Chapter 3 A Company Party
A COMPANY PARTY
Vivi texts me first thing in the morning: Did you get that meeting request for today?
I write back: tragically yes
I arrive early at the meeting so Viv and I can sit in our favorite spot: the second-to-last row.
It doesn’t single us out visibly as slackers, but it allows us to sit next to each other and write occasional amusing notes on legal notepads.
It’s a strategy we worked out early in our work friendship: it helps us blow off steam in the various torture sessions held by a rotating cast of managers and V.P.s who always have a ‘vision’ for the new direction of the company, usually involving something that has been tried before and failed spectacularly.
The meeting starts with general information about trainings that are being rolled out across the company in our seven worldwide offices, and Vivi draws a picture on her legal pad of someone rolling their eyes, and then writes a little arrow showing the direction of the eyeroll whenever the presenter talks about how useful and engaging we’re going to find the sixteen-hour training module that we have to do on top of our regular work over the next five weeks.
Then there is a brief discussion about benefits changes, which translates, as always, to the company charging us a little more money for a little less service while spinning it as offering us more choice.
Unionize! I write to Vivi on my notepad.
She writes back: Can you imagine this crowd agreeing on anything, let alone a union?
Next up is a woman named Destiny, one of the department’s Human Resources Directors who was hired three years ago and has shot up the org chart like a blazing meteor or a childless, competent woman who doesn’t mind answering weekend emails.
She wears a structured cream linen suit, her cropped grey hairstyle flattering against her warm brown skin.
“So.” Destiny takes in the room with the look of someone about to deliver bad news.
“Some of you may be aware that an employee in our Dallas office was investigated for sexual harassment last year after a relationship with a subordinate. I can’t speak to the details of that, but part of our settlement was that we will be reviewing our policy about inter-office dating and making sure that it is as clear as possible.
We have asked each manager to suggest trustworthy and impartial people to serve on this committee. ”
I write to Vivi: note to self: stop being trustworthy and impartial. I flip up the notepad to she can see it.
There is a brief, muffled chuckle behind us, and I turn around to see Oliver, my office crush, lowering his eyes to his laptop from the seat behind me. Apparently Vivi and I were not being as subtle as we thought.
When he glances back at me, I give him a shocked, scolding expression to try to shame him for reading our notes, and he raises his hands in a gesture of apology before returning to his laptop.
Destiny continues. “If you are asked to serve, I hope you will take it very seriously. It is an important and legally mandated task that the office needs to fulfill within the next few months.”
Vivi watches my expression and then smirks a little as she looks down.
I haven’t asked Katy about Mr. Redhead, she writes to me in tiny, barely readable letters at the top of the notepad.
What about him? I write back in equally small letters.
She points back to her drawing of someone rolling their eyes.
When I get back to my desk, my co-worker Brant is waiting at my desk.
He is tall and muscular with a nearly shaved head, the kind of guy who was ruggedly handsome in college but now has a sharp, disaffected air, like life and his hairline have both disappointed him.
He and I used to be decent work friends during my first couple of years at Murano.
We were hired at the same time, and we became buddies during the initial endless training sessions.
Then he received the promotion that I missed out on when I left to try things again with Nick last summer, and now he is essentially my manager.
I need to keep on Brant’s good side if I want a promotion, but this has grown trickier since his divorce two years ago.
He has developed a tendency to share deeply bitter sentiments about love and marriage with me on the assumption that I will agree, when what I usually want to tell him is that it sounds like he needs therapy.
There are only so many times you can say that to someone who has the power to fire you, though.
“So, Laura,” he says with a dry tone, “I promise this is work-related, but you’re not dating anyone in the office at the moment, are you?”
“Uh…no?”
He gives a dry half-smile. “Great, because I volunteered both of us for that committee on workplace relationships. I thought it would be good for you to get some face time with people from other departments. Show folks you’re here to stay after your thing last summer.”
He is referring to my disappearing act when I moved to Atlanta, of course, and I nod with my best appreciative smile. I can never tell whether Brant is trying to help me or just remind me of how close the company came to firing me so that he can keep me on my toes.
