“I am sure that he is. But I’m sorry—my answer is no.” She didn’t want to turn down something that had seemed like such a gift and an answer to all her problems. But there was no way possible that she could do what he was asking. And the longer she stayed in this room, the more he would think he might be able to talk her into it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of work waiting for me.”
Then she turned and walked out of his office, not even glancing back to see the look on her boss’s face. She had alwaysprided herself on being the one willing to take on any extra work whenever he asked, so her response was probably rather unexpected for him.
She really did have a lot of work to do before the end of the day, so she got herself in the ad copy mindset and focused deeply. She started with the copy for a group of ads showing the “perfect” stocking stuffers, and she was on fire. Sometimes, coming up with the right words to go with an ad image felt like an uphill climb when the hill was covered in thick molasses, making each step exhausting work. But other times, like today, the words came like running downhill with a breeze at her back.
After an hour of working so focused on the ads, she could feel her brain power waning, so she took a break to work on other tasks and give her creative juices time to recharge. She refilled her water bottle, sat back down, got comfortable, nudged some papers aside to make room for her water, then opened her email. The top one was from her boss, with a subject line that readExtra hours. She sighed and clicked on it.
Noelle,
I sincerely think that you’re the best person for the job to help my sister and nephew. I really hope you’ll reconsider.
Jack
Nope. That wasn’t going to happen. She was super bummed that it wouldn’t work out, but it very much wouldn’t. So she clickedreplyand typed,I am sorry. I really wish I could help you, but I can’t. Then she clickedsendand forced herself to work on writing ad copy for their “Gifts for the guy who has everything” campaign.
All through the rest of the afternoon, though, workingdidn’thelp her forget about Jack’s request. Not only about how badly she needed the money or how much she just couldn’t make herself do anything Christmassy to get it, but also about the pleading look that had been on her boss’s face when he had asked. This was his company, and he was passionate about it. That had come through in so many staff meetings over the year and a half she’d worked there. She had seen plenty of impassioned pleas for them to pour their heart into specific projects or to put in extra hours when they had too many great clients needing their services at the same time.
His plea for his nephew had been different. It wasn’t that it had been more sincere—that wasn’t it. He was sincere about everything he did. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what the difference was, though.
Regardless of what had been on his face, the fact remained that she couldn’t do what he was asking. It just wasn’t possible.
So it felt even worse when she got a text from Jack after she’d left work for the day, just as she was walking from the office to the bus stop.
Jack: You have now mentioned twice that you “can’t” help my nephew—never that you don’t want to. Can I assume that means that there’s an obstacle standing in your way that you can’t get around? Is there something that I can do to help overcome the obstacle?
Noelle wasn’t even sure how to respond. Could she pretend that she hadn’t seen the text and answer once she had time to think about how to reply? Yeah, probably not—her phone was set to show when she’d read a message. She really needed tochange that. She took a deep breath and clicked reply, then just dumped out her thoughts.
Noelle: It’s more of a mental obstacle than a physical one. Although I did just slip on ice and slide my car into a pole, ruining the front corner just enough to make it un-driveable, so I guess it’s also a physical one.
Noelle: But really, the far biggest issue of the two is the mental obstacle. So, no, there’s not much you can do.
She touched send, then had a moment of freaking out that she just told her boss that she had mental obstacles. And suddenly, she couldn’t handle seeing what his response might be to a declaration that was far more personal than she had ever been with her boss. Even admitting that she was having car troubles was out of the ordinary. So she hurried and shut her phone off before his response could come in and pushed her phone into her bag.
Then she reached in and pushed it further to the bottom. Underneath everything. Where a response wouldn’t feel like it was trying to break free. But then she felt the metaphorical weight of the phone, which now only had the faux leather of her bag between it and her lap, so she moved the bag to the empty seat next to her.
She got off the bus, made the walk back to her apartment—on sidewalks now shoveled clear of snow, thankfully—and went into her apartment before she looked at her bag, trying to decide if she wanted to take her phone out of it and turn it back on.
It was the fact that she knew Hope would be calling that made her grab the phone and power it on. She didn’t want to go to the event tonight, but she did love her sister.
No missed calls from Hope yet, which was unusual. But there were definitely two texts from Jack. She realized that she’d forgotten to get her mail, so she grabbed her keys and headed back down to the mail room, looking at the phone as she went, trying to work up the courage to swipe on the notifications. She unlocked her mail box, then hovered her finger over the messages for a long time before mumbling,You’re being a wimp, then swiped to open the texts. She looked down at the phone in one hand, grabbing her mail with the other.
Jack: I will pay for the repairs on your car. And while it’s in the shop, I’ll get you a rental to drive. As far as the mental obstacle, I don’t know if I can do anything for that, but I’m hoping this will help...
The following text was just two pictures. The first was of a young boy who she guessed was his nephew. He looked like he was about five years old and was holding a snowflake cut from folded white paper, grinning at the camera. He was adorable, and she found herself smiling back at him. He kind of reminded her of her nephews.
The second picture was the same boy, sitting on the lap of someone who looked frail and like she wasn’t feeling well. She guessed it was Jack’s sister. That one made her heart hurt.
But so did thoughts of doing Christmas stuff with the boy. So she swiped out of the app before closing and locking her mail box. She had no idea how to respond.
As she walked back up to her apartment, she pushed her phone into her pocket and started looking through the mail in her hand. A package sat on top of some bills and junk mail. It was slightly smaller than a book but also thicker. It was somekind of box wrapped in brown paper. It was addressed to her, but there wasn’t a return address.
Curious, she turned it over to the backside but then quickly turned it back as her brain interpreted what her eye must’ve caught. The postmark was from North Pole, Alaska. She sucked in a breath, staring at the postmark with disbelief. For as long as she could remember, her Gran-gran would send her a letter “from Santa,” and the postmark always said North Pole, Alaska. The home of Santa Claus.
She’d figured out that Santa wasn’t real when she was seven (which was bound to happen with three older sisters who already figured it out but didn’t do all they could to keep the secret from her because she wasn’t the youngest). When she’d gotten the letter from Santa that Christmas, she’d announced to Gran-gran that she no longer believed in Santa.
Gran-gran had just smiled, winked, and said, “I’ll never stop believing in the magic of Christmas.”
And then, when Noelle was eight, a letter from Santa still came, still with a postmark from North Pole, Alaska. They still kept coming, in fact, every year since then. One even arrived “from Santa,” postmarked by the North Pole post office last year. Noelle had received it just two days after Gran-gran’s passing.
