Downsizing

            Over the next few days, Abby apologizes profusely.  She sends me multiple texts, each heavy with exclamation points and blue-faced emojis.  Things are a little awkward at work for a while, but I insist that nothing’s wrong.  Mark, Abby explained, has wanted to be married since he was a kid.  He has trouble seeing when other people don’t have the same goals as he does.  Not that you don’t want to ever get married, she backtracks and apologizes until I finally tell her to shut it with a laugh.  I just want to pretend that the scenario never happened. 

            I try to think of ways to repay Cam for being so cool about the marriage comment.  Then again, I don’t want the situation to blow up any more than it already did by making a big deal out of it.  Maybe I’d just lie low and let my gratitude speak for itself.

            After work one day, Cam texts me with a surprise request.  I immediately run into the kitchen, skidding on the tile.  Emma’s sitting at the counter, eating, and looks up at me in surprise.

            “Cam wants me to meet his family,” I burst.  Emma raises her eyebrows, still chewing.  “Tomorrow!  I have no time to prepare!”

            Swallowing, Emma clears her throat.  “That’s honestly probably better for you.  I know you—you’d overanalyze everything and probably make note of conversation topics.”  I give her a look, but she continues.  “Come on, that’s exactly who you are and you know it.”

            “I’ve never rehearsed conversation topics!” I insist.  “Well, maybe I’ve thought about them. I’ve never, like, written them down and taken them with me on a card or anything like that.  That’s just crazy!”

            Emma rolls her eyes.  “I’m just saying, the only thing you should be planning is your outfit.  No cleavage, a nice dress, not too short.” 

            “No stripper heels, then?”  I shake my head in mock disappointment.  “Will you help me pick something out?”

            Emma nods, finishing off her scrambled eggs.  “As long as you help me pick out my outfit for my date.”

            “Date?!” I squawk.  Leave it to Emma to casually drop a bomb like that.  “With your college man?”

            Emma sighs dramatically.  “Must you word it like that?  Yes, with DJ.”

            I clap excitedly and do a little dance. 

            “You’re more excited about this than I am,” Emma says drily, but I can tell she’s looking forward to it.  Emma doesn’t go on dates—she’s so busy with her work schedule that she barely has time for the things she wants to do, let alone go out with guys she’s interested in.  As a matter of fact, I can’t remember the last date she went on—Emma’s turned down more guys than I can count. 

            “Where are you going?” I ask as I dash into her room.  Picking out a boring outfit for Cam’s family dinner will be easy, but Emma’s outfit will be way more fun.  I’m already tossing options on her bed by the time she gets to her room.

            “I just cleaned,” she grumbles. 

            Ignoring her, I pull out a minty green top with flowy sleeves and a plunging neckline.  “This would look so good with black skinny jeans,” I say. 

            “It’s a little hippy, don’t you think?”

            I shake my head.  “Not unless you plan on wearing a flower crown!”

            Emma and I go through multiple options, which takes up over an hour.  She’s being unusually picky, considering she’s the one who bought all these clothes.  Her anxiousness makes me realize that she really is worried about this date. 

            “Em,” I finally say as I hang up yet another rejected top, “you know you’re going to be beautiful, no matter what.” 

            “Blah blah blah, but I want to impress him!  He sees me at work constantly, and I want him to see that I clean up nice.”

            “Then wear a dress!” I suggest.  I pick up a dainty floral dress that she’s already turned away.  “Put a brown belt at your waist, curl the ends of your hair, and voila.  Pretty but not trying too hard.”  I see hesitation in Emma’s eyes, and I’m not above begging.  “Please, just try it on.”

            Once I’ve got her in the dress, the rest is relatively simple.  I give her one of my multi-layer necklaces, pick out a belt, and tell her to wear wedge heels.  She spins in front of the mirror, taking in the flow and twirl of the dress. 

            “Yeah,” Emma says finally.  “This is it.”  I whoop and do a little dance. 

            “He’ll be stunned and impressed that he snagged a girl like you,” I say, beaming. 

            After spending all that time picking out a dress for Emma to wear to her date, I’m done with trying on clothes for a while and decide to choose my outfit tomorrow.  Since Emma already ate, I decide to grab some food solo.  Maybe go to a sit-down place, bring a book, people watch.  The more I think about it, the more excited I become about the concept.  It seems so romantic, so movie-esque.  I could be Audrey Hepburn, I think as I slide a light jacket over my shoulders.

