I'm Hiding In My Cubicle

I’m hiding in my cubicle right now. Two horrid things happened today. I might as well tell you the worst of it first, ripping off the love band-aid quickly and painfully. Boss just took all of us out to lunch to share some news. He let me choose the place (he almost always lets me pick) (I love him so much), which meant sushi, which meant expensive, which he readily agreed to, which meant it was not good news.

He’s engaged, officially, to supermodel-lithe girlfriend Dominique (I hate Dominique). He proposed on Saturday night, and he just! couldn’t! wait! to share the good news with all of us today. He looks really happy. I look really green, and I’m pretty sure the reason isn’t all the raw fish I ate at lunch.

So now it’s after lunch and I have to call this one horrible client who always yells at me because there’s a problem with his contract. I have my bottle of Pepto out, and Boss hasn’t so much as glanced my way. No pep talk for me today. This is how it’s going to be from now on. He’s going to be blissfully unaware of me, marry Dominique, and have beautiful little supermodel babies that will rule with world, genetically-speaking, while I deal with client-trolls for the rest of my life and grow ulcers in my stomach lining.

I know he was never mine, but a part of me hoped that Dominique would crush his spirit and I would be there to pick up the pieces, and he would grow to love me.

I also have a scenario planned out in my head where Dominique is in a car accident and doesn’t die, but loses her ability to blink, and Boss just can’t stand the constant staring and they eventually break up. That one was a little far-fetched, I’ll admit. But somehow I never saw the truth, that they were really going to get married and live happily ever after.

Oh, and Boss wants all of us at the wedding, which they’re already planning. They want to get married within the next three months.

“What’s the rush?” Sandy asked at lunch. “Shotgun wedding?” and then Boss laughed a little bit too hard at it. It makes me wonder if it is, but as soon as my brain goes down that path, it quickly retreats because then I start picturing things I really do not want to picture.

While that was the worse news, there was something additionally awful that happened; I had to cover the reception desk this morning since our current receptionist is pregnant and had an OB appointment. I haven’t had to cover reception since my first six months, and I hate it. I hate answering the phones, and I hate signing all the packages for the UPS and FedEx drivers, and I hate smiling and being friendly so much. It’s unnatural.

But that’s not the awful thing. There’s more. It gets SO. MUCH. WORSE.

There was a surprise visit from someone. It was Ian, Smug Hipster Guy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was following me, but when he walked right through the glass doors and saw me sitting at reception, he looked genuinely surprised, probably as surprised as I looked to him. I even forgot to put on my big fake smile.

He said, “Dangerous bicycle girl! I didn’t know you worked here!”

“Aus–Lulu,” I corrected him, and then remembered my smile.

“Right, Lulu,” he smiled back. He was looking at me like…like…like I was the receptionist. Like I was just this dumb girl who rides her bike around at night and sits at a reception desk in the days and answers phones and who won’t amount to anything. I remember he called me a “young girl” that night at the movie theater, so I know that’s how he thinks of me. Urrrgh. It gets my feminist shackles up.

So there I was, staring at Ian, sitting at reception but not really being the receptionist and I didn’t know what to do or say or anything. I was going to tell him that I wasn’t reallythe receptionist, but then I remembered that I don’t care what he thinks of me, so I finally smiled at him and said, “Are you here to see someone? Do you have an appointment?” in my best friendly receptionist voice.

“Yeah, I called him earlier. He should be out in a second,” he said. He wasn’t very friendly. He looked away from me and down at his iPhone. Urrrrgh.

“Oh, OK,” I said, and then smiled some more. I wondered who he was waiting for, but then I remembered again that I don’t care, and I decided to check my email and occupy myself while Ian fiddled with his phone and sat down on the couch in front of the reception desk.

Finally, I saw Boss stride from his office, walk toward Ian and give him a big hug, and then Boss looked over at me and said to me, “Hey, will you cancel my 11am phone call? I really need to talk with my brother.”

It took me a second, and then I blinked at Boss and said, “Sure thing,” like I was actually the receptionist. Ian and Boss left, and then it took me another minute while my brain slowly puzzled it together. Brother?

BROTHER.

Ian and Boss are BROTHERS.