By Karen T
© December 2001
Disclaimer: Not mine, any of them.
Spoilers: Minor for "Bartlet for America"
Notes: Title comes from the U2 song "One" because it happened to be what I was listening to when I started writing this and because I couldn't think of something more appropriate.
I don't know how long I've been staring at Josh.
I'm being very sly about it, though, as I pretend to be searching for a file in the cabinet across from his open door, but my focus is entirely on Josh and how forlorn he looks. He's been in a panic all day about something. At first I thought it had to do with the recent bombings of black Tennessee churches, but now I don't think that's the case, especially since the FBI have caught some of the people behind that whole mess. I know he's also been anxious about Leo and his having to testify in front of the House Oversight Committee today, but he's Leo, for goodness sakes, and we all know Leo can take a beating and keep on ticking. As a matter of fact, the office joke around here lately is how Margaret's been trying to purchase a plush Energizer bunny on eBay for her to give Leo for Christmas.
Josh appears to be working, but I can tell that he's not. He looks sad and worried sitting there behind his desk, and those expressions just look out of place in an office strewn with multicolor lights and tinsel. He's breaking my heart, Josh is. I wonder if he knows how easily he can do that. Since I've been working for him, he's broken my heart more times than I care to keep track of anymore. I know he doesn't mean to and that the only reason it happens so often is because I'm too sensitive and I care too much. When he's being arrogant and smug and going on and on about some asinine success that he thinks he's achieved all on his own, there's nothing I like to do more than knock him down a peg or two. (Hey, that's in my job description, isn't it?) But when he's down and out and sitting in his office looking the way he does right now, it just breaks my heart.
I don't know how long I've been staring at Josh.
But it's apparently been for too long because when I realize what I'm doing, he's already caught me watching him and is gazing back at me in surprise.
"You're staring at me, Donna," he points out, his voice somewhat concerned, but more amused than anything else.
I can't believe it. He's actually enjoying the fact that I've been standing here fretting about him! And thus begins the mending of my oh-so-resilient heart.
"It's a reflex thing," I tell him as I walk over to his door. "Don't start thinking I like what I see or anything."
He laughs and that makes me smile.
"Leo's back," I inform him quietly. That look of panic returns to his face. "Josh, what's going on?"
"What?"
"Don't 'what' me. You've been a mess all day, more so than usual. Has something happened? Maybe I can help."
He frowns and looks me straight in the eyes. I can tell he appreciates my offer, but I already know that he isn't going to tell me what's bothering him. He's often stubborn like that. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it." He glances down at his watch and notices that it's almost seven. "Why don't you call it a day?"
He's telling me to go home at a decent hour? Well, if I weren't already concerned, I'd definitely be now. "Are you sure? I could stick around."
"Nah, beat it before I change my mind and decide to keep you here until midnight."
Now it's my turn to laugh. "Okay, then. I'll see you tomorrow, Josh. Don't stay too late."
"All right. Night."
I'm back at my desk and am pulling on my coat when I hear him call, "Hey, Donna?"
"Yeah?" I ask as I walk back to his doorway so that he can see me.
"Tomorrow's the 24th."
"Yeah. So?"
"If tomorrow's the 24th, then that makes it Christmas Eve."
"Congratulations on your astute deductive skills, Josh. Would you like a gold star?"
He glares at me but continues on with his point. "You're coming in to work on Christmas Eve?"
I shrug, unconcerned. "A lot of people go to work on Christmas Eve."
"But you shouldn't be one of them," he says on the verge of whining. "You should be home with your family."
"I told you weeks ago, Josh, that I'm not flying to Wisconsin this year. That means I can come in tomorrow."
"But--"
"What are you doing, Josh?" I demand a tad too harshly. I don't mean to sound so upset, but he tells me I can go home but then keeps me here for this idiotic conversation? "Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"
"Well, I--" He looks down at his hands and puts on that sad, puppy-dog look that gets me every time. I don't know if my heart can keep taking this. "I'm sorry you can't go home for the holidays this year. I know you didn't fly to parents' until Christmas morning last year, but at least you got to spend most of the day with them. I'm just...I'm sorry."
