My brow shoots up to my hairline. “Wow, wine and dessert. Who are you trying to get to put out?”
“Hayden Christensen.” Her eyes take on a far-off look, and her chest rises and falls with a soft sigh.
A tug of jealousy turns my insides a shade of green, and I start to wonder if it’ll seep through my pores, and I’ll end up looking like Kermit the Frog or Gumby. But I keep my emotions in check and take another sip of my water, nodding in agreement.
“But aside from hot villains with a six-pack and daddy issues, I really didn’t think I’d enjoy it so much,” she adds. “You know, my brother-in-law loves all those science fiction movies and whatnot, and he’s the one always telling my sister to watch the movies with him. She just always brushed it off as his weird nerdy obsession. I think I may have to tell her she’s wrong.”
“I like this brother-in-law of yours.”
“You’d like him,” she points out with a sweet smile. “Jade and Trevor have been married for eight years, and they’re actual soulmates. He’s a great dad too. Just amazing with Avery. You know, you two would actually get along really well.”
When Grace talks about the things she loves, her eyes twinkle. There’s a shift that rolls through her whole body easing the tension in her shoulders. And it’s contagious. It’s enough to make the daunting pile of work look like a small speck, enough for me to ignore it completely as if it were all some small menial task, like taking out the trash or checking the mail. I want to sit here and listen to her talk about everything. About her sister’s baby and the rest of her family. About all the little details she loved most about the movie, aside from Hayden Christensen and his physique. About all the things that have been occupying her brain as of late. Like her favorite song or album she’s been listening to. Or what she plans on watching next after she’s done with the otherStar Warsmovies. If she wants me to watch whatever is on her queue next with her like she asked me to, or if she prefers to watch them on her own and fill me in like she is now. Though I’d prefer the former, I want to know all the little musings and thoughts in her head in any way I can.
“How old is their baby?” I ask, letting our conversation trickle in small drips so it can last longer.
“Avery’s almost nine months.” She pauses to tap away at her phone and angles the screen in my direction. “They’re at the children’s museum today,” she explains, showing off an adorable video of little Avery slapping her chubby hands at a puddle of water in a plastic plaything meant for innocent water play. She lets out a happy squeal, and we both smile.
“Ah, so she’s at that really cute age where she can’t walk yet so she stays out of trouble and doesn’t talk back to you.”
“Yeah,” she answers with a laugh. “How do you know so much about the cute baby stage?”
“I have two nieces, remember?”
She nods. “I remember.” She smiles a smile that’s all covert yet wholesome.
“What?”
“What,” she responds.
“What’s that smile?”
She shakes her head. “Just that…you and Sophia. You two looked really cute playing in the pool at Teeny’s house.”
I try to stir up something playful, even a little risqué. But then I choose not to. I’m enjoying this warm, mellow tone we’ve set. It feels like a set of open arms, and I want to wrap the both of us inside a tight hold where we don’t have to think of all the things working against us. Like the fact that Grace coming here to my place of work pushes the boundaries of this friendship we’ve forged. Or that I want to hold on to her a little longer. Take up more of her time and keep asking her questions and demanding more deep, relevant answers.
I’m about to ask her another question. A vaster inquiry that requires thought and debate, when we’re interrupted by Olive.
“Hey,” she huffs, perching herself over the wall of my cubicle. “Did you—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.” Her gaze shifts to Grace, the cheerful affection on her face dropping as soon as she sees the scattered mess of our lunch in front of us.
“Olive, this is Grace,” I tell her, gesturing a hand in Grace’s direction. “Grace, this is Olive. Another Sentry Investments inmate being held hostage on a Saturday. Except she’s here voluntarily so I’m not here all by my lonesome.”
Olive chuckles a laugh that sounds overdone with a sloppy slap to my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re enjoying my company.”
My brow furrows wondering where in that small introduction it sounded like I’ve been particularly enjoying her company before peering over at Grace. The air between us suddenly feels taut and tension filled. She looks uneasy and embarrassed. Like she’s been caught doing something she isn’t supposed to, and it’s making her look a little nervous.
“Are those my waters?” Olive asks, an accusing finger directed at the half-empty water bottles.
“Yeah,” I answer uncomfortably, reminding myself she’s told me many times the stash is there for whenever I need it. “We got a little thirsty. But I’ll pay you for the bottles I took.”
“Oh,” she responds. “That’s fine.” Her answer doesn’t sound fine at all.
Olive brusquely moves around the wall separating us, forcing Grace to scoot her chair back a few inches. It’s like a harsh metal cleave cut into this moment that felt precarious and vulnerable to begin with. Olive reaches over my lap to sift through a stack of binders, looking for a specific one. The way she moves about, it looks as if she’s done this a hundred times. Like this is just as much her workspace as it is mine. And I guess it kind of is considering the number of times she stops by my cubicle to vent or offer me a mid-workday treat, but right now, the last thing I want is for her to emanate a “my cubicle is your cubicle” vibe when I just want it to be me and Grace.
“Uh, is there something you’re looking for?”
“Yeah,” she says, her shoulder invasively nudging into mine. “I thought I left the reports from last September in here. It’s the binder with the orange and red tabs.”
“It’s right here,” I announce, reaching under my desk for the binder she’s looking for.
