Such a Pretty Face by Annabelle Costa
Chapter 12
I wish I had friends at work.
It would be nice if there were somebody I could go to the break room with for lunch. Or chat with at the water cooler. Whenever I see people at work congregating, I feel left out.
It’s not entirely my fault. One big problem is that I’m a programmer. And most of the other programmers at work are men. And when I try to talk to men, I have a panic attack.
Other women work at my company, but they’re in other jobs. Research, development, office management, reception, marketing, human resources, etc. The point is, they don’t see me as “one of them.” I’m just a computer dork.
I was—very briefly—friendly with a woman in human resources named Lexie. We went to lunch a few times, and it was sort of fun. But after our first meal, Lexie started making comments about what I was eating. Like, I would order a cheeseburger, and she would say, “No, get a salad instead, Emily! Don’t you think that would be better?”
I don’t need friends like that.
Another growing problem I’ve noticed is that women in my general age group seem mostly interested in marriage and babies. In fact, every single interaction I’ve had with other women (aside from Lexie) has been during an office bridal shower or baby shower. I’m always throwing five dollars into a big white envelope full of cash. In the last month, I’m certain I’ve contributed at least twenty bucks for various showers for women I barely know.
In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m not on the verge of being showered for anything besides the one I take every morning before breakfast. I’m happy I had my first kiss and all, but let’s be real: I’m about as far away from any of that stuff as is humanly possible—and they all know it. And that just serves to make me even less “one of them.”
Today we’re having a baby shower for a woman named… crap, I can’t even remember her name. But when Candace, the office shower-organizer, came around with the envelope a few days ago, I threw in my five bucks. I don’t want to be known as the fat, stingy girl. Especially since I completely blew off that charity run.
The shower is scheduled for three o’clock in the break room. I’m dreading it. Mostly because I’m starving by the midafternoon, and there’s usually a ton of food at the showers. But if I eat anything at all, everybody will give me looks like I shouldn’t be indulging myself. I know what they’re thinking. That’s why she’s so fat.
So I have to eat like a bird. I have to eat less than the person in the room who eats the least. That’s the rule.
About an hour before, Candace blocks the entrance (which is the same as the exit) to my cubicle, flanked by her friend Robyn. For several seconds, neither one of them says anything, and I wish they would move. I get incredibly claustrophobic when people stand at the entrance to the cubicle. I barely have breathing room in this stupid cube without having the entrance blocked off by two people.
“Hi, Emily,” Candace chirps. “You know it’s Keely’s baby shower today, right?”
“I already contributed, didn’t I?” I say. I distinctly remember handing over my five bucks.
“Yes, you did,” Candace says, and she exchanges looks with Robyn. They don’t want more money, do they? I thought five dollars was enough. Isn’t that what everyone gives? Have I been inadvertently cheaping out?
“The thing is, Emily,” Robyn begins. She got a pixie cut a few weeks ago, and it looks awful. I strongly suspect nobody’s told her so. “The cake at the party? That’s for people to enjoy during the party. And if there’s any left over, that’s for Keely to take home.”
Oh no.
So like I said, I can’t eat during these showers. Because everybody judges me. And inevitably makes comments. At the last shower, they served this absolutely delicious cookies and cream cake, but of course, I had to tell the woman cutting the cake to just give me “a sliver.” I swear to God, you would need a microscope to find the slice of cake she gave me.
After I went back to my cubicle, I couldn’t stop thinking about that cake. I couldn’t even concentrate. And they ate barely a quarter of it during the shower. So I snuck over to the refrigerator and helped myself to a reasonably sized piece.
Fine. It was a large slice. But it was just one slice. More than half the cake was still left.
I had no idea anyone realized I did it. I can’t believe everyone knew and was gossiping about it for the last week.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. I can’t even look at them.
“It’s all right,” Candace says, her voice growing perkier by the second. “We just wanted to clear that up.” She hesitates. “I’m glad we had this talk, Emily.”
I nod. If I say anything else, I’ll start crying.
When Candace and Robyn leave, I’m left with this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s not fair. I’ve paid all this money for showers and what happens? I get yelled at.
The worst part is: all I can think about is the cake at the upcoming shower and how I desperately want to eat a big, heaping piece of it. But I can’t.