Page 96 of Dropping the Ball

“His neighbor makes them and won’t sell them. He only gives them away,” I say.

“Thank that man,” she repeats.

I pull out my phone.

The cookies are beautiful. Thank you.

You’re welcome. You have to eat them. They taste better than they look.

I can’t eat art!

It’s Mr. Nairz’s rule, and he’ll ask me how you liked them.

This feels wrong.

Taste one. Then it will feel wrong not to eat it.

“He says we have to eat them. It’s a rule.” I set my phone down to all of them smirking. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You and Micah,” says Suz.

“Are colleagues,” I say.

“You dress nicer on the days you know you’re going to see him,” Khôi says.

“I dress nice all the time.”

“Yeah, but you do it up extra,” Aisha says. “And put on lip gloss. Haven’t seen you do that for othercolleagues.”

“All of you get out.”

“I’ll leave when you give me a cookie,” Suz says.

I hand them each one, giving Suz a Christmas stocking “embroidered” with snowflakes. “I hope your real one is full of coal.”

She takes it from me and follows Khôi and Aisha, still smirking. A second later, an inappropriate moan rolls down the hall, but I don’t scold her because I just took a bite of the Christmas tree, and I understand. They’re not sugar cookies, they’re shortbread made by angels, obviously, because they are divine.

I send Micah a gif of the Grinch eating roast beast.

He responds with a gif of the Grinch’s heart growing.

I smile through the last two hours in the office. Before I leave, I cover the last two cookies with the cellophane. I’m leaving them to enjoy tomorrow, because with my coming conversation with Madison looming, they’ll be my only bright spot in the day.

By midmorning Tuesday, I realize not even divine cookies can save the day.

I blink at Suz, who is standing in my office doorway, biting her thumbnail and watching me.

“Maheen is not coming?” I repeat.

Suz stops chewing at her thumb. “Not today. Her assistant is on the plane with the dresses, but there was some issue with Maheen’s travel documents. They wouldn’t let her fly out today.”

“Okay.” I rest my hands on my desk, palms flat. “Okay, okay, okay.” I pat the desk with each word. “Okay. Okay.”

“Remember the dresses are coming,” Suz says. “Her assistant wouldn’t check them, so they can’t get lost on any of the layovers.”

“Okay.”

“Are you glitching?”