Secret Santa

Secret Santa By J.M. Snyder The gift sat in the middle of his desk, wrapped in glittery blue paper adorned with snowflakes. A piece of printer paper folded in quarters sat atop the gift, his name printed on the outside in all caps in Comic Sans font. Micah Adler stared at the gift warily as he skirted his desk. His gaze didn’t waver as he set his briefcase in his desk chair, then shrugged out of his winter coat. As he picked off his gloves finger by finger, he studied the gift as if trying to decide what might be inside. One thought ran through his mind. What the hell? It was Monday, and Christmas was at the end of the week. The office would be closed a half day Thursday and all day Friday for the holiday, but being Jewish, Micah only saw it as a free day off from work. His plans for Christmas were simple—sleep in late and treat himself to a nice Chinese restaurant for dinner. At his age, there were no presents any more, not for Hanukkah, and sure as hell not for Christmas. Where this one had come from, he had no clue. Slowly he reached out, as if the innocuous box contained a ticking bomb that would explode at his touch. When it didn’t react to his closeness, he smoothed a finger over the bumpy glitter glued to the wrapping paper. Maybe the office manager had left it as a little present, though to be honest, if he was going to get a gift, Micah would have liked something practical—cookies, perhaps, or a nice box of chocolates. From the gift’s small size, he knew it contained neither. Maybe a candy bar or a couple packs of gum, if he were lucky. Raising his voice, he called out, “Shelley?” No response. Deciding the box was safe, Micah picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was light, maybe six inches on its longest side, and made an odd shuffling noise when shaken. Crossing his office, he peeked out the door at the reception desk just a short distance down the hall. “Shelley?” he called again. Her desk was empty, but before Micah ducked back into his office, he caught sight of her through the glass door that led into the hallway of their floor. The moment she entered their suite, he asked, “Hey, did you see who left this?” At thirty-five, Shelley was only seven years older than Micah, but her icy demeanor and acrid tongue made her seem twice her age. She was already a bitter old maid, and she wasn’t even middle-aged, but for all her bristly one-liners and crabby remarks, she ran the office single-handedly. Micah had learned early in his career at Patterson and Associates that she was only pissy with people she liked, and fortunately that included him. However, some days he wondered if that was good or bad. Today was going to be one of those days, he knew already. The look she shot him from across the room could have cracked ice. “Did you just see me walk in?” she snapped. “Good morning to you, too,” Micah muttered under his breath. Holding up the gift, he explained, “This was on my desk—” “So open it.” Shelley dropped the heavy satchel she called a purse on the floor beside her chair, where it landed with a thud. “Who’s it from?” “I don’t know,” Micah admitted. “I hoped maybe you saw who left it.” Unwrapping the scarf around her neck, Shelley gave him a withering stare. “I just got here,” she reminded him. “Maybe it’s your secret Santa.” Of course. Micah had forgotten about that nonsense—earlier in the month, everyone in the office had drawn names of a coworker with whom they would exchange a gift. Micah had drawn Shelley’s name, unfortunately, and all he bought her was a tin of popcorn. He had hoped she would open it at work and share it—preferably with him—but after half-hearted thanks, she took the still-sealed tin home and Micah hadn’t seen it again. He’d really wanted some of the caramel popcorn, too. It was his favorite. His own secret Santa hadn’t yet come through. Shaking the box in his hands, he listened to the noise it made and wondered if there was any kind of candy that could sound like that. He was still holding out for something to snack on, which would really make his day. Or his morning, at least. Or maybe an hour, as long as Shelley didn’t send any calls back to his office before lunch. “So what is it?” she wanted to know. “Is that a card?” “It’s a note.” The piece of paper was taped to the top of the box. Deftly Micah plucked it off and unfolded it. Written inside was one cryptic line of printed type, also in Comic Sans. Just because Santa only comes once a year doesn’t mean you should, too. Here are twelve reasons to come more often. Micah frowned at the note. “Twelve reasons to come?” he read aloud, his voice low so Shelley wouldn’t overhear. A second later, the double entendre of the phrase clicked and he snickered. Thank God she hadn’t heard. Who the hell sent this? Suddenly more than his curiosity was piqued—Micah felt his blood rush at the thought of what might be wrapped inside the box. At her desk, Shelley was already engrossed in checking her personal e-mail, and it was only with minimal interest that she asked, “So what is it?” “Chocolate,” Micah answered, thinking quickly. “A Mr. Goodbar, that’s all. No name on the note. It’s just signed Santa.” She flashed a rare smile his way. “I bet he gives you something else later,” she said, eyes sparkling at the thought. “Maybe he’s going to do like eight little gifts, since you’re Jewish. And he won’t say who it is until the last one.” “Who is it?” he asked. He knew Shelley would know—she’d been the one to draw up the names, after all, and she made it her business to know what went on in the office. The fact that she used a male pronoun wasn’t really indicative, since she was the only woman in their small architecture firm. The rest of the office, all nine of them, were men, and fresh from grad school, Micah was the youngest. But Shelley shook her head, her short russet curls bouncing around her ears. “Oh, no. I’m not telling. Are you going to open it or what?” Micah would, but without an audience. Stepping back into his office, he shut the door. Twelve reasons to come…he thought he knew what might be inside the box. Another shake confirmed his suspicions. With a glance at the door to make sure it was closed, Micah perched on the edge of his chair, careful not to sit on his coat and briefcase, and opened the present. Just as he thought—inside was an unopened box of condoms. A heaviness sank into his groin as he grinned. Who the hell would have given him these?