*
“Nervous about tomorrow?” Andy Flood asked as he walked into the break room that morning.
I stood by the counter, stirring my coffee and deliberating over my resolution from a few nights ago. “Actually, no. I’m kind of looking forward to it.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“Mostly because of what Carmen may do.”
I watched him laugh. Andy Flood laughed at everything I said. He conversed with me every morning, every afternoon. He was kind and flexible, especially about the general craziness of this wedding time for me, all the time, really. He respected my dedication to my family, as he said, but seemed to be aware of the necessity of setting a few boundaries without communicating this in an outright, intrusive manner. Andy Flood was a terrific guy. I hoped whomever he had this crush on would be fortunate enough to find that out.
“So, Catherine, I’m pretty curious about this royal wedding. Can I crash?”
“Absolutely. Just be prepared to wear a server’s uniform. My mother will be eyeing that guest list like a hawk.”
“Hmm. Well, how about I just come? As your date?” He approached the counter and poured a cup of coffee.
I blinked a few hundred times. “My date?”
Andy nodded, regarding me, his demeanor unreadable. I waited for a punch line that never came. “But,” I croaked, “why?”
“Why not?”
My mind, slightly scrambled, searched for a response. “I’m—I mean—what do you—?”
“Black tie, right?”
I nodded slowly.
“I’ll be there. Email me the address.” With that, he smiled at me and left the break room.
Taken aback, I rushed to the ladies room and called Carmen.
“And Hot Lips Marta Weeks told you he has a crush on someone in the office?” she asked me a few minutes later.
“Yes, but—” It couldn’t be. Could it?
“Wake up, Catherine Vine,” Carmen said, as if reading my mind. “It’s you. You’re the crush.”
“But, why?” I asked for the second time that day.
“Why not, silly? Look, we’ve been conditioned to accept the opposite for far too long, but here it is: you matter, too. To this family, to Andy Flood. You matter. We all do. Deep down, even Bob and Irene Vine know and believe that. That’s the plain truth. All right, call me later; I’m trying to sew a flask into this gown.” With that, she ended the call.
Why not? I asked myself for the remainder of the day.
This Square Peg. 