I poke the side of his head, and he bends way over, exaggerated, like I’m stronger than I am. “Go sleep at your own house.”
He rubs his eyes, and I can feel the jolt of his laugh through the couch. “Give yourself, like, thirty minutes without looking at your phone before you go to sleep, okay?”
It annoys me and warms me up inside at the same time. He actually thinks Mom and I are staying up late talking? Does he think we braid each other’s hair too?
“Thanks for your concern,” I say, getting up to see him out. And as I watch him go, I tell myself over and over like an incantation:I can be satisfied with what I have.
Chapter
17
When I come in on Wednesday morning, the first thing I hear is Morgan’s voice carrying across the office.
“Aww, you’re blushing!” she exclaims. “Just look at you.”
Sarah’s standing in her cubicle, showing Morgan some flowers—yellow roses in a clear vase—and looking ecstatic. There’s a bow around them, and a tiny heart-shaped card.
My stomach drops like when the old elevator misses our floor on the first try.
“Very romantic,” Morgan says, leaning against Sarah’s cubicle divider. “Ah, to be young again!”
Sarah hides her face in her hands and groans. “Not to be dramatic, but I think I’m in love!”
I’d stopped in my tracks by the entrance, and I realize I’m staring. I turn on my heel before they see me and head for the bathroom. I’ll be fine once I splash my face with cold water.
But before I can reach for the tap, Erica’s voice wafts up from one of the stalls, freezing me in place. “This presentation to leadership next week, it’s—” She sniffles. Is shecrying?
My startled face stares back at me in the long mirror above the sink. The lighting is aggressive here, everything so bright it reminds me of an ad for tooth products—pristine long white countertop studded with sinks, white tile walls, a row of off-white stall doors behind me.
“They need me to present this data.” Erica blows her nose loudly. “I don’t know how to—I’m so—” The person on the other line seems to be cutting in here, talking for a while, and Erica responds, “But I’m in over my head. Drowning.”
Wow, relatable.Strange to feel that way about Erica for a second.
“Like what the fuck is a pivot table!” she adds, chased with another hefty sniff. “And I don’t have time to learn! Everyone is so sloppy here, I have my hands full walking them through their mistakes.”
Well, that second was short-lived!
“And public speaking is bad enough, but—” She blows her nose again, and I briefly picture a sad little elephant sitting on the toilet seat. “Okay, fine, I’ll drink some water. And breathe, yes. I’ll see you at home.”
The stall door opens before my brain can catch up, and Erica walks out, smoothing the wrinkles in her shirt.
We lock eyes in the mirror, and the surprise registers on her face. She moves to the sink two down from me and starts washing her hands.
“I can help you with that!” I blurt out. “I—I can make the annoying deck you don’t want to make.”
She glares at me in the mirror.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I—I couldn’t help but overhear—” I take a deep breath and force my shoulders down. “Erica. You work so hard. You shouldn’t have to do everything yourself. You can delegate. I want to help, really! I promise—I’ll take care of it. It’s as good as done.”
As I babble on, Erica folds a paper towel, wets the center,and runs it under her eyes to get rid of the mascara smudges. “Are you good with Excel?”
“Oh…yeah! Absolutely.”
I’ve used Excel before. And I can always google it. How hard can it be?
“All right, if you insist,” she says, fixing her hair. “I need it Friday morning. Drop-dead deadline nine a.m. I’ll send you my notes.”
I give her my brightest smile. “No problem.”
