Chapter 15
Danni
Chance accidentally taps my foot under the desk. He utters a quick, “Sorry,” and draws his feet back, his rubber soles squeaking against the polished wood.
“It’s okay,” I reply, and then I look at the divider that’s hiding Chance’s face. I haven’t said a proper thank you yet. I’ve been too busy cowering in shorty-pants mode, flattened by the weight of my embarrassment.
I sigh and then push my chair back so I can see him. “You enjoyed that too much.” It’s not a thank you. I’m getting there. I think.
Chance pulls his hands off his keyboard and swivels a few inches so he doesn’t have to crane his neck. “I didn’t enjoy it.”
“You were smiling.”
“I didn’t not enjoy it. I don’t mind bugs. They have an important role in the ecosystem.”
“Not in the ecosystem of Citizen’s Tower.”
As he considers my words, he turns and rests his palms on his thighs. “True. He’ll be happier where I left him.”
“Which is?”
“In a planter in front of the ice cream shop.”
“You didn’t stop in for ice cream?”
“No.” He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “I wasn’t hungry.”
I fold my hands in my lap, willing myself not to fiddle nervously. “Well, thank you for relocating the spider. I’m sorry I acted unprofessionally.”
Chance lowers his hand and grins. “You mean when you screamed bloody murder and dove under the table?”
“Yeah, that part.”
“It’s fine. I liked seeing you that way.”
Cowering under a table while trying not to puke? That’s weird. “What way?”
“With your guard down.”
Oh.
I run my fingers through the ends of my hair and settle back in my chair. “My guard was up. I wasn’t about to let that monster have a piece of me.”
“Which is why you hid under that table.”
“It was a protective barrier.”
“You don’t need one of those around me.”
Oh.
My stomach tries to do a flip but lands flat on its back. I can hardly breathe. My feet can still engage, though, and I use them to wheel myself behind the privacy wall.
“Thanks again. Sorry you had to see one of my most embarrassing moments.” My voice sounds as strained as I think it does. I’m certain of that.
“No problem. Not everyone likes spiders. I get it.”
I pull up Teams. Now I’m mortified on top of embarrassed, and someone needs to know. I click on my group chat with Morgan and Kayla, hover my fingers above the keyboard, and...abort.
That someone is me. Only me. No one else gets to know Chance just knocked the wind out of my stomach. Because that sounds dumb. But also because I’m a professional and my relationship with Chance is professional. That’s all.
While I’m staring at Teams, Christopher starts a group chat with me, Chance, Morgan, and Drew.
Meeting in my office, stat.
Panic shoots through me. Is he mad that I broke the conference room table? But Morgan and Drew got the message too, so it can’t be that. My panic morphs into mild curiosity.
I stand, intending to head to Christopher’s office, but my eyes land on Chance. I freeze. “Oh, no.” His elbow is red and swollen. How did I not notice it a minute ago?
Chance eyes me guiltily.
“Your elbow looks like an heirloom tomato,” I say.
“Is that the good kind?”
“Not when it’s supposed to be an elbow.”
He grabs his injured arm. “It’s fine. It’s just bruised.”
“Hold on. Don’t move.”
I sprint to the breakroom, grab a cold pack out of the freezer and carry it back to Chance. He takes it from me, but says, “I don’t want Christopher to know that I fell on my elbow like Gary.”
“Gary who?”
“The guy in our training who broke his elbow while swatting at a fly.”
“But you were catching a venomous spider. It’s different.”
“It is?”
“Yes, it was a workplace hazard. An emergency. There was no time to think.”
Convinced enough by my argument, Chance stands gingerly. He presses the ice pack against his elbow and then follows me to Christopher’s office.
Morgan and Drew file in behind us. The guys remain standing, leaving the chairs for Morgan and me. Chance hovers in the space between Christopher’s desk and the tower of well-organized boxes. Drew takes the other side of the office.
Christopher is leaning back in his chair, fingertips fused to the desktop to balance himself. A pleased smile spreads across his face. I have no clue what this is about.
“You, my friends, have been chosen.”
Morgan groans. Christopher’s smile falls.
“You haven’t heard what I was going to say,” he says.
“I don’t have time for a special project,” Morgan preemptively complains. “I’m already neck deep in the metadata-data dictionary that someone in corporate decided is so important that it has to be done yesterday.”
“A metadata-data dictionary is data about data about data.” Chance says.
“Tell that to the dummies who asked me to do it. And, actually it’s metadata about metadata about data. Next thing you know I’ll be taskered with a meta-metadata-data dictionary.”
“That’s so meta,” Chance quips.
“Who needs data about data about data?” I ask.
“Data scientists, apparently,” Morgan says.
I cast Morgan and Chance a doubtful look. “Isn’t data about data enough data?”
“If anyone else says data, I am done here,” Drew says. He brushes his bangs back and starts marching in place.
“Did you hurt your elbow?” Christopher says, finally noticing Chance’s ice pack.
