Jamie felt the first warning sign when Wendy touched his arm—that feather-light tap she probably didn’t even realize she did.
It wasn’t a problem for him, exactly. Wendy was Wendy: friendly, chaotic, sunshine-in-human-form. She touched everyone. Desks. Coffee machines. Strangers in elevators. It was just her default setting.
But he knew one thing with absolute certainty: Tessa would hate it.
He didn’t even need to look to know she’d seen it. He felt her attention land on him like a soft but unmistakable weight. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, hoping it looked natural.
It didn’t.
Nothing about this felt natural.
Wendy laughed again—too loud for how small the joke had been—and he managed a polite smile. He always tried to be kind to colleagues, especially during the office Christmas dinner. No drama. No tension. Not tonight.
“Wow, you’re finally smiling,” Wendy teased lightly. “That’s a holiday miracle.”
Jamie forced another smile, the safe kind. The please-don’t-let-this-look-like-anything kind. Then he risked a glance at Tessa.
She was holding her wine glass with the same posture she used when someone cut her off in traffic. Calm on the surface. Storm system building beneath.
He swallowed.
Tessa wasn’t jealous. Not really. She just had… radar. Sensitive, pinpoint-accurate radar for anything that felt like disrespect. And Wendy—oblivious, sparkling Wendy—was basically a walking radar trigger.
When the waiter placed the turkey in front of them, Jamie tried to break the tension.
“Tessa? You okay?”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Perfect.”
Oh no. The worst word in the English language.
He fought the urge to swear into his mashed potatoes.
He wanted to reach for her hand under the table, reassure her, make a joke—something to pull the pressure valve before this turned into a conversation back at home that started with:
It’s not Wendy, it’s the principle.
But Wendy leaned in again, asking about the Q1 campaign, and Jamie felt his soul leave his body. He angled his torso away by a few degrees—subtle, but intentional—hoping Tessa saw the message:
I’m not encouraging this. Save me. Please.
At the same time, Wendy turned toward Tessa with a compliment. “Your dress is stunning.”
Jamie held his breath.
Tessa blinked. Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
He almost called the waiter back and requested a fire extinguisher.
The clinking of cutlery resumed. The small talk continued. And Jamie sat there in the flickering candlelight, silently praying the evening would survive the next two hours without anyone—wife or colleague—committing emotional manslaughter.
Christmas dinners were supposed to be peaceful. Why did he ever believe that?
© 2025 Márta Vajai
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This wasn’t part of the assignment, but I had a lot of fun writing the third POV.
It makes a perfect triptych.
Thank you so much for that recognition.
These three pieces belong together for me as well—I wrote them with the same momentum, almost in a single breath. Over time, this third POV quietly became my favorite of the three: the man in the middle.
I didn’t include Jamie’s perspective in my original post because I didn’t want to seem overzealous. Your curiosity—and the way you expressed it—was the gentle nudge I needed to take that leap of faith.
wow – this is great. I love the pacing of it and the ways the tension builds and the way Jamie is able to read the polite controlled rage of his partner — a wonderful read – thanks for sharing
Thank you so much — I’m really glad you felt the tension and Jamie’s awareness. That “polite controlled rage” was exactly what I was aiming for, so your feedback really landed and means a lot.
You mentioned earlier that you don’t like to demonize your characters, and I realized we share the same values there. That’s actually one of the reasons why your assignment pulled me in so deeply — I’m drawn to multidimensional, deep characters, too.