This is getting ridiculous.
He's also dozed off, his chin in his hand, propped up on the arm rest between seats. At least he's not awake to register my reaction.
I’m just about done squeezing the air out of my neck pillow until it’s as good as vacuum sealed in its bag, by the time the gargoyle I can’t seem to get rid of starts to stir. I pointedly look out the window and refuse to make eye contact, until I feel the row behind us start to shuffle out into the aisle to get off the plane.
“You’re a sound sleeper,” he remarks, several minutes into us both being awake. He's turning on his phone to an email notification noise, placidly opening it as people start getting antsy about exiting the plane.
“Yes, well...” I mumble, but stop myself before pointing out that I’ve embarrassed myself enough times in front of him already. A few times bumping into each other back in the terminal was enough, a whole four hours of sitting next to him probably would have chipped away at my remaining pride and revealed every overly personal detail about myself.
He doesn’t let me trail off though. He raises a brow, and repeats, “Well?”
“Um. That’s the advantage of traveling in your pj’s,” I shrug, and then bury my attention in my phone until we leave. I’m so done with this guy, handsome be-suited gargoyle or not. I’d like a little dignity to remain for tomorrow to pretend to enjoy my coworkers.
The one good thing about these corporate retreats to far away locales is that anyone you bump into, you're pretty much guaranteed to never see again.
3
I’m late for the first presentation of the company meetings, of course. Working from home, I can usually just open my laptop and attend meetings from my bed. No one ever notices I’m late or barely present. I always forget how much time it takes to do my makeup and hair and put on nice clothes with terrible, practically nonfunctional zippers. All so that I look like the put together, confident, competent person they remember interviewing, and not the greasy, pajamaed, boneless creature I revert to when I’m alone.
The meeting room is dim, half of the lights are off for the projector and our Chief Evil Overlord to give his welcome presentation. When I crack open the door, a number of heads turn to glance my way.
The conference room is laid out with rows of slim tables that sit two or three at each, arranged and angled, lecture hall style, to face the projector screen. Thankfully, there’s a seat near the door still open that I can quickly slide into, even if it’s next to one of my least favorite people.
“Gwen!” Deanna whisper-exclaims at me. She’s everyone’s favorite resident overbearing coworker who makes a competition out of being the nicest person in the office. Deanna grins at me and wiggles her eyebrows. She smells overwhelmingly like chipper positivity, sugar, and flowers. It’s a little nauseating on an empty stomach.
“Did you lose weight? Sleeping enough? You look so...” Her brow furrows, and my expression pinches reflexively. Something more friendly, I think, trying to remember what that looks like.
People think they know what you look like, they really don't. They glance at your company ID and notice that your face is the same general shape, that your hair is the same color and about the same length. And for the most part, people have never questioned it when I look a little different every time they see me. People have never really noticed.
It's hard to explain how it happens. I can feel our chemistry as tangibly as I can smell someone's laundry soap or read their body language. The way I change to accommodate it is almost second nature, my features shifting ever so slightly, like pulling a smile into place or raising my eyebrows, until suddenly they're telling me how much I look like their ex-wife, utterly attuned to me. Or they're attuned to what they want, and I'm holding it in place for them.
Deanna shakes it off. She leans into my personal space and whispers, “What time did you get in last night?”
“Dark o’thirty,” I shrug, attempting to match her smile through a yawn. It doesn’t quite work, but she giggles anyway.
“You missed breakfast, but you can have one of the muffins I saved from the buffet,” she tells me, and my grouchy, sleep-deprived ass wilts with gratitude.
She is genuinely nice. I don’t hate her, or even really dislike her. I just know that she’s the kind of person who drains me to be around.
“I owe you my life,” I tell her, taking the banana walnut muffin and napkin combo.
“Don’t worry, baby girl, I’ve got you,” she smiles, clearly sated by my praise.
“Mm,” I hum through a mouthful of muffin and a little bit of napkin. I don’t care for pet names from coworkers, but it can’t be avoided with her. I swallow and try to think of something that doesn’t cross a weird line. “Thanks, darling.”
She smiles, but I still inwardly cringe to hear myself say that.
Getting along with Deanna is simple enough, you just have to create opportunities for her to show how nice she is. If you try to be simply pleasant to her, you will end up trapped in an ever-escalating battle of wills to be the nicer person. “No, after you, I insist,” ad nauseam.
Soven clears his, uh, nonexistent throat, and we stop our whispering and straighten up. I have my laptop with me to check emails and such, but there’s never anywhere to plug it in so that it’ll stay on for all six hours of meetings.
I keep my head down while I eat my muffin, trying to pay attention to Soven’s presentation. The short nap I had between getting in from my flight and now wasn’t enough to make up for the solid block of REM sleep I normally get, but it'll have to be enough. Maybe a few cups of coffee will keep me awake for the mind-numbing part of this trip.
After it's been long enough that hopefully most people have forgotten my awkward entrance, I wander to the little coffee bar set up in the back of the conference room, while Soven holds everyone's attention at the front. He absorbs the projector's light where he stands and almost looks flat against his “Welcome to the 1043rd Annual Sales Meeting” slide.
There's a lot of people I don't recognize, as I briefly scan the room. That makes sense, as Soven clicks to a slide about how all the new company growth has led them to hire a lot of new people. Then again, there's also just a lot of people I never really bothered to meet or get to know.
I empty a couple sugar packets into my coffee and stir a while, pretending to listen to Soven pontificating on our company values. I spot a little stack of notepads on the coffee bar, emblazoned with the hotel's logo. I grab a couple, since they each have about four sheets of paper. Some of my coworkers have notepads too, scribbling something every so often.
