The Gift

CW: Contains strong language

"Give me a sec. The McCarthy group was supposed to send over the TC7 form by 5. I just want to check if it's in my email." Jake places his red solo cup in the corner and leaves his company's annual Christmas Eve-Eve party.

Standing over his desk chair, he impatiently scrolls through his emails. Todd sneaks up and sticks his head over the cubicle wall.

"What's up you workaholic. You gonna be working Christmas Day too?"

"Todd, Jesus." Jake whips around, startled.

"Woah, didn't mean to scare ya."

"I just didn't think anybody was still up here. What are you doing, Todd?"

"Oh, well I got you a little Christmas present. Just keep it on the down low. I didn't get enough for the whole class, if you know what I mean." Another nasally laugh.

"Sure. Um, thanks."

"Of course. I just wanted to say it's good working with you."

"Not quitting on us are you? I don't know who we'd get as Safety Leader if you left." Jake made little attempt to disguise the sarcasm. They share a fake laugh as Todd hands over a bottle in a brown paper bag.

Jake slides the bottle out.

"Hey! Whiskey! This'll get me about halfway through dinner."

"Don't go chugging that stuff. That's the sipping kind."

Jake takes a closer look at the label.

"Woah! A Pappy Van Winkle? This must've been like..."

"Ah, don't worry about that. I just wanted to do something nice for my favorite co-workers."

"Well...alright then. Thanks. Merry Christmas."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Jake yells, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

On the commute home, Jake talks over speakerphone with his wife. His car skids on the icy road. His laptop bag and the bottle fall to the floor.

"What was that for?" Jen asks through the car.

"I started skidding. Thought I was gonna go right through the light."

Jake leans over to grab his bag and the bottle, getting a glimpse of the cursive "PVW" embossed in gold over the red cap.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

He jumps back in before Jen can respond.

"Oh, so get this. You know Todd at work, right?"

"Yeah. Todd—the guy who doesn't know how Excel works?"

"Get this, he got me this like $300 bottle of whiskey as a Christmas present."

"Damn. That's really nice."

"Yeah, fucking too nice. Now I'm gonna have to get him something."

"Why would you have to get him something?"

"Jen, I can't just have this $300 anvil over my head. What the fuck am I even gonna get the guy? Maybe I'll get him one of those Funko dolls. Those stupid figurines with big heads. I'm going to have to go to the mall tomorrow so I can give it to him when we're back on Tuesday."

"No! Hun! We're visiting Santa at Bickle Bear Farm tomorrow. We do it every year."

"I'll have to meet you over there. I'll get to the mall when they open. Grab some crap that costs 300 bucks and meet you before eleven."

"Ugh fine. Leave me with both the kids again."

In the background, a child yells, "Mommy Caleb threw this at me!"

"I'll see you when you get home. Don't forget, you're picking up Melano's for dinner."

"Nope. Almost there."

Jake peeks at his own house as he drives past to collect the food he very much forgot about.

Jake wakes the next day to the bedroom door crashing open and manages to cup his balls just before a toddler's knee rockets onto the bed.

"Daddy! Daddy! Pancakes!" Caleb and Chloe sing in unison.

Jake cooks pancakes for his kids. He sits and reads a book, Jen's feet on his lap as she scrolls through her phone. Caleb and Chloe watch the same episode of Bluey for perhaps the 30th time this week.

Jake taps his phone to reveal the clock. He tosses his wife's feet and jumps off the couch.

"Shit, I gotta get going. Mall opens in twenty minutes."

Jake sprints to the kitchen, drops his mug at the sink and scampers upstairs. Jen lowers her phone and yells to him.

"I still think this is absolutely nuts. Only you would go this crazy. You need to seriously think about therapy."

Jake comes back down and grabs his coat.

"Look. If he has this on me, the next time Henderson has extra shit to do during tax season, he's gonna own me. I'm not doing that. Not this year."

Jen rolls her eyes. Jake grabs his keys.

"Now I just need to figure out what the fuck you get for a forty-something man child."

Jen, ignoring his problem, tells him, "Santa. Eleven."

"Eleven." Jake repeats and closes the door behind him.

Jake had expected the mall to be crowded. But pulling into the parking lot, serpentining through endless lanes of cars, that familiar heat built in his gut. He finally found a spot a casual 150-yard walk to the entrance. He pressed the button to cut the engine, leaned back and closed his eyes. He took four deep breaths, something Jen harassed him with daily since she started meditating last month. He pulled his phone off the holster.

"Alright," he started, narrating each action. "ChatGPT. Ok. 300 dollar gift for coworker you hate. Enter."

ChatGPT ruminates for a few seconds.

"Hah. 'Premium whiskey set.' Asshole beat me to it. 'Noise-canceling headphones.' No. 'Portable monitor.' Hell no."

"Tell you what, let me see what stores they got at this mall. No. Old Navy. Nah. Hot Topic. Spencer's? Ooo, a Lego store. There's gotta be a $300 Star Wars crap I can buy. That nerd'll love it. May even get the upper hand out this."

Jake strolls into the mall, even stopping at Starbucks for a seasonal drink. He's feeling confident now.

A feeling he enjoyed for all of five minutes as he rounded the corner and saw a line stretching from the "Custom Hat" kiosk all the way to the Lego Store entrance.

A pimply teenager in a red "Lego" polo was walking the line shouting, "There's about an hour wait, but you all will get in the store. Please be patient."

Jake approached and confirmed with an older woman that this was indeed the Lego store line.

She replied, "Yes," in a not-so-subtly somber tone.

The time read "10:25" as his screen flashed to life. "Shit" he mumbled before opening Messenger.

