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Her smile widens and she holds out a second cup. ‘And congratulations.’
Instead of acknowledging the well-wishes, I stare at the offered drink. ‘I didn’t order anything else.’
Her smile falters. ‘Um, no, it’s for Alice.’ She glances at the cashier who looks equally flustered. ‘Alice hasn’t stopped by yet, so we, uh, thought you might want to take her coffee to her.’
It’s only now, nearing midday, that I’ve ventured out of the administrative level. I would’ve been content to work in my office all day if I hadn’t felt it unwise to ask George to make me something from his Italian monstrosity of an espresso machine in the break room.
I’d expected glares, disgust and just-like-his-fathers from my employees after the news of my marriage to an employee spread. Instead, I’ve been met with smiles, congratulations and free coffee.
‘Thank you.’
The barista’s smile brightens again. ‘Have a nice day, Mr Moore.’
The odd interactions continue as I walk through the store. All but a saleswoman in the shoe department have no trouble meeting my eyes and smiling, some even venturing to call out ‘congratulations’ as I pass.
I’ve had more friendly interactions with my employees in the past ten minutes than I’ve had in the past year.
I pause at the elevator, vacillating between taking the extra coffee back up to my office and delegating its delivery to George, or simply taking the service elevator down to the inventory where Alice took Deborah after the morning meeting concluded and deliver it myself.
Seeing as George is still annoyed with me, I nix the idea of asking him for a favor.
I glance at the brass trashcan in the corner but decide against throwing out the latte. Even my small, rarely used conscience is vocal on its thoughts of wasting the barista’s efforts and depriving an employee of their daily cup of coffee. Especially one who spent half the night curled up on a chaise in a closet and the other half squished between their boss, a kid and a hairless cat.
Balancing the coffee cups on top of each other, I open the employee-only door and walk to the service elevator.
* * *
Alice
I’ve yawned three times in the past five minutes.
Tying a piece of twine around one of the hooks I made from a paperclip, I pull it tight. Setting it aside, I stand and survey the twelve butterfly card stock pendants that are now ready to hang above the front display model Deborah and I assembled in an unused space on Moore’s inventory floor.
Besides the handmade butterflies that match the various-sized lights that were delivered, we managed to find and assemble the correct number of mannequins that match the display plans.
Deborah had to leave to pick up her work computer and phone from the IT department, but we accomplished quite a bit in the hours after the morning meeting.
I stifle another yawn.
By now the adrenaline from waking up in Thomas’s bed and then racing to work has long passed. The excitement over the new light fixtures has waned. And the energy accrued from the extroverted part of my personality (small though it may be) while meeting my new co-workers is depleted.
Smacking my cheeks lightly with the palm of my hands, I attempt to jump-start my energy reserves.
I could really use George’s fancy espresso machine right now. Or a run to the café.
But seeing as George was giving off heavy ‘I’m annoyed’ vibes to Thomas, and I didn’t want him to try and extract details over my marriage, I thought giving George space smarter than working without caffeine. My eyes water from yet another yawn.
I may have been wrong.
Physically shaking myself, I brush aside the cons of today and concentrate on the pros.
In my youth, a foster care family I stayed with used to have movie night on the weekends. Always a Disney movie. Herbie, Bedknobs and Broomsticks and, one night, Pollyanna. It might have been that the main character, Pollyanna, was an orphaned girl who was shipped off to her rich aunt’s house, but for some reason that movie stuck with me. And in the movie, the orphan who had nothing, would play the glad game. Naming all the things she was glad about to distract her from all the things she was sad about.
As I drag the ladder in front of the mannequins, I resurrect the game I thought I’d forgotten. I’m glad Thomas did not seem upset after seeing me for the first time since yesterday’s dressing room incident. I’m glad that I caught his lips lift in a tiny, but telling, upward direction when he noticed my shoes.
And then there’s my new colleagues.
I’m glad that before leaving for the IT department, Deborah showed no signs of annoyance over shadowing someone younger than her. I’m glad that freshly divorced with two boys in high school, Deborah said she feels like a new woman at forty, happy that Bell took a chance on her. I’m glad that is something we have in common.
