7
But I can’t. That would sound desperate. Or weird.
Wait… Am I desperate and weird? I’m standing here at work not working because I’m thinking about Scott and wishing he’d ask me out.
Yes. I’m definitely acting desperate and weird.
I stand up straight and shake my head, annoyed with myself, and grab my very full cup of coffee a little too forcefully. It spills out all over, and I berate myself as I yank at a few paper towels and swipe the floor dry.
As I stand up and move to throw the paper towels away, Ellie, our office manager, steps into the break room with a young woman I’ve never seen before. She can't be any older than me.
“Oh, hello, Lucy!” Ellie smiles and waves, then gestures to the woman. “This is Lily; she’ll be joining us in accounting.”
I reach out a hand. “Nice to meet you,” I say as I smile.
Lily shakes my hand and smiles back. “What do you do here, Lucy?”
“Oh, she’s Monica’s girl,” Ellie answers for me. My insides squeeze in a familiar, unpleasant feeling, but I force the bright smile to stay on my face.
“I work as Monica’s personal assistant,” I clarify.
“Oh,” Lily’s eyes widen. “I would kill for that job! You must learn so much from Monica! It would be so amazing to be so close with her!”
I continue to smile as Ellie and Lily depart to continue the office tour, then let the expression fall once they disappear.
This has not been my best morning. I feel like a bit of a mess. But the thing is, this isn’t all that uncommon. I pretty much always feel like a bit of a mess.
My job is taking care of whatever Monica asks me to do. I recognize that I do a great job of managing her schedule. I’m (for the most part) on top of the tasks she gives me. I’m flexible, and I work the most random hours whenever I’m needed. I always have my work laptop with me, always answer when she calls, always shift around my life when she asks me to do something. I’m reliable and responsible. No matter what the task, I get it done somehow, even if I have no idea what I’m doing.
But that means my life is always coming second. I’m always mixing up my own schedule, always running out of groceries and never remembering to buy more. My car is always out of gas, always in need of a wash. I’m always behind on laundry, always cancelling on friends, always hiding behind a screen in my PJ’s eating a Chipotle burrito while I watch people I went to school with get married and buy a house and have kids and land their dream job. I’m always staying up too late, always running behind, never feeling like I’m doing enough. I feel trapped in a job I’m afraid I’ll be stuck at for the rest of my life, but I see no way out; and even if I did, everyone is always pounding it into my head how lucky I am to have it.
Is something wrong with me? I don’t feel lucky. I just feel miserable.
I have no degree or college education. I don’t have connections or a rich family. I’m just… me. And I’m a little scared of what that means, because for the last four years, I’ve been here, Monica Harper’s PA, “Monica’s girl,” as so many people like to say, with no direction I’m heading toward in my own life. I keep her life on course while mine sits on the side of the road, complete with emergency lights flashing.
As the first sip of coffee hits my tongue, I snap out of my existential trance.
Stop having a pity party. You have a good job that pays well, especially for someone like you who took an alternate route after high school. Everybody has to do things they don’t like. Besides, like Lily said, people would kill for this job. Put on your big girl pants and get over it.
After smacking myself around mentally, I get back to work. I call days like today “swirly” due to my tendency to allow my thoughts to swirl out of control into depressing directions. I don’t know, maybe I’m just hormonal. Or maybe it was the hash browns.
I knock out most of the tasks Monica emailed me about in about forty-five minutes. Just as I finish another, my phone buzzes next to me on the desk, and I snatch it up.
Monica: “Can you pick up coffee?”
I grab my wallet and stand up as I type “Yes,” then head to the closest café to pick up Monica’s usual, as well as my own. But the time I make it back, Monica is settling down in her office.
I carry the coffee in and set it on her desk as she studies her emails on her laptop.
“Morning, Lucy,” she says, a few more moments passing before she glances up.
“Morning!” I sit down in the chair across from her, my notebook and pen ready for the list of tasks for the day.
“Did you get my emails?”
“Mhm,” I nod, then list off the tasks I’ve already finished: I sent out several emails about various topics, scheduled a call with one of her associates, updated her calendar with a list of several appointments and meetings she emailed, approved an updated posting schedule from her social media manager, stopped by the post office and picked up mail, and booked her a hair appointment with her stylist, among a few other things.
“Okay, I have a few more things for you,” Monica says, “I’m going to be in meetings all day and I’ll need you to pick up my lunch. I’d like you to attend two of the meetings as well, at one o’ clock and at five o’ clock. I also need you to pick up my daughter from school and drop her off at her grandmother’s house. And, here,” she continues, lifting a large black case and sliding it towards me. “My daughter was learning trombone but is no longer interested. We were renting this from the music store, and I need it returned to them.”
