17. Zoe
Zoe
I’d been at Gretchen’s house for a week now and things were really looking up in my life.
My grandmother was coming back in ten days and sounded excited to see me.
My background check had cleared, and I was starting training for my new on-call job for the shelter on Monday.
And Gretchen had invited me to a company picnic as her plus one.
She’d also surprised me by buying me clothes.
When she came home Friday night Gretchen handed me a bag with two pairs of shorts, a pair of jeans, a pair of khakis, and several shirts.
When I protested that I had enough clothes she’d ignored my protest, saying that she’d been at something called Freddy’s and they’d been having a big sale, so she’d grabbed some things she thought I’d like.
I was conflicted. I didn’t want to owe her anything more than I already did, but the part of me that longed to be taken care of appreciated the gesture. She was trying to be nice, I know, but I also didn’t want to be a charity case.
Saturday was a beautiful warm summer day, not the kind of oppressive heat we had in Chicago at this time of the year, more of a mild heat.
It was my favorite kind of weather -- warm enough to wear shorts but not hot enough to be miserable.
I put on one of my new outfits and wrestled my crazy curls into a long braid that fell down my back.
Gretchen was wearing loose linen pants with a matching short-sleeve shirt and sandals.
The outfit bared her tattoos, which I gathered wasn’t something she did very often.
I studied them as we drove. I’d seen her bare arms every day but never close enough to get a good look at the artwork on her skin. And that’s what it was too – artwork.
“What?”
She must have felt me staring at her.
“Nothing, I was just admiring the quality of your tattoos. It’s funny, you dress so conservatively at work, but your tats and hair are anything but conservative.”
“I’m a woman of many contradictions,” she deadpanned. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“Yeah, I have a little butterfly on my hip, but that’s it.”
“Amateur,” she teased.
“Maybe I’ll get more sometime,” I said. “But for now, I’m happy with what I have.”
The picnic was happening at a large park outside of the city.
It took us about forty minutes to get there, mostly because of the traffic, and the parking lot was already crowded when we arrived.
Gretchen parked her car into a spot at the far end of the lot, and we followed the sounds of laughter and kids to find the team.
My eyes widened when I saw the crowd of people filling up the seating pavilion and surrounding grassy areas.
“My god, how many employees are there?”
“We’ve got about a hundred and fifty,” Gretchen said. “Plus whoever they brought.”
We’d scarcely made it to the edge of the crowd when a tall woman hurried up to us, her eyes taking me in curiously.
“Hi, I’m Rochelle, you must be Zoe.”
I shot Gretchen a curious look and stuck out my hand. “Yes, I’m Zoe, nice to meet you, Rochelle.”
“Rochelle is my work bestie and our quality assurance manager,” Gretchen told me.
“I’m not sure what that is,” I admitted.
“I audit files, compile data for reports, train new staff on file processes, and evaluate the efficacy of our programs,” Rochelle explained. “I heard you’re going to be working for Julia over at the shelter.”
My eyes bounced back to Gretchen again before I answered. “Yes, I start training on Monday.”
“I get notifications of all the new hires for training purposes,” Rochelle explained. “I’ll be working with you on things like privacy training and data entry standards.”
I nodded, then felt a sense of unease. Would my dyslexia be a barrier to that part of my job? I hoped not. I made a mental note to watch more instructional videos.
“You’ll love working with Rochelle,” Gretchen assured me. “She has a lot of experience working with people who are new to the field of social work.”
I must have looked surprised because Rochelle explained, “We try to hire people who reflect the communities we serve, so many times our staff doesn’t have a formal education, or English is their second language, or they don’t know computers.
I try to adapt my instructions to whatever their individual needs are. ”
“That’s great.” I was feeling better about this already.
“I hear you’re in town visiting your grandmother,” Rochelle said.
I glanced at Gretchen again before answering. Had she been talking about me? Interesting.
“Yes, I was planning to surprise her, but the real surprise was that she was on a one month cruise,” I laughed. “Fortunately, Gretchen has been a great host while I’m in town.”
Rochelle’s expression turned speculative. “Yes I heard you’re staying at Gretchen’s house and cooking dinner for her and stuff.”
“It’s the least I can do for her giving me a place to stay. Plus it gives me a chance to practice my cooking.”
“Hmm.”
I could tell by the expression on Rochelle’s face that she thought there was more going on with me and Gretchen than cooking.
I wasn’t going to disabuse her of that assumption.
We hadn’t touched each other since that night we’d kissed in the kitchen, but we’d had a few near misses.
We were like one of those Victorian love stories, sharing long, lingering looks, and going silent every time we accidentally touched each other.
Something had to give soon though. Whenever we spent time together it was all I could do not to find the nearest flat surface and lay Gretchen out on it while I made her come with my tongue.
Or my fingers, I could go either way. I just needed her to catch up with me and accept that we were meant to be together.
I stiffened as those words crossed my brain.
Meant to be together? What? Holy shit, I was in love with Gretchen.
I watched her as she spoke with her friend and realized it was true.
It seemed too fast, but I felt what I felt.
And even though I’d never been in love before, I knew at the core of my being that it was true. I just didn’t know what to do about it.
The next few hours passed quickly. Gretchen introduced me to about twenty people, explaining that since she mostly worked with the leadership team and her finance staff she wasn’t familiar with the program staff.
We sat at a long picnic table with some of her coworkers enjoying burgers, chips, and a variety of salads, then participated in a few games.
The party was still in full swing when Gretchen pulled me aside just after four o’clock.
“Are you okay if we leave now?” she asked quietly.
“I thought you were having fun?”
“I was, I mean I am, but I’m an introvert and I’m reaching my peopling limit.”
My eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh of course, let’s hit the road.”
It took us ten minutes to say our goodbyes. As we left the parking lot Gretchen released a very long sigh and visibly relaxed. I’d been enjoying the picnic so much I hadn’t noticed how tense she was getting.
“What do you need now?” I asked.
“Ice cream and quiet time to recharge.”
“You’ve got it.”
We made a quick stop at a drive through Dairy Queen not too far from Gretchen’s house, then headed out onto the back deck to enjoy our frosty treats.
“Thanks for bringing me,” I said, licking some ice cream off my thumb.
When I glanced over, Gretchen was staring at my lips. Without intending to, I licked them.
“Glad you had fun,” she answered in a distracted voice.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were getting overwhelmed. I don’t mind a crowd, hell the entire city of Chicago is one big crowd, so I didn’t even think about it.”
“It’s all good. Most of my work is solitary or one on one, me and my spreadsheets, nice and quiet.
I have to psych myself up a bit for something like that where this is a lot of noise and people socializing,” she explained.
“There’s always one point where I feel myself start to crash, like my reserve supplies of energy are dangerously low, and then I know it’s time for me to at least take a break. ”
“Well next time we’ll have a secret code so I can help you escape.”
“Oh is there going to be a next time?” she teased.
“I hope so.”