From the Jump(8)

Sometimes I wish I’d never come up with the concept for celeriac. If I’d gotten management’s attention with something style-related, maybe I’d be their go-to girl for boutique branding instead of foods that need to be triple-washed. Maybe they wouldn’t see cassava and immediately think of me.

“We should have a lunch meeting next week.” Marian’s eyes drift off me, following someone into the conference room, but the loss of her attention doesn’t prevent me from perking back up at her words. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”

“I’d love that,” I say coolly, despite my desire to jump in the air, contort my legs into one of those shapes cheerleaders make, and yell hooray.

She focuses back in on me. “Great suit, by the way. The cut of the jacket is flawless.”

“I was just going to say the same about yours.” Dress for the job you want, they say, not the one you have. I wonder if Marian realizes I’ve modeled myself off her. She must at least suspect my ambition. What lowly in-house designer doesn’t dream of one day rising to creative director?

She smiles graciously and nods me into the conference room. I scurry forward in submission, instantly bumping into Elena.

“Oh, did you not see me there, either?” Elena mutters, but I can tell by her tone she’s more amused than offended. “Marian certainly didn’t.”

I tilt my head and study Elena as she and I make our way toward two empty seats back along the wall. With her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, Elena looks more like Marian’s disgruntled teenage daughter than her peer. I’m not sure why she’s always so surprised to be treated as such. I’ve offered her some of my books on how to live life more successfully, but she never seems to get around to it. If I’m being completely honest, I’m always a little relieved when she returns them unread. I want to help Elena, but I’d hate to see her free spirit shackled.

“She saw you,” I say. “She just knew your psychic hadn’t predicted her speaking to you yet.”

“Eddie Radner.” Elena points left across the room and turns right, not noticing as her purse bangs into the knee of the man next to her. In her defense, the room is chaotic. Everyone has taken advantage of the free coffee and cookies and is wandering around with fistfuls of caffeine and sugar, talking over each other in an effort to catch up on any gossip they’ve missed over the week and compare plans for the weekend. This is how all our Friday afternoon debrief meetings go, which is the reason we all keep arriving a little earlier each week. It’s a liquor-less happy hour, the roundup behind the release gates that will soon open to freedom.

“Thanks,” I say, sliding into the seat she motions at. It’s behind a man who’s both tall and wide enough to hide me from Eddie’s view. “This is perfect.”

“Can I ask you a question?” For once, Elena’s volume is at a two instead of the ten it’s usually dialed to.

I nod, despite the fact that her uncharacteristic discretion makes me nervous.

“Eddie seems to really like you,” she says. “And I do hear you when you’re regurgitating the tenets of Success in the Workplace, but I also listen when you quote the Husband Huntress. And she says you shouldn’t count someone out before you get to know them.”

“That’s not a question.” I know where Elena is going, though. Her argument is that I shouldn’t keep rejecting Eddie’s advances without getting to know him, despite the fact that there are at least three other women in the office who can claim to know him quite intimately. What Elena doesn’t understand is that I’m well acquainted with men like Eddie Radner. They swept in and out of my house throughout the entirely of my childhood, drawn to my mother’s beauty and eagerness to please. What I learned from them is that compliments and charm are the well-documented signs of a bad bet.

“Why won’t you go out with him?”

I do a quick sweep to ensure no one is listening to us. “I’m not interested in him.”

“But you were interested in Boring Roger?”

“I was willing to give Roger a chance.”

Elena squints with confusion. “Then why not give the same to Eddie? If you thought it might not work out either way, wouldn’t you rather hit the sheets with someone who knows what he’s doing in them than someone who likely irons them?”

I shudder. “You do remember that I didn’t sleep with Roger, right?”

“But you would’ve,” she says, “if things had gone well. So, my point stands.”

“Roger checks all of the boxes,” I say. “He’s the kind of man who would make a perfect life partner.”

She laughs, but it fades as she realizes I’m being serious.

“Hmm,” she murmurs. There’s something in her expression I don’t like. It looks a lot like pity. It’s the kind of look that should be directed toward someone like my mother, not me.

“Is there something wrong with that?” I can hear the defensiveness in my voice and am aware it’s a very unappealing quality. “He’s nice,” I say more softly.

Her nose wrinkles. “But does he excite you?”

“Excitement doesn’t factor into the equation,” I explain. “Attraction fades. You’re supposed to choose your dates according to your long-term relationship goals.”