Chance deflects his comment with a couple head shakes and a relaxed shrug. “Nope. Just a little bruise.”
Christopher looks unconvinced. “Do I need to file an accident report?”
“Nah. I’m good. Continue.”
My boss furrows his brow and sucks in a deep breath. He’s going to file an accident report. I can see it in his eyes. But not right now. He steeples his fingers. “This isn’t a project. Not a long one. I managed to procure four tickets to Chai World in Atlanta, and you’ve all been selected to go.”
We stare at him blankly.
“It’s an overnighter,” he says. “Hotel, meals, and gas paid for.”
“Is it during the week?” Morgan asks.
“Monday through Wednesday. You’ll be paid from the time you leave here to the time you get back, and you’ll have a daily stipend on top of meal money.”
“I could handle that.” Morgan’s voice is suddenly chipper.
Chance and Drew make celebratory noises. I remain as still as a hibernating house fly.
“How are we getting there?” I ask. Hopefully two cars. One for me and Morgan. The other for the boys. Er, men.
“You can carpool. Decide among yourself who will drive.”
“Not it,” Morgan says.
“My car doesn’t have air conditioning,” Chance adds.
“I do not take my Tesla on long road trips.”
Morgan whips her head toward Drew. “You have a Tesla?”
“I do not have a mobile charging station.”
Morgan scowls at him. “How is that an answer?”
“I answered your next question.”
“I didn’t have a next question.”
“I do not trust my Tesla on road trips,” Drew says as his soft-soled shoes thump against the wood floor.
“Then why do you have a Tesla?”
He pauses. “Why do you wear makeup?”
She thinks for a minute, and then says, “That’s shallow.”
“You just implicated yourself in your own criticism.” His marching recommences.
“Hey,” Christopher says, lifting his palms to them to get them back to business.
Five hours in a car with Drew. And Chance. One small car, two big egos. What if I suffocate? Worse. What if I swoon?
“Nobody has to drive their own car,” Christopher explains. “You’ll be taking a rental. Liability reasons and all that.”
Chance throws up his hand. “I’ll drive.”
“Fine by me,” Drew says. “I would rather sleep than converse with you people.”
“Chance can drive,” Morgan says brusquely.
Christopher leans forward and anchors his elbows on his desk. He focuses on me. “You’re the only one who doesn’t look excited.”
I do a weak fist bump. “Overtime. Woo hoo.”
Chance’s eyes are on me. His eyes that can’t help but brood. He lowers his chin and rubs his thumb over his bottom lip. I can probably handle five hours in a car with him. I mean, he did bust his elbow to save me from a ginormous and very venomous spider. And Drew might be tolerable if he’s asleep.
“Take lots of notes at the conference because you’ll be reporting on what you learned. Between the four of you, you should be able to hit most of the sessions. When you get back, you’ll each give an overview of what you learned.”
“This is starting to sound like a book report,” I say.
“Sorta,” Christopher says. “I sold it to corporate as a skill-building expense that will drive innovation within our department. So…” He flips his palms toward the ceiling. “You’re welcome.”
“How long does this presentation need to be?” I ask.
“Four hours.”
Morgan nearly chokes. “What?”
“An hour each. Slide decks required, which I will forward to the CIO as evidence of your attendance.”
Morgan slouches in her chair.
“I hear Atlanta is nice this time of year,” Christopher says.
“It’s blazing hot,” Morgan counters.
“And your hotel has a pool. Any questions? Danni, you still don’t look excited.”
“Oh, I’m…swell.”
Chance is looking at me again. Not just looking. Studying. Drew is still marching in place and checking his smartwatch every five seconds.
“ What are you doing, Drew?” Christopher asks.
“I am trying to get fifteen thousand steps in, which means I have to walk when I am not walking. Segue: I want an ergonomic assessment for a standing desk. My chiropractor says I have an impingement in my hip that is causing radiating pain through my pelvis if I sit for more than five minutes in these so-called ergonomic chairs. I have already taken four ibuprofen this morning.”
“Sure,” Christopher says. “I’ll set that up.”
“If my stomach bleeds, I am suing JetAero.”
“Have you tried Tylenol?”
“You obviously have not read the scientific literature. Tylenol is not an anti-inflammatory and it pollutes the liver.”
“Sorry, I haven’t read the scientific data.”
Drew throws up his hands. “I am done here.” He marches out the door, checking his watch along the way.
The road trip hasn’t even started and I’m already feeling claustrophobic.
Chance
Danni and I reach Wild Oaks at the same time, follow each other to the back of the complex and pull into our usual spots. We really should carpool to work, but I doubt Danni would be up for it. I push my car door open with my foot and try to exit without exacerbating the pain in my knee, wincing as I stand. Danni is waiting for me behind her car.
“No groceries today?” she asks. Her eyes travel to my busted elbow and then back to my face.
