Chapter 65: The Holiday Season
The firm holiday party was exactly what I expected—forced cheer in a conference room decorated with grocery store tinsel, cheap wine in plastic cups, associates making small talk while calculating who was winning partnership race.
I stood near the window nursing a beer, watching the dynamics. Jennifer Park held court with three junior associates, laughing too loudly at something that probably wasn't funny. The partners clustered in their own circle, discussing cases in hushed tones. Hardman moved between groups, playing benevolent boss, everyone performing their roles.
"Quite the celebration," someone said behind me.
I turned. Jennifer, wine glass in hand, smile not reaching her eyes.
"It's nice," I said neutrally.
"Must be nice being Hardman's golden boy. Partnership discussions, major cases, all the best assignments." She sipped her wine. "Some of us have been here longer, worked harder, but somehow you're the favorite."
"I won cases. That's the job."
"You won cases against Pearson Hardman, which is what Hardman cares about. The rest of us could cure cancer through litigation and he wouldn't notice." She moved closer, voice dropping. "Just remember—favorites fall. And when you fall, none of us will catch you."
She walked away before I could respond. I watched her rejoin her group, animated and laughing again like the conversation hadn't happened.
The party felt smaller after that. My victories had isolated me—I'd climbed faster than the associates who'd been here longer, earned Hardman's attention at their expense, become the measuring stick they resented rather than the colleague they respected.
Success bred isolation. Another lesson the System hadn't needed to teach me.
I left early, citing case work. No one seemed sorry to see me go.
Saturday afternoon, Donna and I hit the Union Square holiday market—that annual chaos of wooden stalls selling handmade crafts, overpriced food, tourists taking photos of everything. We weren't shopping for anything specific, just walking, drinking hot cider, enjoying the December cold.
"How was your firm party?" Donna asked, examining a table of handmade jewelry.
"Lonely. Turns out being good at your job makes people resent you."
"Welcome to corporate law. Harvey's been lonely for twelve years."
"That's not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be." She picked up a silver bracelet, held it to the light. "Harvey's lonely because he chose to be. You're lonely because you're better than the people around you. Different causes, same result."
We moved to the next stall—vintage ornaments, some beautiful, most tacky. Donna found one shaped like a typewriter, laughed.
"Remember when offices had these?"
"I remember seeing them in museums."
"God, you're young."
We turned a corner and nearly collided with Harvey Specter and Mike Ross, both carrying shopping bags, both looking as surprised as we felt.
Four seconds of awkward silence. Then Harvey nodded curtly.
"Donna. Roden."
"Harvey. Mike." Donna's voice was professionally neutral.
Mike smiled, genuinely friendly. "Holiday shopping?"
"Just browsing," I said.
More awkward silence. A family pushed past us, kids arguing about which stall to visit next. The moment stretched.
"Well," Harvey said. "Enjoy your afternoon."
He walked away without waiting for response. Mike hesitated, looked between us, then followed. After they disappeared into the crowd, Donna exhaled.
"That was terrible."
"Yeah."
"He's still angry. About us."
"He'll get over it."
"Will he?" She linked her arm through mine. "Harvey holds grudges. Professional ones, personal ones, all of them. We're both on his grudge list now."
We kept walking, but the holiday magic felt diminished. Harvey's presence had been brief but oppressive, a reminder that our relationship existed in opposition to people who had power over both our careers.
Mike caught up to us two stalls later, Harvey nowhere in sight.
"Sorry about that," Mike said. "Harvey's... not handling this well. You and Donna, I mean."
"That's Harvey's problem," I said.
"Maybe. But it's your complication. And Donna's." He looked at Donna. "He's been impossible at work. Everything's a battle. Nothing's good enough. You leaving early twice last week sent him into a three-hour spiral about loyalty."
"I'm entitled to a personal life," Donna said quietly.
"I know. He doesn't." Mike shrugged. "Just... be careful. Both of you. Harvey doesn't separate personal from professional. This thing between you two is going to keep bleeding into work."
He left, rejoining Harvey somewhere in the crowd. Donna and I stood in sudden silence.
"We knew this would be complicated," I said.
"Knowing something intellectually and experiencing it emotionally are different." She pulled her coat tighter. "Let's go home. I'm done with holiday markets."
We walked back to her apartment, quiet but together. The complications were real. Harvey's anger was real. The professional risks were real.
But so was this. So was us.
We'd figure it out. We had to.
New Year's Eve, we stayed in. Donna's apartment, takeout from that Italian place we both loved, wine that was probably too expensive for what we were celebrating but felt appropriate anyway.
Around eleven, lying on her couch watching the Times Square coverage with the sound muted, Donna asked: "What was your best moment this year?"
I thought about that. Beating Harvey in the Kessler case. Settling the Carlson takeover. Winning the TechVista trial. All professional victories, all meaningful.
"The cabin weekend," I said. "When I told you I loved you."
She smiled, surprised. "Really? Not the big case wins?"
"Those were victories. The cabin was... real. The first time I wasn't calculating, wasn't performing. Just being."
"That's growth." She refilled our wine glasses. "My best moment was when I told Harvey no. About us. When I chose my own life over his comfort."
"That took courage."
"So did the cabin. You're terrified of not being in control. Spontaneity is your nightmare. But you tried anyway."
We talked through the final hour of the year, reviewing everything that had changed. Scott went from fired associate to respected litigator. Donna went from Harvey's secretary to her own person—still working for him but no longer defined by him. Both of us found partnership instead of just relationship.
At midnight, fireworks exploded over Manhattan, visible through her windows, the entire city celebrating new beginnings. We kissed, wine-flavored and certain, two people who'd chosen each other against every complication.
"Whatever comes next year, we handle it together," Donna said.
"Promise."
My System whispered probability calculations about 2013—potential job changes, relationship stressors, professional conflicts. I dismissed them all. For once, I didn't need the numbers.
I had something better. Someone worth protecting regardless of odds.
The year ended wrapped around each other, city lights our only illumination, no idea what January would bring but confident we'd navigate it.
Together. That was the only calculation that mattered.
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