“Not defective,” I say. “Selective.”
She smiles at that, shoulders relaxing. The barista calls my name, and I grab the tray with our drinks and pastries.
We move to a small table near the window, and I pull out a chair for her. She hesitates, but then sits down, thanking me with a sweet smile. My gaze lingers a little too long on her delectable lips, and I clear my throat as I put down the tray on the table and take the seat across from her. We shed our various outer garments, and I lean back in my chair, exhaling as I relax.
Outside, it’s getting dark as snow drifts lazily past strings of white lights wrapped around the lampposts. The town looks quieter like this, softened by cold and glow.
“Does everyone in management have to go to the Christmas party?” She asks, blowing gently on her drink.
The question surprises me, and the hand holding my cup stops midair on the way to my mouth.
“You don’t have to answer,” she blurts out. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“No,” I say. “It’s okay. I’ve just never thought about whether or not I have to go. It’s not an order, of course, but it is strongly encouraged.”
“Does the staff feel like they have to go, like it’s not a choice?” Because that is bullshit and something I need to take up with HR.
She makes a face. “I don’t think so. People seem stressed about it and complain a little, but then they really enjoy the event once they get there. I think they’d complain more if it was cancelled.” She looks up, her eyes twinkling. “It’s probably just me that feel like Ihaveto go.”
“Do you often feel that way? Like you’re pressured into social events instead of actually wanting to go?”
She blinks a few times. “What do you mean?”
I pause for a beat, wanting to thread carefully but also wanting her to know that I see her. That I notice how she sometimes struggles with people interactions. “I have a friend who suffers from crippling social anxiety,” I finally say. “My college roommate had no problems interacting with friends. He was witty and charming, and came up with the best burns. But put him with strangers or in a crowd, and he’d clam up and couldn’t utter a word without stuttering.”
She studies me over the rim of her cup. “Yeah, I have some of that. Social anxiety.”
“That must be hard.” I put my hand over hers where it’s resting on the table.
She looks down, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, if I moved too quickly. Maybe her having a sex dream about me has nothing to do with how she actually feels. People can have dreams about people they don’t like.Fuck, have I misread everything?But then she turns her hand so we’re palm-to-palm, and squeezes. “Sometimes,” she looks up at me, a smile hiding in her eyes. “But I have good friends who are understanding and don’t give me hard time about it.”
“But it’s still stressful.” I let my fingers play with hers, and she joins me as our hands do a little dance.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Especially when work situations turn into social obligations. The stress leading up to it can get intense.” Her hand stops moving. “Plus, last Christmas party I really screwed up.”
I wasn’t with the company a year ago, but I heard about the Kevin EpiPen incident. “Who’s allergic to cacti?” I say.
She groans and is about to pull away her hand, but I hold on, so instead she sets down her cup so she can bury her face in the other one. “Even you heard about it.”
“It could have happened to anyone.” I squeeze her hand again.
She looks back up at me. “I’m just worried that I’ll make another mistake at this year’s party. And I’m likely to, because I’m so nervous about going.”
“It’s okay to be nervous,” I say. “But we’ll survive it.”
Her eyes flick up. “We?”
“Well,” I say lightly, “we can at least stand in a corner together and complain about how miserable we are.”
She laughs. It’s a warm, joyful sound that does something strange to my insides. “That actually sounds… manageable.”
Silence settles, not awkward. Just comfortable.
“I didn’t think I’d see you out here,” she says. “You don’t strike me as a last-minute shopping guy.”
“I’m adaptable,” I reply. “Apparently.”
She studies me for a second. “You seem different lately.”
