The box of invites was heavy. Tyr Prince was apparently traditional when it came to issuing invites to his Ball, though only the home office employees would get a fancy card with formal decorative font. I don’t even know if the other offices are invited; if he wants to hide that this is a soulmate search, they should be.
Most of the employees had already left for the day, but the handful left in the building were polite as I handed off the sheets of heavy cardstock or placed them on nearby desks. A few had headphones in and were too absorbed in their work to notice. Most of the IT crew had huddled around a single desk. The finance and internal audit teams were gone for the day, and the customer service team had been wrapping up. I’d made my way over to operations and was considering taking a break when I heard the two men gossiping. I wouldn’t have thought anything of their conversation - office gossip was a staple of the cubicle life - except I heard one of them mention getting fired.
That was gossip too good to pass up. I slipped into an empty desk, setting down the box and making a show of stretching and taking off my heels before grabbing my phone.
“Only if I get caught” had been the response to the fired comment.
“Seriously, though, what’s wrong?” the first person asked. I must have missed part of the conversation.
“What else? My nephew.” I almost left at that. It wasn’t my job to spy on other employees - and if asked to I wouldn’t - but my curiosity had raised its ugly head and my feet still hurt. I hadn’t expected to be walking the building today when I’d chosen the heels.
“Still not speaking to you?”
“You’d think after 20 years he’d be over whatever snit he’s in, but he’s still silent.”
“Are you sure it’s just you?”
My thoughts went to the poor man this morning, and I lost their conversation for a bit. He’d just been trying to do his job even though he couldn’t say a word. I wondered if he knew we’d exchanged First Words already, and my hand brushed my collarbone. My mark was there, hidden beneath my shirt and concealer. His had been on his wrist, and I’d seen enough to know I’d been close - if not a match. He could have the words I’d said on his wrist. That would make him both a Compliment and a Response. It’d been so hard to tell when my mark came in; I didn’t fit the normal categories, not even the negative ones.
But if we were a match why hadn’t he said anything? Well, figuratively speaking. That was probably insensitive, but still. After this job, I’d take him with me. Even if he was just a “close enough” match it would help fill out the crew. We were all close matches, and we belonged together.
“I had three different doctors all check him out and they all said his throat was perfectly healthy. Then he went to five different grief councilors and they all said the same thing: he’s a child, he’s grieving, it’s not unusual, he just needs therapy and time. As if I’d pay more for some voodoo stretching bullshit!”
“But, I mean, have you ever heard him say anything?”
Voluntary mutism? Or maybe selective mutism? Was that even a thing? I’d heard of priests who took vows of silence, believing their god to be their only soulmate, but those were devout, adult members of specific religions. This sounded like a child suffering from trauma.
“Not since my sister died,” second voice said. “But he talks to the girls.”
“Really?”
I probably shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this. It wasn’t work gossip - I must have missed the bulk of that - but family matters. The two must be friends. I slipped my shoes back on and stood up, heaving the box onto my hip. I really should have grabbed a cart so I didn’t have to lug this thing around. I finished placing invites on all the desks in the aisle and then turned down the row with the two chatty workers. And men thought women gossiped! These two weren’t even trying to mask their conversation and pretend they were just complaining. They had to be aware the office wasn’t empty.
“It’d almost be better if he wasn’t talking to anyone.” I could see now that this was the friend and not the uncle. He was a tiny man with a button nose and probably a white picket fence with 2 point 5 kids. Blond hair fell into his eyes as he ducked his head, pretending to work now that I was in sight. Nevermind that he was in full view of one of the cameras.
“He doesn’t around me,” the uncle said, leaning back in his chair. With brown hair and a tall build he had a passing resemblance to the delivery man from yesterday, but that was where the similarities ended. The cutie pie from the bakery had been shy but strong, the corners of his mouth ticking up into slight smiles that showed dimples. This man was a couch potato with the pinched lines of a frequent scowler on his face. “Even when I find him jobs I have to tell people he strained his throat or got out of surgery or something like that because he won’t say a word in front of me.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, though I really wasn’t. It sounded serious and I hated the idea that lying was his solution. “I’ve got invites here for Saturday’s party. Misters Prince and Prince are inviting all employees and their families.” I set the invites down - they didn’t even make a move to reach for them! Rude - and checked out the names. John Kilburn and Travis Barrows.
“Party?” Travis asked.
“To celebrate closing the Jamison case,” I said, putting the cards on the empty desks around them. “It’s a mock-Ball for us.”
“Hey, so, question,” John - the uncle - said. “You’re a girl.”
I froze. Conversations that started that way never went well. “Yes. That wasn’t a question.”
“Would two high school senior girls enjoy this type of thing?”
That - was not what I expected. “Why do you want to know?”
“They’re my daughters,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t worry - no need to make any HR reports.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of the police, but HR could be a start.”
“Wow, so serious,” he commented. Though he was grinning and his tone was light, his eyes watching me made me feel dirty. “Just wanting to know if it’s the type of thing they’d want to come to.”
I smiled, showing just enough tooth that he could see he wasn’t fooling me. “I think you know your girls better than I do; if they enjoying dancing and socializing, then I imagine they would enjoy this sort of party. There’s no age restriction on the invite, but no one under 21 will be served alcohol. You should be aware it will be present, however.” And if they were anything like I was at that age, they’d know how to sneak some. “Your wife is also welcome to attend, and any others in your household.”
The smile on his face reminded me of a fat, evil little rodent. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I’m sure he would. Creepy, but my job was done so I went on down the aisle with the cards. It was an absolute pain to hand them out alone, and for once I was grateful for the cameras around the building. It was usually a calming way to end the day about once or twice a year; I’d know ahead of time and bring my comfortable shoes and consider it my workout for the week. This was the first time I’d had any of the employees make me uncomfortable.
It was almost time to move on, though. Four years here was long enough; one last push for what I needed then I could grab my match - partial match or match, he was mine - and move on.
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