The Edge Of A Beg | Jamie Cook

ten

"What are you doing for Christmas?" I ask on Monday morning, standing beside the coffee machine.

I'm stalking the surroundings and the people walking by like a maniac, only stopping when I feel my teeth biting harshly into my bottom lip.

The more I wait here and the more nervous I feel. Where the hell is Jamie?

"Visit me family for the week, maybe go to France for two or three days," Alex blows on his coffee, the steam floating in the air.

"With your girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds cool," I smile, stealing another glance at the opened door.

Footsteps get closer and I straighten against the machine, only to sigh and deflate when Nicholas comes in.

"He's not here," the newcomer tells me, eyes narrowed as he pushes a few buttons to get a can of soda.

Alexander is the only one staring at me, but it feels like there's a whole auditorium waiting for my speech. I keep a bored resting face, fidgeting with my cup of vanilla coffee.

"Well, finally a miracle."

Alexander smiles softly, giving me a knowing look before turning around to glance at his friend.

"Jamie's sick. Knowing him, he'll probably stay home the longer he can."

My stomach knots again. "Is he?"

"He'll be back after Christmas," Nicholas says.

After Christmas. Two weeks, which means the next time we'll see each other will be at the New Year's Dinner Party. That is, if we both go.

I should be ecstatic not to see him for such a long period of time, but this weird feeling of disappointment washes over me. There were so many things I wanted to say. Apologise as a first. I just give too much thought to the wording.

I feel slightly guilty about feeling so energetic when he's somewhere out there, maybe sick in bed.

When I'm back at my desk, I fill in some paperwork for the lads—who still don't want to deal with this—and look at my phone every minute. I think about calling him, but what should I say? The night has opened my eyes, and now I can't stop thinking that I was completely, sadly wrong about you?

So I settle on texting him instead, deleting the conversation with Connor for the sake of my phone storage.

me:

I bought a bottle of champagne to
celebrate your absence.

Perfect. Usual tone, usual sarcasm.

I keep my phone in front of me for the next minutes, my eyes flashing to the screen each time it lights up with a notification. But none coming from Jamie.

Around four, after I've contacted a graphic designer for the Glastonbury poster of the Antique Junkies, I startle at the sound of someone dropping something on my desk.

Once again sighing when it's only John and a stack of paper, I don't say anything either and make my way toward the lift obediently. For the first time in my life, I watch John walking off without glaring at him. Three seconds later, the doors of the lift close and I try to be upset at something.

Yet, curiosity gets the best of me, and I finally look down at the uninteresting documents, scanning through them quickly. Awkwardly clutching the stack against my chest, I read the last paper of the lot. And I try to breathe correctly at the endless lines of couples listed up.