I reach for the instrument case, which is heavier than I expected, and set it next to me. I know which music store she’s referring to—it’s in the next town over, about half an hour away. What with the two meetings I need to attend, picking up Monica’s lunch, picking her daughter up from school, and making time to return the trombone, I’ll have to schedule the rest of my day out carefully.
“Okay, I’ll take care of it,” I say, scribbling everything down. “Do you need me to setup the meeting links?”
“No, I took care of it. Actually… set up the meeting for five o’clock. That was last minute and I haven’t done it yet.”
“Will do. Who should I send the link to?”
Her brow furrows for a moment, then she waves a hand at her laptop. “I’ll email you the list.”
“Got it.”
“Did you meet the new girl in accounting?”
I look up from my notebook to Monica. “Yes.”
She leans forward in her seat a bit. “What did you think?”
I tilt my head in thought. “I only met her briefly, but she seems nice. And, she seems very excited to work here.”
Monica nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good. Let’s see, what else… Can you pick up my contacts from the optometrist today?”
I jot the notes down as Monica lists just a few more small things for me to do, then head back to my desk to get to work. The day is packed, but, thankfully, no crises arise, and I manage to get almost everything done and attend the two online meetings. When I pick Monica’s daughter up in between meetings, just as we make it to her grandmother’s house, she realizes she forgot her bag at school, so I drive her back to pick it up, then back to her grandmother’s house. I start packing up my things at six fifteen, lifting the heavy trombone case along with my laptop bag. I didn’t have the time I’d hoped for to return the trombone today, so I’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow. As I grab my phone, I stare at the lock screen and the lack of notifications. Scott hasn’t texted today. Should I text him?
“Lucy?”
I turn at Monica’s call, happy to be distracted from my Scott dilemma.
“Yes?”
“I forgot to ask,” she says, standing next to my cubicle. “My daughter’s birthday party is tomorrow evening, but I haven’t had the time to get party favors. Could you go purchase supplies and put the bags together for tomorrow? Use my card, of course.”
“Sure,” I start to nod, then hesitate. “How old is she turning?”
“Nine.”
Okay, gift bags for a nine-year-old… what do nine-year-old girls like?
“I’ll take care of it,” I say.
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye!”
I head out of the office ahead of Monica and hop in my car. My stomach rumbles, and I debate going to the gym or skipping it and picking up dinner. I glance at the clock as my phone connects to my car and music starts blaring through the speakers. Twenty minutes past six… this is usually the time I go to the gym, but I was busy today and hardly nibbled on my lunch. The memory of the hash browns Macy blessed me with floats back to me, and my mind turns to cheeseburgers.
Oh my gosh, a cheeseburger sounds so good right now. And, Party City is right next to In-N-Out, so I could get the supplies for the gift bags, too…
Decision made, I pull out of the parking lot and head across town.
I stare at the bags of googley-eyed rubber monsters on the shelves, then glance down at the bag of mini nail polish bottles in my hand, trying to decide what sorts of things would be fun for a nine-year-old girl’s gift bags that would also impress her friends.
Does it need to be social media worthy?
Do they even have social media yet?
Actually… do they even have smartphones yet? I know Monica’s daughter does, but the others…
As I puzzle over these great mysteries of the current age, one of my favorite songs starts playing from the speakers, bits and pieces reaching me over the general noise of the store. I start to hum along as my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, temporarily turning my gaze from the little rubber alien-monster-things staring back at me.
My stomach somersaults when I see who it’s from.
Scott: Hey! What’re you up to right now?
I glance around, then snap a picture of the Party City sign hanging inside above the entrance/exit and send it to Scott. The three typing dots appear, then his response pops up.
Scott: Why are you at Party City?
Me: My roommates keep telling me I need to loosen up.
Scott replies with a laughing emoji, followed by a gif of Michael Scott and Dwight Schrute from The Office doing the raise the roof hand motion. I smile at the screen and reply with my own laughing emoji, then wait a few moments. The text bubble doesn’t pop up again, and, with a little disappointment, I shove my phone back in my pocket.
I continue my search for party favors for several minutes, until I hear someone call my name.
“Lucy?”
I look away from the fake sunglasses in front of me to see Scott standing a ways down the aisle, looking awkward. After my initial surprise at his appearance, I’m overtaken by nerves. I’m wearing casual work clothes, no makeup, and my hair is back in a low messy bun. Not exactly the way I would have dressed had I known I’d be running into Scott, today.