“Yeah, of course. I can do that.”
“They asked me to try not to recommend someone who was already in the middle of an office romance, since that might undermine the committee’s credibility.”
“Well, I am safely single.”
“That’s because you’re smart,” he says. “Who needs the misery?”
“Yep!” I try to give him as little fuel for his smoldering pile of pessimism as possible, even though I secretly share it. He hangs out at my desk for another few minutes, asking me about my weekend plans and whether I’ll make it to the company’s yearly office party.
“I hope so,” I say. “But we’ll see. Childcare and all that.”
“Yeah, Kara has the girls this weekend, so that’s not a worry.” He frowns. “She’s introducing them to the new boyfriend.”
“Oh, dear.” Kara is his ex, and I hear more about her from Brant than about anything work-related.
“No doubt that means four people are soon going to be living off half my salary, so good for him I guess.”
“Right. Well, I should…” I gesture feebly to my computer.
“Right. See you at the committee. We should just tell everyone not to date anyone, period.”
“Ha. Yep.”
He laughs once and then turns to go.
When I open my work email, the notification is already there.
I have been selected for the “Policy Revision” team on office relationships, which is going to start up in a couple of weeks.
I sigh. I am not looking forward to spending hours in a room with Brant, listening to his opinions on workplace romance.
He is right, though; I’m still on thin ice after last summer, and this is definitely not the time to refuse any special requests.
Then I notice another name near the top of the list of six people who have been asked to serve on the committee: Oliver MacCormack.
My heart lifts a little even though I’m not sure he’s my Oliver.
I search through the company directory for any other Olivers, then write Vivi a quick text: Emergency.
Will be serving on that new committee with office crush.
Vivi texts me back on my way home from work: Definitely write a policy that says that you can have sex with members of that committee anytime you want.
I reply: Can you find out from your friend if he’s got some live-in yoga instructor girlfriend before I put in that request?
Vivi replies, Will check on yoga instructor gf.
Nick finally arrives in the city on the Thursday night of Abby’s school vacation week.
I have told this to Abby ahead of time so she can book her flight home on Friday, but I don’t tell Hannah until Nick is literally on the elevator coming up to our apartment.
You have to be careful, when it comes to Nick.
He could land a gig on his taxi ride from the airport.
“Daddy!” Hannah shouts when she sees him, and Nick throws his arms around her and spins her in a circle, saying, “Baby, baby, baby.”
Abby watches from my sofa with raised eyebrows.
“You and Tabby are both here!” Hannah cries.
“Yeah, crazy coincidence, right?” Abby drawls.
Nick has the grace to look abashed, but only for about three seconds. “Abby,” he says, “good to see you,” walking forward to give her a brotherly hug, which she accepts with the facial expression of someone picking up a used tissue from the sidewalk.
“Nick.” Her tone is as sharp as a pen knife.
“Listen,” he says, “you stepped in to be a superhero. But it worked out this time. I’ll tell you over dinner, maybe? Laur?” He glances over at me.
“It’s a bit late for dinner around here,” I say.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. There was a delay on the runway.”
And there it is, the brief apology, as if none of this is within his control. I glance at Hannah, not sure if I should cover for him again. “Things worked out,” I reply quietly, “thanks to Abby.”
“Well, now that you’re here, Nick,” Abby says briskly, “I’m going to go out and try to catch up with a couple of friends. Not that dinner wouldn’t be fun.” She glances at Hannah. “Have a great time with your dad, sweetie. I’ll kiss you good-bye in the morning before I go to the airport, okay babe?”
Hannah’s face falls. “You’re leaving?”
“Tomorrow. I have to get back to Newfoundland, but I was waiting for your dad to get here first. You’ll come visit me for three whole weeks this summer, okay?
That’s only a few weeks away. I can’t wait.
” Abby clearly didn’t tell Hannah about her departure plans, either; she also wasn’t sure Nick would turn up.
“You have your dad here to watch you,” I add, “so that should be fun, right?”