“No,” I interrupt, my eyes on Grant, who isn’t even pretending not to listen.
“Wait, I didn’t even—”
“Is this about benefits?”
“No.”
“Hiring?”
“No.”
“Professional training? A problem with a colleague?”
“No, bu—”
“This doesn’t sound like an HR problem.”
“It’s not. It’s a—”
“No, then, Phil. The answer is no. Whatever it is, it’s a no.”
“But you made it all so perfect last time.”
I nod, a little bit hating the wash of pride I get from those words, but the truth is that the haunted house was, in fact, perfect. I spent a ton of time on it. I recruited staff to help and used up every second of my day outside of work to get it done. For like, three weeks. Truly, the scream room was pro level. And the sensory boxes? Amazing.
But that’s not the point. The point is that it’s not my job. Grant was right. I can’t run around doing all this extra stuff. I am so tired right now. And still, I have to fight the urge to give in.
“I am not a party planner. I am not a chef, or a cleaner, organizer, office manager…” I stand at Sam’s desk and let my voice carry a little farther. “I’m not the receptionist or the marketing manager. I’m not in charge of office supplies or events, and above all…” Every deep breath I suck in brings me more than just oxygen. This is justified. This is the truth.I am right, my brain is telling me, and, right there to back it up, Grant watches from the door to our office, his eyes bright with approval.
So when the last words come out, I don’t have to scream them or even look at Phil. I just open my mouth, meet Grant’s eyes with all the ferocity I feel, and say, “And I am absolutely no one’s work mom.” I give Phil a quick, close-lipped, no-nonsense smile. “Is that it?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good.” I’m all benevolence now. Placid, kind. “Thanks for stopping by. I’m here should you need any help with subjects pertaining to human resources.”
I look back at my computer; Grant’s attention is still on me, a warm, wholesome glow.
It feels way too good.
That evening, the entire staff rushes out to get ready for tomorrow’s retreat. I finish up preparations at the front desk and ignore the impulse to rush out too. I’ve packed my bag, along with everything I could possibly need over the next few days. Ironically, given everything that’s happened recently, I am more relaxed about this year’s retreat than I’ve ever been.
I’ve just turned off my computer when the exterior door buzzes open, and Grant, who I thought had left for the night, walks in. He’s got a big, beautiful bouquet in his arms. It’s green and soft pink and puffs out like a cloud.
“Rae.”
I say nothing.
“These are, um…” Why is he embarrassed right now? What is happening? “They’re for your mom. For her…” He huffs out a frustrated sound. “You said you forgot, and it was my fault and…”
“They’re ranunculus flowers,” I say as he presses them into my arms.
“You had them on your pj’s.”
“You remembered.”
“Yeah.”
I nod. Swallow. Stare at the bouquet, which is somehow light and sweet with all that pink, but there are also warm, earthy greens. It’s the perfect bouquet. I don’t know how else to say it.
