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T H I R T Y F I V E
- Madeline -
When the flowers came on Monday, I was shocked. Not as shocked as Crecia, who seemed baffled that anyone would send me a bright bouquet the size of a large beach ball. I even caught her looking at the card later that day, which said, For Madeline. Have a great week. Your Not-So-Secret Admirer, Q.
I had to leave the flowers in the break room since I didn’t have an office, but at least everyone could enjoy them there. When I picked them up on my way home, two girls waiting for the elevator said, “Oh! So you’re the flower girl,” as if it were a mystery they’d been trying to solve all afternoon. I admit it was fun to feel visible for a change, to feel like I was somebody. Even if I was only somebody to one person.
At first, I was embarrassed when the staff member who signed for the delivery called my name. I was sure it was a mistake, but when I saw my name on the card, my smitten heart sprouted wings.
On Tuesday, he sent six cookie cakes, each covered with the same icing message: Happy Internship, Maddy. To say my cheeks reddened at the generous display would be an understatement, but people I’d never talked to before introduced themselves that day just to say thanks for the cake and ask me how things were going. I tried to be as gracious as possible, laughing privately over the visible turmoil so many people displayed at the prospect of eating something so sinful. It was certainly a big change from the Diet Cokes that usually littered the breakroom.
The barbershop quartet that came Wednesday brought a new round of embarrassment followed by another round of back pats. They started traditionally, wishing me a happy internship in harmonized succession, my name bouncing off the walls of every surrounding cubicle. But in the middle of their tune, two of the guys did an unexpected rap that included facts about BELLE and a healthy dose of name dropping. I think my favorite lines were, we’re all loco for Coco and mad for plaid and we were sporting polka dots and flower prints when Julie Andrews was still wearing chintz.
I admit when I first saw their striped orange and baby blue suits and heard the initial blow of their harmonicas, I thought it might be my last day on the job. But as soon as they finished their song, they received enthusiastic applause. Some people even recorded the performance on their phones and took selfies with the group afterwards, eagerly accepting their business cards while making emphatic promises about future engagements.
When Crecia came up to me a while later, I was certain she was going to tell me to stop the madness and get my secret admirer under control. Instead, she asked me to run some errands for the resident makeup artist as if nothing unusual had happened.
On Thursday, the baskets of fruit he sent arrived at the office before I did, which meant I didn’t see them until I went to make myself a cup of instant coffee, a ritual reserved for lowly interns who couldn’t afford to accessorize with a new Starbucks cup each morning. “Good lookin’ out, Maddy,” some girl with a skewer full of strawberry and pineapple flowers said as I poured dairy-free nut milk in a chipped mug.
I texted Quinn a few minutes later. “I get it. You’re crazy about me. You can stop trying to make me the most popular intern in BELLE’s history.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he answered. “Have a great day.”
You’d think it would be harder to do your job when you’re smiling like an idiot, but his surprises put some much needed pep in my step. Not only did they seem to be making my long days more bearable, but his attention had resulted in a lot more people knowing my name, and the extra dose of goodwill around me had given me a tangible confidence boost.
I knew there was a chance people were only being nice because they believed a friendship with me might be fruitful and cookie-full, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was that I no longer felt like a nameless, hunchbacked Igor employed strictly to do Crecia’s bidding. Instead, I felt humanized and energized by the sharp increase in smiles coming my direction, even when people were on the on the phone or concentrating on somebody’s hem with a mouthful of pins.
Friday, he sent donuts and balloons, half of which were printed with the ever-memorable chorus of Happy Internship, Maddy. I assumed he put in a custom order since I doubted “Happy Internship” was a classic Hallmark slogan, but by the end of the week, people were wishing me one, so it was hard to say. The real zinger, however, came at the end of the day when I went to make sure my gifts weren’t making extra work for the cleaning staff.
I gathered the balloons and gave all the bunches but one to staff members with kids. Then I crushed the empty donut boxes and set them in an extra garbage bag, consolidating the few remaining donut halves into one box. Whether they’d been halved because the perpetual dieters I worked with didn’t dare allow themselves a whole one or because halving them allowed people to try multiple flavors, I wasn’t sure. Regardless, I knew I’d pass someone on the way home who’d be grateful for the leftovers.
“Madeline—”
I looked up towards the open breakroom door to find Crecia in all black apart from a perfectly half-tucked white blouse, her Louis Vuitton doctor bag hanging off one elbow comfortably since it probably held nothing but her phone and cigarettes. I answered her by raising my brows.
“Have a nice weekend.” She didn’t smile when she said it—probably to avoid wrinkles and appearing too genuine—but that didn’t matter. Because she said my name. Loud and clear. She knew my name.
Because of him.
He did this. He put smiles on all those people’s faces in the hope that they would put more smiles on mine, and it worked. Finally, I understood that his grand gestures weren’t about showing off or wooing me or embarrassing me or fattening me up. He was simply giving me a contagious case of the smiles, and he didn’t even have to be around to do it.
Suddenly, I wished I could tell everyone the truth about who my secret admirer was.
Especially my brother.