“Nope.” I don’t tell her that I plan on doing absolutely nothing in front of the TV tonight, because then I might have to tell her that moving hurts. Her guilty expression doesn’t need any more help. “My root cellar is already stocked. Is that what you called it?”
“Did I? Probably. I’m dumb.”
“No, you aren’t.”
Some of her guilt fades. “I’m really sorry about your elbow.”
And my hip, and my knee. Actually my hip isn’t groaning anymore. “I’d do it all over again,” I say with a smile, and I more than mean it.
We walk side by side to the stairs.
“I have a weird thing about bugs,” she says. “When I was little we had a bedbug infestation, which gave me nightmares, which led to a phobia. I’m not sure when the throwing up started. I think it’s a stress response. We killed all the bedbugs, by the way, but it was an ordeal.”
“I bet.” My knee whines as I push up onto the first step.
“Your parents are rich. You probably never had bedbugs or ants or anything. We had carpenter ants too.”
“We had termites. They had to tent the house.”
“I bet that was a big tent.”
“It was.”
“Because you had a big house.”
“Yeah.” I glance over at her, intending to smile. When we lock eyes, hers grow concerned.
“You’re wincing.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are. You just did this.” She scrunches up her nose, which makes me laugh.
“You look like you just stepped in dog poop,” I say.
“Is it your knee?”
“Nah. It’s fine. Mostly.”
We reach the breezeway between our apartments where we linger, Danni with that guilty look again, and me trying not to look like I just stepped in dog poop. She reaches out and brushes her fingertips against my bruised elbow. The swelling has gone down, but it still looks pretty ripe. Her touch is good medicine.
“I guess we’re even now. You made my butt cheek look like Uranus and I made your elbow look like my grandma’s Cherokee Purple.”
This is one of the many times I appreciate my medium-toned skin. She probably can’t tell my cheeks started burning when she said the word “butt.” We’re also in the shade, which helps. “What’s a Cherokee Purple?”
“A tomato.”
“Oh.” My burning cheeks give way to awkward laughter.
Danni drops her hand. “Well. Thanks again. I hope it looks better tomorrow.”
“I’m sure it will.”
We turn and head to our separate apartments. Once inside, I feel the spot on my elbow where Danni’s fingers connected. If my skin wasn’t already burning from inflammation, I’m sure it would be burning from her touch.
I drop into my gaming chair, lean over, and rub my face. My mind replays the scene in the conference room when I got to play hero and save Danni’s day. I pause on the moment she looked up at me vulnerably, her guard down–team lead Danni, expert coder gone. Just Danni. I wish it hadn’t taken a terrifying spider for her to look at me like that. But I’ll still take it.
With a tap of my mouse, I wake up my computer. JustInCase.xlsx appears on my right screen. I’ve added several lines since my date with Danni. Three of them are waiting for me to fill them in, the dates already agreed to and scheduled.
I let the spreadsheet glow brightly in the room while I retreat to the kitchen and prepare a quick dinner. It continues to glow as I lounge on my couch watching Seinfeld reruns. I walk over and minimize it before grabbing my Xbox controller and returning to my couch. My elbow and knee throb while I race around Maple Valley. I’m about to finally give in and take an aspirin when there’s a knock on my door.
It’s Danni. She’s holding a gift bag. It has a cat wearing a cone on it along with the words “Get Well Soon.”
“Hey,” I say in greeting.
She looks up at me tentatively. “I thought you could use a little care package.”
I rest my hand on the doorframe and lean into it. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She smiles and hands me the bag. “I know. But I did. As your team lead, I’m responsible for maintaining morale. And I did this to you. So…” She gives me a quick wave. “Good night.” And then she sprints back to her apartment.
As your team lead…
The words play on repeat in my head while I dig through her care package. Epsom salts. A bath bomb. A cold pack. Aspercreme and a bottle of ibuprofen. In the bottom is a card, signed I’m sorry, Danni.
I’m not. Today was the best day I’ve had in a long, long time.
I set the bag on the couch, grab my phone, and return to my gaming chair, pull up JustInCase.xlsx and start texting.
Sorry, but I have to cancel.
Two of the women text back quickly, Rose with a simple Okay , and Bridgette asking if I want to reschedule. I tell her I’m moving soon and cutting ties with Charleston, which isn’t a total lie. I’m probably moving away from Charleston at some point. And I am cutting ties. With Rose and Bridgette. And Savannah, but she doesn’t text back. Hopefully she will soon.
My knee makes itself known as I stand. I pocket my phone and grab Danni’s care package, dig out the ibuprofen and toss a couple into my mouth, chasing it with orange juice. Then I grab the bath bomb and Epsom salts and fill up the tub with warm water and soak for twenty minutes.
Afterward, I feel exhausted, but better. An early bedtime is in order. Ten minutes later, my teeth are brushed, my pajama pants are on, and I’m curled up under the covers with thoughts of Danni lulling me to sleep.