            I decide on a casual-yet-classy bar and order brie and a craft beer.  My table is facing the window and I start to observe the people walking by.  Surprisingly, I haven’t seen anyone I know by the time I get my food.

            I quickly discover that eating while reading is impossible, so I demolish the brie and then pick up my book and start reading.  I don’t even know how long it’s been when I hear a familiar voice and whip my head around.

            It’s Kent, my boss.  The boss who complimented me and then left me hanging.  As usual, he’s dressed impeccably—and he’s seated in the booth directly to my left.  I bury my head further in the book and don’t make eye contact.  From the glimpse I got, it looks like a business meeting.

            After a few minutes of eavesdropping, I determine that I was right.  Kent is with a pretty woman in some killer heels and a skirt suit that probably costs two of my paychecks, and a man who continuously loosens his tie.  This man has a booming voice, so listening in is easy.  Apparently, these two people work in similar fields as Kent, and are all in charge of multiple people. 

            I’ve all but abandoned my book when the woman begins to complain about the laziness of her workers.  The man chimes in, while Kent remains relatively silent.  I’m almost expecting him to bring me up—well I rarely talk to this girl with a man’s name… what is it… Riley, Rick, Ryan?  Anyway, she’s a terrible worker, just abysmal, but I had to lie to her face… she needs to step up her game or else…

            Just as I let me imagination get the best of me, Kent speaks.  And the first word I hear is “downsizing.”  I almost drop my book. 

            “I interviewed all of my employees personally, and it’s going to be a tough decision,” he’s saying.  “We haven’t been using our revenue wisely, and it’s still a difficult economy we’re in.”

            Maybe my crazy worries weren’t so crazy after all… what will I do if I’m let go?  I put the book down and sign my check with shaking hands.  Will Kent name any names, or will I have to live in fear for the coming weeks?  Should I suck up to him?  Should I look for another job?  My job may be tedious at times, but I’m good at it.  I’m familiar with the work environment and what’s expected of me.  Most of all, I’m not ready to leave. 

            The three bosses have changed the subject, and are now laughing about some golf trip paid for by the woman’s company.  I’m irritated.  Maybe downsizing wouldn’t be necessary if higher-ups didn’t spend money on golf outings.  I gather my book, wallet, and phone, and head out the door, my head low. 

            I call Cam as soon as I’m home and discuss the whole situation with him.  My voice becomes increasingly high-pitched and I know I’m rambling like I always do when I’m stressed.

            “Baby, baby, baby,” Cam says as I grow increasingly more hysterical.  His voice is the soothing counterpart to my screeching.  “You don’t know what, if anything, will happen.  They could have just been complaining and exaggerating.  I know it’s hard, but try to let it go.”

            “Shouldn’t I do something?” I ask desperately.  “Suck up?  Work harder?”

            “Putting a little extra effort in what you do probably won’t hurt,” he advises.  “Don’t act like you’re trying harder, but be more precise, more timely—just do everything you can to subtly prove you’re worth their time and you rock your job.”

            I smile, the phone pressed to my cheeks.  “I have no idea how, but you’ve made me feel much better,” I say. 

            “Keep me updated, okay?” he asks.  I detect genuine concern in his voice.  I assure him that I will. 

            “Are you ready for tomorrow night?” he asks, switching from one nerve-wracking situation to another.  “Don’t be weirded out, but my mom is super excited to meet you.”

            “Super excited?” I repeat nervously. 

            “It’s all new to her.  The last girl I brought home was my high school sweetheart, and that was for prom,” he laughs.  “But no pressure, seriously.  She’ll only want to, you know, DNA and drug test you…”

            “Stop!” I say, but he’s managed to make me laugh.  “I won’t pee in a cup or agree to any testing, but I will be on my best behavior.”

            “Good.”  I can hear the smile in Cam’s voice.  “I’ll pick you up at 6:30.  I’ll see you then?”

            “See you then,” I agree.  “Good night, and thanks.”  I feel like a lovestruck teenager when we hang up, and cradle my phone in my hands for a few minutes, thinking about our conversation.  He’s calmed me down considerably, and I don’t even know how he did it.  I might still be a little wary of him, but that feeling diminishes day by day, with another, more indescribable feeling taking its place.