The Napkin Project (Holiday Edition): Silvia Moreno-Garcia
In an hour they're going to break all 24 of his ribs. He's trying to postpone the inevitable by staying for the dreadful office Christmas party. But soon they'll unplug the karaoke machine and shove everyone out the door. He thinks about Tessa again; he looked her up before. They'd dated in college and talked about moving to Paris, about books and learning how to cook boeuf bourguignon. He dumped her on Christmas Eve many years ago and he's trying to remember why she collected snow globes.
When he'd arrived at the party, he thought he might fuck Jenny in the photo copy room. But he's in a bitter mood and keeps thinking about the snow globes. Anyway, Jenny's already cozied up to Brad and he's left sipping cup after cup of punch and listening to corny songs about reindeer and holidays.
50 minutes. Tessa hasn't changed that much, at least going by her picture. Her location isn't Paris, but she works abroad. London. When they were first going out, he asked Tessa why she liked snow globes and now he can't remember her answer. The décor is hideous this year; bad pizza and even worse cookies round up the experience. He has a headache and wants to head home, but they'll smash his kidneys the moment he shows his face.
Half an hour. She talked about the Ice House of St. Petersburg and how the tsarina Anna of Russia forced her court jester to marry the ugliest woman in the realm and spend his wedding night on a bed of ice.
He has 20 minutes, tops, the party is winding down. They're probably waiting by his car in the parking lot. They're going to kill him. Tick tock goes the clock on the wall. She told him about the frost fair of 1814, when a dozen printing presses were set on the frozen Thames, producing odes to snow and ice. And then she laughed, and she had a red hat and a red scarf, and she stood on her tiptoes and pulled him down by the lapels of his coat for a kiss.
Someone elbows him away and he splashes punch on his shirt. He stands there, alone, under the mistletoe, staring at the clock across the room. And then he remembers what she said: a snow globe makes tangible the futility of trying to preserve a perfect moment.
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