Page 40 of Dearly Unbeloved
You had four vases. No one needs four vases of flowers. I only threw out the roses because they looked like they were dying, anyway.
They’re antique roses. They’re supposed to look like that
Well, they’re ugly. Why are you even home? Shouldn’t you beat work?
I have a ton of data entry to do and it’s quieter here. Is that okay with you, Mom???
Don’t call me that.
Sorry, honey
Have you socialized with your colleagues today?
I said good morning.
Oh, wow. I’m surprised they didn’t promote you on the spot. You’ll be CEO before you know it.
I’m going to stop replying now.
Not an airport, Cannon. No need to announce your departure.
Rose.
Seriously, go hang out with your colleagues at lunch. You can thank me later.
Thank you how?
I’m not fucking sexting you.
Iroll my eyes as I lock my phone and drop it on my workspace. Why would anyone want roses that looked half-rotted?
“I’m starving,” Minah, the lab tech who’s workingbeside me today, says, peeling off her gloves. It’s the same every day: one person says it, and everyone else falls in line, like they were just waiting for an excuse to go for lunch.
I don’t get it. If you’re hungry, eat. Why wait for a dozen other people? This isn’t kindergarten. We’re allowed to eat unsupervised.
“Do you want to come for lunch, Rose?”
I open my mouth to decline, like I do every day, in favor of eating at my workstation, or in my car, but Sierra’s text niggles at me. Since the team picnic at Lisa’s place, I haven’t made any effort to integrate myself into the team. It was easier with Sierra around, socializing on my behalf.
Forcing my face into a somewhat eager expression, I take my gloves off and grab my phone. “Lunch sounds good.”
I pretend not to notice the surprised expressions exchanged between my colleagues as I follow them to the elevators. I can’t blame them, I suppose.
The idea of squeezing myself into a metal box with other people is painful enough that I almost always take the stairs, but two elevators arrive at the same time, and I don’t get the chance to volunteer to save space before I’m ushered in. I press myself against the back wall of the elevator, holding my breath and trying to tune into the conversation so I’m not totally out of the loop.
“So she shows up at my cousin’s wedding with a date, and you’ll never guess who it was,” Minah says, and everyone leans in, as if we might be overheard in here.
“Who did she bring?” Imogen asks, bouncing on her toes.
“Her sister’s high school ex-boyfriend!”
“No way.”
I raise my eyebrows in a way I hope looks suitably scandalized, though I can’t really see the big deal unless they’re not long out of high school or the ex did something shitty.
The conversation continues as we stand in line waiting for food, with everyone debating whether they would date a sibling’s ex after so many years.
“What about you, Rose? You have a sister, right? Would you date any of her exes?” Imogen asks, through a mouthful of romaine.
