Baby it’s Cold Outside
A red glow flickered in my periphery. I turned my head. My vision didn’t clear, and now my ears were ringing. I pressed my hands to the sides of my face. Whose bright idea was it to wear Christmas earrings with bells and flashing lights? Oh, yeah. Mine.
Ella and Louis crooned to each other through the overhead speakers about how cold it was outside. It was colder inside than out, though. A Melbourne December may present four seasons in one day, but there was no chance of snow during summer.
I listened to the words of the song bouncing through the store. I’d always enjoyed the melody of “Baby, it’s Cold Outside”, but never paid attention to the meaning of the lyrics. Not until I saw a friend ranting about them on Facebook recently. I’d though it was romantic, the boy wanting to protect the girl from the icy weather. But I guess you could take it another way, that he was being controlling and pressuring her to stay the night with him. Regardless, it was still a nice tune.
Humming along, I pushed the Santa hat off my forehead and continued down the aisle, checking the shelves for errant objects or towels I needed to refold. Manchester was one of the quieter departments, especially this time of year. Once I’d finished tidying my area, I wandered over to check on Kylie.
The toy department was chaos. Children just can’t help themselves, though it wasn’t always the kids who set off all the noisy toys at once. I squatted to pick up the ball rolling past me and dropped it back in the nearby wire bin. It was days like this that made me wonder why I’d decided to work in retail.
“Need a hand?”
“Heck, yes,” Kylie sighed. “Some little brat has rearranged the Lego shelf. Turned them all around.”
Kylie worked from one end of the aisle and I started at the other, flipping the boxes to face the front.
“Only another three weeks ‘til Christmas. It’ll calm down in here after that.” I’d been doing this job for years. Christmas and the end of financial year toy sale were the craziest times to work the toy department.
“Done.” Kylie brushed her hands together as we met in the middle.
“I’m hangin’ for a coffee.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We ducked out the back to ask someone to cover us for our break, then headed off to the food court. Sipping my skinny hazelnut latte, I wrapped my fingers around the cup to warm them. The air conditioning seemed even colder than normal today. Maybe management was trying to simulate a white Christmas. I hated feeling cold all the time and could hardly wait to go outside into the sunshine.
“What are you wearing to the Christmas party next week?” Kylie asked.
I shrugged. “Probably the same little black dress I wore last year and the year before. It doesn’t get out much, poor dress.”
“Poor you more like it. Adam’s such a slacker. He should take you out more.”
“That’d be fun, but he’s right. It’s heaps cheaper to eat at home, and he is a good cook.” I twisted the lid on my empty cup around and around. “What are you wearing?”
Kylie gave me the rundown of the four outfits she was debating over. I unwrapped my homemade salad sandwich and ate while Kylie showed me selfies on her phone of her different ensembles. I crunched on cucumber and carrot, wishing it was peanut butter and honey.
I could happily eat peanut butter sandwiches every day like I did in primary school. I went through a peanut butter and jam stage and had a brief encounter with peanut butter and golden syrup, but I always came back to honey.
Adam teased me about my sandwiches, saying they weren’t a proper meal. He chopped extra salad veggies for me when he prepared his lunch and put them in a container in the fridge to encourage me to eat a more balanced meal. I dutifully made my salad sandwich this morning because he was watching. Whenever I’m off shift on a weekday, I gorge on hot toast slathered with melted butter, a thick layer of peanut butter and a healthy drizzling of honey.
I pointed to Kylie’s phone. “I like the red one.”
***
I adjusted the driver’s seat in Adam’s car and drove us to my work Christmas party. I’d planned to have a few drinks with Kylie, but Adam had some good points. It would be easier for him to socialise with people he didn’t know if he had a few drinks. And I might embarrass myself in front of my boss if I drank too much. And, yes, his newer car was much safer to drive.
Adam led the way through the restaurant to the function room in the back. A tiny Christmas tree sat glowing on the far side of the room.
“I’ll just pop this under the tree.” I held up the gift bag.
“Sure, I’ll find us a seat.”
I left Adam’s side, squeezing through the maze of tables to reach the tree and tucked my Secret Santa present into the pile. A bottle of wine. You can’t go wrong with a bottle of wine or a box of chocolates. That would keep me happy, anyway. Jeez, I hope I don’t get penis paraphernalia again. Last year I opened my gift to find a giant, black wooden willy bottle opener. It was too big to hide in my handbag, so everyone saw it. Kylie suggested I regift it this year. No way. Everyone would know it was from me and that would be beyond mortifying.
I scanned the room to find Adam and spotted Kylie, too. She waved, pointing to the seat next to her. I smiled and nodded then made my way back to the table Adam had chosen. I greeted the General Manager and the rest of the management team, then leant down to whisper in Adam’s ear. “Let’s go and sit with Kylie. She’s saved us a seat.”
“No. We’ll sit here so your managers can get to know you better. You’ll never be promoted if you don’t network.”
“Okay. I’ll just go say hi to Kylie and tell her we’re sitting here.”
“Don’t be long.”
I wandered over to chat with Kylie. I don’t even want a promotion. Some more money might be nice, my last hairdresser’s bill was a bit exuberant, but those managers don’t get paid enough for the amount of stress they deal with. “Hey, Kylie.”
“Don’t you look spiffy.” Kylie fluffed her hair.
“Thanks. I got it done yesterday. Adam thought I’d look good as a blonde.”
“You do.” Kylie’s smile faded. “Speaking of Adam?”
“He’s already found a seat.” I pasted a smile on my face.
“Well, tell him to lose it and come sit with us.”
I toed the chair leg but didn’t sit. “I’ll just chat a bit then go back to sit with him.”
Kylie grasped my forearm and caught my gaze. “He pushes you around too much. You need to stand up for what you want.”
I looked away. I don’t even know what I want. “Better go. See you after dinner.”
My Caesar salad was okay. I’d had my eye on the fettuccine carbonara, the thought of creamy pasta made my mouth water, but Adam had ordered for both of us while I was talking to Kylie.
“Does this look medium rare to you?” Adam complained as he cut into his steak.
I don’t know why he keeps ordering steak when we go out. No one ever cooks it as well as he does.
After a relatively quiet dinner came the speeches and awards. Blah, blah, blah. Sales targets, performance, blah, blah, customer service. It’s the same every year. The main difference this time was that they dragged me up in front of everyone.
“Congratulations to Macie on completing ten years of service. We would like to present you with this long service pen.” The General Manager handed me an engraved Parker pen.
My supervisor took centre stage. “Your team would also like to give you this.” She handed me a laminated sheet of yellow paper. “The Sergeants Award: for running your area to military precision.”
Ten years. Had it really been that long? I counted out the years on my fingers. I finished high school in… And then… Eleven years? They mustn’t have included my first year of work because I was casual.
I never dreamed I’d still be working here after that long. It was supposed to be a temporary job while I figured out what I really wanted to do. But I never did. It certainly wasn’t this. I was stuck in a rut and suddenly had an overwhelming urge to get out.
Adam wrapped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “Long service leave. I didn’t realise you had that due.” He leant in closer and whispered into my ear. “Save it to add to your maternity leave. In two years, you’ll have earned twenty-six weeks of paid leave before you need to go back to work.”
How had he done those calculations so quickly? Hang on a minute. Maternity leave? Where on earth did that come from? We weren’t even engaged yet, and he was talking babies. “I was thinking I might take it before then.”
“We can work out all the details later.”
I never made it back to Kylie’s table. I spent the rest of the night in a daze, running scenarios through my mind. Imagining myself married to Adam and having his babies. Imagining a tropical honeymoon with Adam. Imagining a tropical holiday on my own.
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