Page 74 of Mistlefoe
“And for everyone else…” Sierra repeats the same motion, this time pulling out a green garment. “Santa’s helpers.”
You could hear a pin drop in the ensuing silence.
How come this doesn’t feel like an out of body experience at all? That would make this so much funnier, or at least I wouldn’t be so aware of how fast my heartbeat is, or that I’m pretty sure I’ve soaked through every clothing layer under my armpits.
From the corner of my eye, Sierra appears composed and regal. No one would guess she was five shaky rabbits in a trench coat just a few minutes ago. She has this way more down pat than I do—maybe because she has two years more work experience than me, or because her personality is generally more kickass than mine. She’d have made a fine hockey goalie, to be honest.
But then Andre, the CFO, blows a raspberry that ends in guffaws. “Oh, wow. That’s just amazing. I’d have paid big money for this and I’m going to get it for free? Sign me the hell up.”
“Did you get my size, you guys?” Richard grins.
I respond solemnly. “Yes, sir. Size L at the top, M at the bottom. One second—” I rummage through the bag until I find Richard’s outfit in a smaller package. “Here it is.”
“Perfect, throw it over.”
I toss it in the air and it lands right in his hands.
Martin slams his hands on the table and stands up, making everyone freeze. His eyes narrow on Sierra and I, and after a long moment he says, “I’ll only do it if there’s a beard and hat too.”
Sierra’s face breaks into a brilliant smile. “Of course. We can also get you a fake beer belly if you want.”
Lindsay, the boss of procurement, says, “I didn’t know there was beer in the North Pole.” She extends her hands out, waiting for her package, and Sierra takes it as the hint to start passing them along. We did our best to estimate the sizes based on eye measurement alone, and it seems to have worked for the most part based on the light conversation around the table.
That is, until Camila Puig receives her outfit.
One by one, all the voices and laughter are snuffed out. We all watch her, waiting for her reaction. I don’t think anyone else will drop out just because Camila may be the only odd one out, but it’d definitely make the whole thing weirder.
“Do I really have to?” She sighs.
Sierra and I exchange a glance and I can glean that we’re on the same wavelength. That wasn’t a firm no.
Before either of us ventures a say, Martin speaks. “Well, it’s not mandatory and neither is attendance. However, like our marketing colleagues said, we do lead by example.”
“Fine.” Camila drops her outfit package on the table and leans back on her chair. “But I’m only wearing the top and I’m ditching the ridiculous hat.”
My eye twitches. That’s the only reaction I’m brave enough to show, even though I almost feel like doing the celly I favored when I scored a goal—one fist in the air, arm folded as if I were showing off my bicep.
“Excellent, I’m looking forward to getting drunk in this thing,” says Felix, our legal exec.
And with that, we win by shutout.
*
Unfortunately, the elevator was packed on our way down to the sales and marketing floor, including our boss, which meansSierra and I couldn’t celebrate by giving each other a loud, sloppy kiss the kind that accelerates our cardiac rhythm. Alas, all we can do is sit at our desks, passing along messages on chat and avoiding each other’s eyes.
Mahoney, Conor - 11:21am:
You were amazing
Fernandez, Sierra - 11:21am:
So were you
Thank you for not leaving me alone
Mahoney, Conor - 11:21am:
Never