This, Josh, is why I drove non-stop from Wisconsin to Washington, D.C. after I broke up with Dr. Freeride for the last time. But I don't tell him that. I instead say, "Please don't be sorry because I'm not, honestly. Sure I'm going to miss being with my family, but I'm not going to be alone. Margaret's throwing a potluck dinner party at her place tomorrow night, and all the senior assistants will be there." As those last few words leave my mouth, I suddenly become inspired. "Why don't you join us?"
Josh's eyebrows shoot upwards and his mouth drops at the invitation. "I'm Jewish, Donna."
"I'm inviting you to dinner, not Midnight Mass," I clarify with a roll of my eyes. "There's more to Christmas than all the religious stuff. It's about tradition and being with those you care about and those who care about you. So, what do you say, Josh? Want to help start a new tradition?"
"I don't know..."
"Oh, c'mon," I urge. "C.J. and Sam already agreed to come, and Margaret's going to ask Leo. We weren't sure if you or Toby would want to join us, but I'm sure that if you come, Toby will, too."
"Will there be presents?" Josh asks, his eyes beginning to twinkle with excitement.
That's my Josh, forever the little boy. "Yes, there'll be presents. We're going to have a white elephant gift exchange. But nothing over $30. Should I take your question as a yes?"
Josh breaks out in a huge smile. "Yeah. I'll be there."
"Great." I'm beaming from a sense of complete satisfaction. "So...I'm going to go now."
"Okay."
"You sure? You're not going to call me back here to have a stupid conversation about tomorrow being the 24th of December?"
"Good-bye, Donna."
"Bye, Josh."
I skip back to my desk and grab my purse. On my way out, I stop by a desk in a vacant area of the West Wing and punch in a series of extensions. After hearing the familiar beep of our voicemail system, I leave the following message, "Hi, guys, it's Donna. When you hear this message, I need you all to go find your respective boss and invite him or her to our dinner tomorrow night. I know this isn't what we planned, but..." I hesitate at this point and sigh. "Well, it's kind of a long story and I'll explain it all to you later if you want, but the upshot is, I don't think any of them should spend Christmas Eve alone, do you? Ginger and Bonnie, I'll leave it up to you two to decide who gets to invite Sam and who gets to invite Toby. If it helps any, you can tell them that Josh is coming. And look on the bright side, you can be sure they'll all break the $30 limit on our gift exchange. Anyway, I'm headed home now, so feel free to call me there in thirty minutes and scream your head off at me. See you all tomorrow. Bye."
I manage to make it out of the White House without telling any more lies and backing myself into any more corners. I wave good-bye to the guard stationed by the gate and let myself out onto the sidewalk. It hasn't snowed in awhile, so there's no snow on the ground, which kind of bums me out. I've always loved white Christmases. I'm in the process of pulling up the collar on my coat when I hear someone calling my name. I recognize the voice and immediately cringe. I quicken my step in a feeble attempt to see if I can lose my pursuer, but the voice yelling my name is growing louder and people sharing the sidewalk with me are beginning to stop and look around for this "Donna" person. Sensing the inevitable, I pull over to the side and wait for Cliff to catch up with me. It's the first time we've seen each other since that night Josh handed him my diary, and I'm not thrilled about the ambush.
"Mr. Calley," I greet him coldly as he finally reaches me, a stream of condensation escaping from his mouth.
"Hey," he pants, trying to catch his breath, "fancy bumping into you here."
"I work here." His tone is playful, but mine is not.
He's evidently noticed that I'm not in the mood for any idle chit-chat for his smile vanishes and he looks down at his feet. "Look, Donna, it's almost Christmas. Can't we--"
"What?" I snap, glad that I have on shoes with two-inch heels and can now tower over him. "Kiss and make up? No, we can't do that. What are you doing here, Cliff? Aren't we going to get in trouble if someone happens to notice the Majority Counsel and the Deputy Chief of Staff's assistant rendezvousing in front of the White House?"