"Going to be a little late. 11:30."

He didn't know why he lied. He knew it would be at least an hour in line, 15 minutes in the store and 20 minutes to drive to Bickle Bear Farm.

Before he could process his strange combination of curiosity and guilt, another woman approached and asked, "Is this the line for the Lego store?"

"Yeah," he replied, in a not-so-subtly somber tone.

"Jen!"

Jake yells to his wife as he runs past the second insanely long line he's seen this morning. Luckily, Jen and the kids were almost to the front.

"Finally. You almost missed the picture and you made me stand in this line by myself," Jen scolds but with an air of happiness she would never admit to.

"I'm sorry. I just waited for an hour to get into the fucking Lego store. I thought I was gonna get pulled over getting here."

"The Lego Store?" Jen asks, eying him as if to say, "You really are an idiot."

"It's smart, Jen. Don't give me that look. 300 bucks for a Star Trek Enterprise ship. Todd's an absolute nerd. I may even come out on top with this. He should've never gotten into this with me, baby."

Jake leaps to the side and pretends to box an invisible foe.

Jen, laughing, "Alright, get back here, bub. We're almost up."

"You ever think this Todd guy just gave you a gift to mess with you? I mean, all you know, that's not even a real bottle."

Jake's brother Jim was often trying to get under his younger sibling's skin. The most popular occasion being at the family Christmas party.

"It's—It's real, Jim. I'll show you."

Jake walks into another room and emerges with the bottle.

"Here. Look at it."

Jim examines the bottle, scrutinizing any defect.

"Yeah this is a fake dude. A good fake, really good. But this is 8-gauge glass. Pappy bottles everything in 12-gauge glass bottles. They said that on the tour we went on in Kentucky."

Jim leans away and yells to his wife in the living room.

"Hey honey! Meg! When we went on the Buffalo Trace distillery tour, they used 12-gauge glass on the Pappy bottles right?"

"I don't fucking know, you moron," Meg replies.

Jim returns to Jake. "Yeah, pretty sure it was 12." He hands the bottle back.

"I know one way to know for sure it's real. Crack that baby open."

"No thanks. I'm not wasting this bottle on the likes of you."

Although Jake laughed off his brother's stupidity in the moment, a nagging thought ate at him through Christmas dinner, white elephant, and cleaning up.

What if Todd did give him that bottle just to fuck with him? Maybe he just pawned off some cheap Jim Beam as a 23-year Pappy Van Winkle. Fuck. What if it isn't even alcohol? God, what a fucking asshole. I'll teach him who to fuck with.

That thought propelled Jake off the couch, stopping at the fridge for another beer.

"Where are you going?" Jen asked.

"Gotta make a little customization to Todd's gift."

Jake walked into the break room a little after 9 am on the 26th. The office is basically abandoned, at least on his floor. Todd is sitting at the small table in the corner.

"Hey Todd!" Jake says excitedly. "I'm glad you're in today. Look, thank you so much again for the bottle of whiskey. I just couldn't not reciprocate."

He hands over a large rectangular box wrapped in green Grinch paper.

"Oh, Jake. You know you didn't have to do that."

"I think you know I did," Jake mutters through a smile.

"Well, what is it?"

"Open it on up. Trust me. It's work appropriate."

Todd places the package down and gently picks at the corner tab.

"Oh, come on. Really rip into it," Jake encourages.

Todd shreds the paper, revealing the box.

"Oh wow. Jake. You really didn't have to. Thank you."

"Go on. Open the box. There's a little more."

Jake peeks into the hallway to double check they were alone.

Todd rips through the tape and throws the cardboard flaps open. A loud bang reverberates through the break room and a spray of blue paint coats Todd's face and shirt. Jake stares in amazement, watching the scene unfold in slow motion. The "Porch Pirate" trap he had bought on a whim and never used surpassed his expectations. Jake curled over the table in laughter as Todd staggered back, wiping blue paint from his glasses.

"I know what games you're playing, Todd. You can't fool me," Jake says, leaning in.

Todd pauses and stares at Jake through hazy, blue glass. He appeared to open his mouth to say something, but his hand lurched to his chest. He squeaks out a weak groan and collapses to the floor.

"Oh shit. Shit. Shit," Jake says.

Todd begins rolling left and right on the concrete floor, grasping at his chest.

"Shit. Are you having a heart attack?"

"Ahhh...Yes," Todd leaks out.

Despite Jake's numerous flaws he didn't hesitate to pull his phone from his pocket and dial 911. He sat on the floor with Todd until the paramedics arrived, meditating on the realization that his wife may in fact be correct about giving therapy a try. He let the medics into the building and escorted them to the 4th floor.

"Alright, let's get him on the gurney," said one of the medics.

The two medics grabbed Todd's feet and arms and lifted him onto the stretcher, bringing it up to waist height. They began wheeling Todd out when he asked them to stop.

"Jake, come here. Please," Todd says in a weak voice.

Jake leans in to hear him better.

"Merry Christmas, Asshole."

Todd slips a torn piece of paper into Jake's hand as he pulls away. The medics move Todd down the hall to the elevators. Jake unfolds the paper.

"Gotcha."

Jake gives a truly earnest smile before tossing the paper into the trash. Despite all his neurotics, Jake never thought Todd was smart enough to pull something like that off. And he met his surprise, not with his normal rage, but with a cheerful respect for his worthy adversary.

Taking a quick lap through the cubicles to triple check nobody else was on the floor, Jake pulls out his wallet, making sure he had extra cash to bribe the security guard, Tony, to wipe the security footage.