Page 13 of My Secret Snowflake
“No. What’s that?”
“It’s like a Secret Santa exchange, where you pick a name out of a hat and buy gifts for that person anonymously. It’s now called Secret Snowflake so nobody feels excluded. Anyway, I signed up and got Ernest.”
I wouldn’t have picked Iris as the type to sign up for the office Secret Snowflake exchange. She comes across as all-business in the work environment—other than the window stunt and whatever she was doing swinging her hips and tossing around garbage bags at Zeke’s engagement party.
“Aren’t you guys friends?” Iris asks. “I don’t know him, so I was hoping you could suggest some good gifts for him. Within the thirty-dollar limit, of course.”
“I’m not really friends with him. We just had a tight deadline on a joint project,” I say. “I have no idea what to get Ernest as a gift. Socks?” Ernest is very…earnest. When her face drops, I add, “But I’ll think about it.”
“Not if socks is your idea of a good gift,” she says.
“I heard Lily loved theShh, I’m readingsocks Rupert bought her,” I say.
“Lily loves Rupert. And they have their own love language.” She rolls her eyes.
“You seem skeptical,” I say.
“Not of their love. No,” she says.
“Just your own? Aren’t you dating someone?” Didn’t I hear Iris is dating a rock star? Rupert invited me to see a concert, but I had to work.
“We broke up.”
I nod. “I’m sorry.” It feels inadequate, but something needs to be said.
She shrugs.
“There’s a lot to be said for being single,” I say. “No one steals the comforter or eats your last banana. You can do whatever you want at night. And nobody complains if you work late.”
Her brow wrinkles. “Did you date someone who complained if you worked late?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes. Even though he worked late too. And then he blamed me when he didn’t do this gig because I was free to hang out, and then an agent showed up at that gig and signed another act.” She shakes her head. “He stole the comforter too.”
“So many perks to being single,” I say. We smile at each other—as if in acknowledgment that we’re in this together. And there’s a flicker of awareness, but it’s quickly banked. I’m staying single. Not to mention we’re colleagues and our best friends are coupled up. Iris is definitely out-of-bounds.
She also seems to withdraw.
“Anyway, you should sign up for the Secret Snowflake,” she says. “They’re still looking for some more participants. And the events are fun.”
“There are events associated with it?” I ask. “Bob just told me I need to socialize more so people come to me for advice if they suddenly suspect they’re in a tight spot. It made sense.” Butnotthat I give off some unapproachable vibe.
I’m approachable. Iris is sitting in my office, and that woman from Accounting clearly felt comfortable asking me to drinks.
“There’s an activity where you make a gift—kind of like a return to kindergarten craft time.” Iris laughs. “You should see your face. You look utterly pained at the thought of that.”
“Crafting is definitely not my forte.”
“What is your forte?”
I stare at her for a moment as I consider how to answer that question in an appropriate way. I want to joke about rescuing damsels in distress, but then I simply respond, “Not picking out gifts for Ernest or strangers.”
“You ate lunch with Ernest every day this week. You must have some idea of what he would like.”
“How do you know I ate lunch with Ernest every day?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t notice all the staring single women. You’re one of the best-looking guys in the company, and every day you sit together at the corner table with Ernest. Haven’t you noticed that all the surrounding tables are full of women?”
