance without the corsage. He’s drawn to her and doesn’t know why, just stubborn enough to spend more time with her if she’ll let him.
Eventually, he finds her heading towards the bar. But she can’t go a few feet without being stopped, expected to shake hands and entertain. He wants to ask her if it’s exhausting as it looks, she navigates it with poise.
He waits his turn, walks up to her from behind.
“Hey.”
Her chest falls with relief, like he’s a sight for sore eyes and his lips twitch at the ridiculous thought.
“Hey.”
“Do I need to make an appointment?” He jokes.
Helena rolls her eyes, turns to the bar. “Do you want a drink?”
“Actually, I have a better idea,” he reveals with a nervous smile. “The dance floor just opened, and I’m not any good, but I figure swaying to Bing Crosby can’t be that hard.”
Helena stares at him wordlessly, lips curling in amusement at what he can only assume is a failure of an attempt to ask her to dance. That, or he was too late and she was going to tell him to get in line. He raises his eyebrows and she sinks her teeth between her lips with a smile.
“Alright, let’s see what you've got.”
He chuckles in quiet disbelief, then offers his hand to hers. She takes it and lets him lead her through the crowd, tiny clusters of people clearly becoming more inebriated by the hour. He’s acutely aware of the lingering gazes, the blatant stares when they a spot on the dance floor. Her eyes fall to the floor and inhales deeply.
“Mark, we don’t have to—”
“I don’t care,” he assures her.
The band smoothly transitions into a rendition of I’ll Be Home for Christmas. True to his word, he clasps her hand and places his other on her waist lightly. It feels illegal to touch her, but she steps closer to him and he’s too committed to back out now. His feet alternate steps in time with the hi-hat, setting the tempo. He ducks his head and inhales her perfume, notes of amber and musk if he had to guess. Her fingers tighten around his and she peers up at him lightheartedly.
“I’ve danced with worse.”
“That’s a low bar, Jesus,” he snorts.
“Not all by choice,” she confesses dryly.
He blinks, curious. “Who are you?”
Her hand slides to his shoulder and twists her lips together before bringing the suspense to a screeching halt.
“I own the company.”
Mark stares at her, too stunned to say anything at first. Too dumb to realize he was dancing with the future CEO. Probably his boss’ boss’ boss if he had to guess. That’s what he gets for not putting in the time to know anything about the company he works for—a sharp edged line to keep his work life and personal life separate. There’s a good chance he’s the only person who couldn’t spot her from a mile away. His throat clears.
“You’re Jame Eagan’s daughter?” He asks, putting two and two together.
Helena nods, and in her impartial expression he sees a flicker of the look she gave him earlier on the patio when they were interrupted.
“That sounds shitty.”
“I’m sorry?”
That was brasher than he intended. He parts his lips to apologize for making assumptions, for thinking he knew her despite everything inside him screaming that he did. But if he was being honest, he sounded like a lot of pressure. A lot of ‘can we borrow you for a moment’s and interruptions and forced conversations. No space to slip through the crowd. Oh, and by the way, this is what the rest of your life looks like. A different kind of loneliness.
“I mean, how the fuck do you even breathe?”
She takes a moment to process her question and then bursts into laughter. He leans back, brows knit together.
“What?”
“You’re the first person to ever ask me that,” Helena confesses.
Oh. He leans back in and licks his lips. “Too much?”
“Here, maybe,” she tells him, hand sliding across his shoulder near his collarbone. “I can tell you about it another time.”
He tries to play it cool.
“On a date?”
His brain immediately thinks of ways that would work. He doesn’t get to leave on his lunch break. Maybe a coffee before work, or dinner somewhere after. Tries not let himself believe he’d screw it’d up as badly with her as he did with Alexa. But he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself.
“There’s a Christmas village. The one downtown.”
“You want to get your picture taken with Santa?” He teases.
“You said you wanted to get into the holiday spirit.”
Her reminder is accompanied by a soft smirk. He glances down at their feet as they rock their shoulders from side to side, completely in sync. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy. He thinks if there was anything he’d ask for to be wrapped up neatly in box for him with a bow, it’d be for anything to feel this easy.
He inhales quietly and nods his head, lips curved softly.
“I’d like that.”
“Do I get to ask you a question?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything.”
He slides his hand to the small of her back, right below the dip of her dress, and purses his lips together thoughtfully.
“I live in Baird Creek. I’m an uncle to the best princess. I’ve been at Lumon for two and half years. I work in the—”
“—archival department,” she finishes his thought. “I know.”
“Wait, how do you know that?”
Someday soon, we all will be together.
If the fates allow.
The band fades into distant background noise as he peers down at her with wonder. He doesn’t have any delusions about his place in the company. The promotion he got a couple months back didn’t change the fact that he was a low level employee who worked in the basement. She had more important items to keep track of.