“...Scott?” I glance around, as if I’m being pranked. “What are you doing here?”
His cheeks turn a bit red as he scratches the back of his neck, then runs his hand back through his hair. “Um, I live like three minutes from here, in that apartment complex over there,” he gestures nervously as he speaks. “When you texted you were here, I just thought… I mean, I wanted to see you, but now I’m realizing this is probably just really creepy and makes me seem like a stalker, doesn’t it?”
Despite my own nerves and embarrassment about my current appearance, I can’t help but smile at how flustered Scott seems. And, you know, the fact that he said he wanted to see me again.
Does this mean I didn’t totally blow it?
He shifts his weight awkwardly. “Sorry, should I just go?”
I start to answer, then stop and tilt my head. “Depends.”
He looks even more nervous, now. “On what?”
“Are you any good at putting together party favors for nine-year-olds?”
“I… what?”
I conspiratorially motion for him to come closer, and he noticeably relaxes as he walks over, his lips turning upward into a smile that sets the butterflies off in my stomach.
“Okay, I’m trying to put together party favors for my boss’ daughter’s birthday,” I explain, holding up a pack of cheap bracelets. “She’s turning nine, but I have no idea what nine-year-olds even like these days.”
Scott shoots me a look. “These days? You make it sound like you’re ancient.”
I sigh dramatically. “I may as well be with how out of touch I am with the current state of children’s likes and dislikes.”
“Well, what did you like when you were nine?”
I pause, crossing my arms as I think about it.
“Books,” I answer.
“What kind of books?”
“The Magic Treehouse, Hank the Cowdog, Nancy Drew… you know, those sorts of books.” I glance at Scott. “What about you? Did you like to read?”
He winces. “Not really. But this Hank the Cowdog… he sounds pretty cool.”
I smile. “You wouldn’t know. You haven’t read the books.”
“Good point,” Scott says, then turns back to the shelves. “They don’t really sell books here, so we’ll have to think of something else for the favors.”
Scott stands next to me, staring up at the shelves, his arm brushing mine. I didn’t expect to see him, and I’m beyond happy he’s here, but I doubt he’s interested in helping me with work.
“You don’t actually have to help me pick out party favors,” I say. “I’m guessing this isn’t how you want to spend your evening.”
Scott turns to me, an incredulous look on his face. “Are you kidding? You think I’d miss a chance to come to Party City?”
I blink up at him, my eyebrows rising. “You’re saying you like Party City?”
“Duh!” He glances around, then jaunts down the aisle and picks up one of the most ridiculous looking party hats I’ve ever seen, some sort of mix of a partial bald cap with an Einstein wig on the back, placing it on his head. “I mean, seriously, where else are you gonna find awesome stuff like this?”
I bite down on my laughter. “Ah, I see your point.”
His eyebrows rise. “No, I don’t think you do. You’re not in party mode yet.” He digs in the bin of hats again and pulls out what looks to be a giant green leprechaun hat, then walks back over and drops it on my head. He steps back, analyzes me with his fingers up like he’s framing a camera shot, then grins.
“You feeling the party now?”
Some teens pass by our aisle and snicker when they see us. It doesn’t matter how old I get; teenagers scare me.
“Actually, I just feel like I want to hide,” I say.
“What? Hide?” His brow furrows, and he shakes his head, his eyes still sparkling with amusement. “You wouldn’t say that if you could see yourself in that hat.”
“I very much doubt that.”
“I’ll show you.” Scott pulls his phone from his pocket and opens his camera app, then holds it up as a mirror for me to see. “What do you think?”
“I think I look ridiculous,” I say, once again being reminded of the fact that I have no makeup and my hair is a mess.
“That’s the point!”
I shift my eyes from the camera to him and his atrocious fake Einstein hair and yank his phone away. “You think I look ridiculous? You look ridiculous!”
He pauses as he looks at himself in the phone’s front facing camera, which I’ve now aimed at him, then slowly nods his head. “Yup, just like I thought. I look good.”
I laugh and shake my head as I start to pull off my hat. “You’re so weird.”
“Woah, woah, what are you doing?”
I pause, my hat hanging just above my head. “What?”
“You can’t take that off until we leave the store.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the rule.” Scott crosses his arms. “It’s not a party without hats.”
“No. There is no way I’m walking around this store with this ridiculous hat on.”
“Alright, you might not, but I’m keeping mine on.”
