21. Think I Broke Something
THINK I brOKE SOMETHING
TARA
After my super emotional Sunday, which ended in a video chat with Annelisa that had me crying yet again, the last thing I felt like doing on Monday was getting up and going to work.
I’d had a rather sleepless night. After telling my sister about my visit with our dad, she’d raged for half an hour, which just added to my stress.
Seems like lately, all my conversations with Annelisa lead to stress.
But I’d arranged to have lunch today with Sylvia, so I drag myself out of bed and spend the morning dealing with client enquiries and a few claims. Aiden had a meeting all morning with the brokers, so other than when he deposited my hot chocolate on my desk, I haven’t seen him.
Which is probably a good thing, because I still feel guilty as hell about how I’ve been acting.
I did a fair bit of soul searching yesterday and realised how bitter and crabby I’ve been lately.
Not just with Aiden, but with everyone. Ever since Annelisa left, I’ve been bottling up so many feelings, and now, with everything with Dad and work stress, I’ve become someone I don’t like too much .
Once lunch time rolls around, I’m over everything, and grateful to have a reason to leave the office. Meeting Sylvia outside the restaurant she’d suggested, I admire her outfit while she smiles warmly at me.
“You look amazing,” I comment, eying the flowing blue dress that she’s paired with nude-coloured sandals and matching handbag.
“Why thank you, darling.” She kisses my cheek. “Looking good is a requirement of my business, so it’s always nice when people notice.”
We follow the hostess to the table Sylvia had reserved.
This place is fancier than where I usually frequent for lunch, with the cutlery set out on white table clothes, wine glasses and water glasses sparkling in the light filtering through the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the river.
Given I usually just end up in the David Jones Building food court if I haven’t brought lunch in, this is a far cry from takeaway bags and containers.
“What is it you do for work, if looking good is a requirement?” I ask.
“I’m a personal stylist. People pay me to go through their wardrobes or take them shopping and put together outfits that suit their body shape and personal style.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Wow. I didn’t realise that was actually a job people had outside of celebrities.”
“Oh, it’s a huge industry. I’ve been doing it for twenty years now and absolutely love it.
It’s been a bit of a change, moving here and trying to build up a new client base, but there’s been a lot of interest and business is starting to take off again.
” She smiles before opening the menu. “So, shall we make it a liquid lunch?”
I laugh. “As much as I like your thinking, I will have to stick with actual food. I’ve got quite a lot of work to get done this afternoon, and doing it half-cut wouldn’t be great. ”
“Probably be more fun, though,” she says with a wink.
I really like her. “Very true.”
We put in our orders, and Sylvia regales me with stories of some of her latest clients.
“Maybe I should hire you,” I say, intending for it to be a joke.
She cocks her head to the side. “I’d certainly be happy to help you, if that’s what you wanted to do.” I can’t help but feel like she’s suddenly inspecting me a lot closer.
Feeling self conscious all of a sudden, I shrug, pushing my hair back behind my ear. “I mean… I could probably use the help.”
I’ve never been particularly into fashion. I’ve always struggled to find clothes I like in my size, so I’ve gravitated to baggier clothes that hide my body instead.
Sylvia smiles. “I never judge anyone by their clothes. But I definitely can see you in some of the cute outfits I’ve seen out lately. Let’s book in a time to go shopping. We can do it just for fun, no charge and no pressure.”
In my experience, shopping and fun have never gone together, but I’m willing to give it a go. Maybe she knows of shops that I’ve never ventured into.
We pass the rest of the hour chatting about her move up from Melbourne and how she’s adjusting to life in Brisbane. Lunch was delicious, and I return to the office feeling so much lighter.
“Hey, you look happy,” Damien says, passing by my desk as I’m sitting down.
“Yeah, I just had lunch with a new friend. Was nice to get out of the office for a change,” I reply.
It’s only after he wanders off that I think over his comment. Have I truly been so miserable that seeing me smiling is something that people need to comment on?
How sad is that?
“Tara, can I get your help with something?” Celeste appears at my side, fidgeting with her hands before shaking them out.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, watching while she bites her lip and looks around before she answers.
“I think I stuffed something up,” she whispers.
I smile. “I’m sure whatever it is, it can be fixed.”
She shakes her head. “You’re probably going to get really mad when you see what it is.”
I follow her back to the reception desk. When she points at her computer, I read through the client email open on the screen. It seems she’d taken it upon herself to send a quote to them, but reading through the questions, I get the feeling she didn’t get anyone to check it over first.
“It’s okay. We can sort this out,” I reply, sitting down and opening up the quote.
I hear Celeste let out a breath behind me, and I turn to see her sagging back against the bench that runs along behind the reception area. “Thank god. I thought you were going to get mad at me.”
I smile and shake my head before returning to look at her computer. With a few clicks, I’ve sorted out the quote and responded to the client on behalf of Damien, who really should have been the one dealing with this instead of our receptionist, who doesn’t have the right accreditations.
Once I’m back at my desk, I ponder over Celeste’s behaviour and realise she was terrified of upsetting me.
Operation New Tara is definitely in force, starting right now.