“I told you already,” she reminds him, releases a nervous breath. “We work together.”
“That not possible. Are you—” he argue before giving it any thought, able to make perfect sense of it. He just has a hard time reconciling with the possibility that she’s severed. Why someone like her would go through with it. “You’re serious?”
She nods.
“In case you’re wondering if we have anything in common.”
His eyes widen. The night starts to come into clearer focus, like the fog had been wiped from a thick pair of shades, and the mere possibility makes his heart pound against his ribcage. He’s asking for too much, uncasing something better left untouched, but he can’t help it.
“How much do you know?”
Her head snaps up. She knows he crossed a line, too, but before she can respond, Natalie steps in and nods at them both in acknowledgment.
“The senator would like to meet with you.”
Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she tells her before returning her attention to Mark. They drop the conversation. “Where’s your phone?”
“Here.”
He lets go of her and quickly reaches into his breast pocket before slotting it into her open hands. She opens his contacts and types her number in before saving it under ‘coworker.’ He chuckles softly when he hands it back, and texts her immediately so she has his number, too. The room seems to still when she peers back over her shoulder at him with a soft grin, and he tucks his hands in his pockets with a deep exhale.
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.
Ten-fifteen.
They work together.
He's not supposed to know this much about that part of himself. Everything was curated the way it needed to be—staggered exits, code detectors—all to ensure that nothing slipped through. He wasn’t prepared for his two worlds to collide in unexpected fashion, with someone so remarkable. He never wanted it.
Until now.
Mark brings a glass of eggnog to his lips as he stands in front of an oil painting in the west wing of the gallery, politely listening to Burt Goodman’s personal views on art. He only wandered this far to check out the card writing table. There were a lot to choose from, and he knew Devon would appreciative having an old fashioned card from him to add to her mantle.
“You see, when we interpret art, it’s not about what you’re looking at. It’s about what you see. It’s inward.”
He nods his head, hums in awe and agreement.
“That’s really something.”
“Even an empty canvas is full.”
Burt raises his hands and spreads them apart to demonstrate. Mark clears his throat, tries to pivot the conversation a bit.
“You said you work in product design?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
Burt laughs and Mark joins him when he feels his hand on his shoulder, but the moment is cut short when his phone vibrates against his thigh. He slides it out of his pocket and finds a message from her. A text about her finally being free if he’s still around.
“Excuse me.”
He crosses the main hall and makes his way to the east wing, enters the first room on the left and finds her waiting on a bench underneath a painting of the national forest. Helena smiles widely in his direction as he strolls towards her, hands deep in his pockets. He stops short of the bench and shakes his head, staring up at the ceiling disbelief.
“I walked around this entire place and couldn’t find any mistletoe,” Mark tells her.
Helena grips the edge of the bench and peers up at him through thick eyelashes, laughing softly.
“Maybe because fraternizing is against the rules.”
“There’s married couples here,“ he counters as he takes a seat beside her.
Her lips twist together, amused. “We’re not married.”
“All the more reason," he doubles down.
They glance at each and crack up softly, and he averts his gaze shyly before pulling an envelope out of his suit jacket.
“I wrote you a card.”
“I wrote you one, too.”
Helena bites down on her lips and hands him a card she pulled out of her clutch. He brushes his thumb against the bottom of the seal flap, but stops short, setting it down in his lap instead.
“How about we wait until Christmas to open them."
“Deal.”
He pulls his jacket forward and tucks it away before placing his hands on either side of his lap, his brushing against hers gently. She parts her lips to speak, but gives him the space to say what’s on his mind when he turns towards her with a quiet urgency.
“This is going to sound crazy, but I'm pretty sure my innie is in love with someone down there,” he tells her, voice just above a whisper as he looks at her intently. “I think that's why I know you.”
Her eyes widen, a mix of surprise and overwhelm.
“You think it’s each other?”
Mark looks into her eyes and realizes it’s a trick question. Figures out instantly that she knows more than she had let on, but not in a deceptive way. Of course she knows more than him. He considers asking her flat out, eliminating any doubt on his mind. But there wasn’t much in the first place.
“Don’t tell me,” he answers, and looks straight ahead, taking in the artwork observing them from the wall like spectators. It’s inward. “Is just believing it enough?”
Helena bites back a smile and eyes him with quiet wonder before nodding her head, positive.
“Yeah, I think so.”
There’s a comfortable silence that settles between them. And he’d be okay with keeping it that way, if it weren’t for the fact that party was almost over. That meant they’d be shutting down the photo booth soon. He brings his hands down to his knees lightly and rises to his feet.
“I think you owe me pictures.”
Helena tilts her head, trying to contain her excitement. “Only if you put the antlers back on.”
“You think I won’t?”
He takes both her hands and helps her up before pulling her towards the main hall.