Cliff gazes up at me with a disturbingly accurate recreation of Josh's sad, puppy-dog look. "I don't know what I'm doing here, Donna, but you're right. We could get in a lot of trouble if the wrong people spotted us here, so I'm going to keep this short. 2001 hasn't been a very good year for me, mainly because my ex-girlfriend and I spent an excruciating ten months of it breaking up with each other. Now, I would just write off this year altogether as one I should banish from memory if it wasn't for the fact that I met you. I know things didn't turn out great with us and I wish things could have been different, but I don't regret for a second that Ainsley set us up. Do you?"
I brush some hair away from my frozen cheeks. Cliff is using his eyes to plead with me to agree with him, and I want to. I want to because he's being so sincere and because he probably waited for me for hours in the cold and because he's truly the kind of man I want. But as much as I want to kiss him right now, I do regret that Ainsley set us up, simply because it would have made things so much easier if she hadn't.
"Have a merry Christmas, Cliff," I quietly wish him as I turn to walk away.
I know my response catches him off-guard, but he recovers quickly enough to grab my arm. "Wait, Donna. I have something for you." He rummages around in his bag before pulling out a small, thin present wrapped in red paper. "Here."
I'm momentarily frozen in uncertainty and glance at him in trepidation. "Cliff, I can't--"
"Just take it," he insists, waving the present in front of him. "It's nothing big. I was just doing some last minute shopping yesterday and thought of you. Please, Donna, take it."
I do as I'm told and accept the gift. "Thank you," I whisper.
He nods stiffly and looks down at his feet again. It's pretty dark where we're standing so I'm not positive, but I think he's blushing. "I don't know what's going to happen in the new year, but I really hope you have a happy holidays."
"You, too." I smile as I blink away some tears and pretend to brush something off of his hair.
"Bye, Donna."
"Bye."
We part ways then and I wonder if that short conversation will be the closure both Cliff and I need for our relationship. I spend the walk back to my apartment trying to figure out how I feel about the small present in my hands. Once at my building, I let myself into my apartment and begin flipping on lights. My usually well lit apartment is dark because my roommate left this morning to fly to New York to be with her extended family. Her ridiculously overweight orange tabby ambles over to me and mews plaintively right before he plops down on the floor and rolls onto his back so that I can scratch his stomach.
"Hi, sweetie," I coo as I obligingly rub his exposed belly. "Are you hungry? Do you want Aunt Donna to feed you a little dinner? Give me a sec, and I'll be right with you."
I turn on the light to the living room, which also doubles as our dining room, and see the two-foot plastic Christmas tree my roommate and I had placed on top of the TV. It's a far cry from the eight-foot Noble Fir my parents always set up in their house, but it's the best my roommate and I could do under a tight budget and an even tighter amount of living space. Seeing the tree reminds me that I'm still holding Cliff's gift. It's customary within my family not to open any gifts until Christmas morning, but since I'm not with my family, I reason with myself that that makes it okay to open one early.
From the size and shape of the present, I'd already more or less guessed that he'd bought me a notebook. So, I'm not terribly surprised to find a Mead Five-Star personal notebook in my hands once I've torn away all the wrapping paper. It's one of those smaller size ones with the plastic cover that does a better job of protecting the paper. Even though I'd had an inkling of what the gift was, I'm irked to find that I'm right. What is Cliff trying to tell me? That if I'm going to keep a diary and then lie about it while under oath, I should at least make sure my diary doesn't look like a diary? I'm tempted to open a window and toss the book out on to the street below, but I refrain from doing so because I don't want to believe that Cliff could be so mean-spirited. Maybe there's a hidden meaning to the gift, I tell myself. Maybe he wrote me something amazing in it. As I flip the notebook open to the first page, I'm floored to find that he did indeed write something amazing:
December 23rd ~ It's Christmas Eve eve and I'm stuck here in town for the holidays. But I don't mind so much because I've got some really great friends here and I've just learned that Cliff Calley never read my diary.
-the end-
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