My mind feels like a million tiny explosions are going off at once. How had I never thought of that? I gave up social media to the interns a while ago because I realized I didn’t want to deal with the craziness that comes with that. But how did it not occur to me that I could do the same with my emails?
I feel like such a fool. Why did I think I was the only one getting emails like this? Because no one else ever brought them up, that’s why. And that was because they never saw them. They were living in their happy little bubbles, only seeing the good emails, while I was sitting here dealing with Grace Is Amazing and thinking it was my burden to bear.
Henry dismisses Jess with a thanks, and Brady goes back to the audio booth, telling me he’ll see me later as he goes.
“Henry, I thought we had a meeting?” Moriarty says, tapping a nonexistent watch on her wrist.
“Right. I’ll be with you in a moment,” he says, and Moriarty sashays her way out of my cubicle, her hips swinging so furiously I worry for anyone she might accidentally hip check.
“Quinn,” Henry says after everyone’s left and it’s just the two of us in my cubicle. “You don’t need moronic people filling your inbox. That’s not something you should have to go through. Okay?”
“Okay.” I suppose I could feel a sense of relief right now at not having to deal with any of that anymore. But the overwhelming feeling of being a fool is masking all other feelings.
“All right, that’s settled,” Henry says. “I actually came here to see if you know where Jerry is?”
I point over in the direction of Jerry, who’s probably twenty feet away from us and looks to be eating a sandwich near one of the intern’s computers and not in the break room, as Henry has asked us to do.
Jerry sees us looking at him, freezes mid-bite, and then turns and walks as fast as his stubby legs can carry him in the direction of the break room.
I turn my head toward Henry. “Actually, I think you’ll find Jerry in the break room.”
“Right,” Henry says, his face not as severe as I would expect after having caught someone red handed, and on the same day the email went out, even. I figured it would take at least a week or two before we’d all be violating the new policy.
Henry turns to leave and then turns back.
“I’m . . .” He starts, but then stops himself before looking to the side and then back at me. “I’m sorry people like that Grace person exist. I hope you know that not any part of that email rang true to me.”
I swallow, probably audibly. “It’s the least interesting thing about me, right?” I say, giving him a thin smile. Those words he said to me not so long ago will be something that’s burned on my brain forever.
“Well, it would be, if any of it were true. But you’re so much more than . . . well, you’re . . . you’re just . . . quite amazing, really.” The tips of his ears turn a nice shade of pink, and I feel like I might burst into tears from the sincerity of his voice.
“Thank you, Henry,” I croak out, my voice thick. From anyone else I probably wouldn’t appreciate those words as much, thinking they weren’t sincere, merely meant to lift my spirits. But from Henry, they feel real and tangible. Like I can reach up and pluck them out of the air one by one and attach them to my person as if they are part of me.
We stare at each other for a moment, so many unspoken words between us. I know there are many words and thoughts going through my mind right now. Henry blinks twice, breaking the spell, and then gives me a quick nod and leaves.
~*~
“How is it I get stuck going to these lame places with you?” Thomas asks fairly loudly, and I immediately shush him.
We’ve been walking around downtown Winter Park looking through some of my go-to antique shops. A welcome distraction after the day I had. The shop we’re currently at is a place I’ve gotten some of my favorite furniture from, including the curio cabinet I’m working on. The store smells of old wood and mothballs. And I love it.
“Because you don’t have anything better to do?” I give him my best sarcastic grin.
“Please. I’ve got better things to do.”
“Like what?”
Thomas looks to be contemplating. He’s standing by a table of old wood plaques, picking them up and looking at them briefly before setting them down. “I don’t know. Just anything but this.”
“Do you want the real reason I bring you with me or the made-up one?”
“The made-up one. Reality is boring.” He picks up another sign, this one with chickens on it. The painted words say: Welcome, we’re egg-cited to have you.
“Okay, the made-up reason is that I need you here to help me carry stuff if it’s too big,” I tease.
“Wait, I thought that was the real reason.”
“No, the real reason is I just want to spend time with you.”
“Aw,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “I take back all the awful things I thought about you when I first saw that horrible outfit you’re wearing tonight.”
“What? I love this dress,” I say, looking down at the white cotton midi dress with the spaghetti straps.
“It’s a no for me,” he says, raising steepled fingers to his lips.
“Never mind, you’re only here to carry the big stuff,” I say, flatly.
“I knew it!” Thomas exclaims.
I go back to looking around the store, leaving Thomas with his signs. Nothing is really jumping out at me today. When I find something, it’s usually because it catches my eye—as if it’s saying, Pick me! Pick me! But nothing is giving me that vibe right now. It’s probably meant to be. I need to finish that curio cabinet anyway, and I don’t need any new distractions.
I get Thomas’s attention and nod with my head toward the door. He holds up a sign that says, Silence, please! You are in the presence of a genius at work.
“I think I need this for my office,” he says, looking down at the worn wood plaque.
“Totally,” I say, knowing full well he wouldn’t be caught dead with a sign like that at work, regardless of how true he thinks that statement is.
“How goes the love triangle?” Thomas asks as we walk out of the antique shop into the extra-humid evening air.
I huff a breath out my nose. “There’s no love triangle,” I say.
“Yes, there is. You, Brady, Henry?”
“There’s no Henry in that scenario, so no triangle.”
“Well, Brady wants you, you want Henry, Henry wants . . . Oh, I see. You’re more like parallel lines.”
“Right,” I say.
“Then how is Boring Brady these days?”
“Don’t call him that.” I reach over and slug Thomas in the arm. “I feel bad that I ever called him that.”
“Oh, are we having feelings for Mr. Brady?”
I can feel Thomas’s eyes on me, so I turn my head to look at the window display of another antique store that I’ve never had any luck with. I don’t want Thomas to see my face; he’s very good at reading expressions, and especially mine.
“I like Brady,” I say when I turn my focus back to the sidewalk in front of us.
“Oh, you do, do you?” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “But do you liiiiike him?”