How...nice.
“Meet you at three outside our offices? For art then Christmas?” I twist out of his arms, looking through my purse for my MetroCard. I find it, so something is going right this morning.
“I can take you to work,” Beau yells at me when I open his door. I throw an unamused look over my shoulder, taking a cue from him and not answering with words. I do not have time to have this argument again.
I should probably just write up a Word document with my salient points about how I am an adult and can take care of myself and email it to him whenever this comes up.
I rush to the office, along with the rest of the world. I’m already uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes and it doesn’t help that I keep getting jostled in the crowded train. It all puts me in a surprisingly grumpy mood, considering how good last night was.
I greet the receptionist at our front lobby, our gingerbread auction sitting behind him. It reminds me of Beau and puts me in a better mood immediately.
Huh. That’s interesting. And concerning.
Once I get to our floor, I move fast, not making eye contact with anyone who would realize I’m late and in yesterday’s clothes. I just have to keep walking quickly and with purpose and I can fool all of these people.
I make it to my office and turn on my computer without ambush. While it wakes up, I check my work phone, but no one has called me or sent any urgent emails. Relaxing more, I go to my closet and look through the small selection of emergency clothes I keep here.
Score! There are enough separate emergency pieces in here that make one cohesive outfit. One that looks purposeful and not thrown together after a wild night out that I thought I was too old to be having. A few minutes in my private bathroom later and I’ve almost completely hidden the fact that I didn’t go home last night. I can breathe normally again.
Back at my computer, I get an email from Priya asking me to meet her in her office in fifteen minutes. It has zero emojis, so I can tell this is going to be a serious meeting. At least there’s enough time to get a bagel and tea on the way to Priya.
Fifteen minutes later on the dot, I walk into the office. Since it sounded important, I don’t throw off my shoes and lounge on the couch the way I usually would, instead taking a professional seat in one of the chairs opposite her.
“Good morning, Priya.”
She doesn’t look up from her computer screen, so I start eating the bagel. Her nonresponse when she gets wrapped up in work is so normal I’m not prepared for what she says next. “Hmm. It must be a nice one since you walked in wearing yesterday’s clothes and a satisfied smile.”
I choke on my bite of bagel at the unexpected question. “But how did you know? I changed in my office.”
“Not even going to deny it. Graceful.” She nods at me, approving of my high road path. “I wish I could say I’m omniscient, but I was getting coffee when I saw you slink into your office like a cat burglar.”
“Not a good one, apparently.”
“Were you smoothing over the urban-rural divide last night?”
“Oh god, this is happening now.” I bury my head in my hands.
“Are you going to paint him like one of your French men?”
I knew I shouldn’t have told her one drunken night that I liked to paint. “No.”
“Ooh wait, did you take a bite of his Southern peaches?”
“That is low-hanging fruit.” I continue the puns, mostly because I can’t help myself.
“I bet they are.” Then she leers.Lasciviously. “One more, I promise... Did y’all do a boot-scootin’ boogie or a honky-tonk together?” She tries to squash two into her “one more.”
I squint at her. “I don’t think you’re using any of those words right.” I’m not 100 percent sure, but it just doesn’t sound right coming out of that New Yorker’s mouth. “This is why people say coastal elites are out of touch with the common man.”
“Does the common man scoot his boot?” Priya never breaks stride in her typing. And she refuses to teach me how to do that because she’s rude.
“Probably both of his boots, cuz.”
“Fascinating as the common man’s boots are, would you like to do some work today?”
“Could go for a nap honestly.” Debauchery is hard and just watching Priya is exhausting even when I’ve had a good night’s sleep.
I just want to do my work and then enjoy my weekends without the stress of responsibility hanging over me, without the stress of potentially disappointing people relying on me. I’m getting itchy under the collar just thinking about it.