I stare at him, then up at his wig cap thing, then back at him. Him keeping his on is infinitely worse than me keeping mine on. But if I wear the leprechaun hat and pull it down, no one should recognize me.
So, I guess I’m wearing the leprechaun hat now.
I sigh and yank the hat back down on my head. Scott grins his wide, goofy smile, and despite all my attempts to hide it, I can’t help the begrudging smile that breaks out on my face. We walk throughout the store, picking up fake sunglasses, mini nail polish bottles, fake tattoos, and all sorts of random bits and bobs that seem appropriate for the gift bags. But, to be honest, I think Scott and I are having much more fun together than the girls will with their party favors.
By the time we check out, I’m not embarrassed by the hats anymore, even with the weird looks we’re getting from the unamused cashier.
We leave Party City with three bags: two full of the party favor supplies, and one bag with the two hats, which Scott purchased, though I have no idea why. My car is in sight, and my heart sinks a little at the thought of saying goodbye again so soon.
“Thank you for your help,” I say, looking up at Scott. “You made this a lot of fun.”
“Yeah, no problem.” His words are a little less confident than before. “Do you want some help putting the bags together?”
I wasn’t planning on putting them together until tomorrow, but…
“You don’t have to help,” I say. “You already went shopping with me.”
“I know I don’t have to. I’m offering.” He hesitates again. “But only if you want help. If you’d rather just do it yourself, I get it.”
“No.” We stop next to my car, and I turn towards him. “I mean, if you’re sure you don’t mind, and you have the time, I would love to have your help.”
His features brighten, and he smiles. “Great! I’ll just—”
He stops mid sentence as his stomach erupts in a lion sized growl. I smother another laugh behind a fake cough.
“You hungry?” I ask.
Scott smiles sheepishly. “What makes you think that?”
“I haven’t eaten dinner yet either,” I say, glancing at the In-N-Out glowing bright in all its glory in the distance. Scott notices my gaze and turns around, then looks back at me.
“Wanna get some burgers?”
I unlock the door to my apartment and step inside with Scott in tow. He’s carrying the bags of party supplies in one hand and our greasy bag of burgers and fries in the other.
“You can set everything there,” I say, pointing at the kitchen table.
The lights are on, and I can smell recently brewed coffee. As long as I’ve lived here, Stephanie has had a cup of coffee every night without fail, and she always makes enough for me to have one as well. She must be making it right now.
“Stephanie?”
Sure enough, Stephanie pokes her head out of the kitchen.
“Hey, Luce. Coffee is—” Her gaze lands on Scott, and she stops mid sentence.
His eyebrows rise, then he gives a small wave. “Hey, I’m Scott.”
Stephanie doesn’t respond, still sizing Scott up like she might pick a fight with him. Or maybe deciding whether or not she’ll abduct him and take him back to her home planet. Sometimes, I genuinely think Stephanie could be an alien.
“Is Jessie around?” I ask, trying to get Scott out of the hot seat.
“No,” Stephanie says, turning to me. “Some of her friends came by earlier and picked her up. Seems like they’ll be gone awhile, they were all dressed up.”
Some of the tension in my shoulders relaxes. That means I won’t have to worry about any outbursts or embarrassing comments from Jessie while Scott is here.
Stephanie stretches her arms above her head. “I made coffee, but there’s only enough for one more cup. Sorry, Scott.”
“Oh, no worries,” he says. “I don’t drink coffee at night.”
Stephanie stares at him for a few more seconds, then picks up her mug and takes a sip as she starts to walk back to her bedroom.
“Uh, it was nice to meet you,” Scott calls.
Stephanie lifts a hand and waves, her back still to us as she walks down the hall, then disappears into her room.
“Sorry,” I say, giving Scott an apologetic look. “Stephanie is a great roommate, and a good friend, but before you get to know her she can be a little…”
“Scary?” Scott asks.
I snort. “I was gonna say intense, but scary might be a better word choice. Anyway,” I continue, moving into the kitchen as he takes a seat at the table, “want anything to drink?”
“Water would be great.”
“Okay.”
I grab a glass from the cabinet, my nerves making my hands slightly unsteady as I fill the cup with water. The only other guy I’ve ever had at the apartment to hangout was Jeremiah, and that was different. That was Jeremiah; this is Scott.
Relax, Lucy. It’s not a big deal. You’re just going to eat cheeseburgers and make some party bags.
I take in a quiet breath, then return to the table. Scott has already un-bagged all the food, arranging two nice place settings side by side.