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“I will worry about you if I want. It’s my mother-hen side.”
“I’m a little groggy, but I’ll snap out of it. And, thankfully, today’s low-key. I’ll get by and catch up on rest eventually…”
“Fine, if you say so. But I’m cooking a giant pot of chicken noodle soup tonight and bringing some over to that construction zone you call ‘home’ these days. That way, at least you won’t have to cook in that disaster of a kitchen tonight.”
She pops the last bite of donut in her mouth and then rolls a leather chair to nestle close to mine. “Okay, down to business… I need to check out all the pick-pack-and-weigh forms Todd Daniels filled out in the warehouse over the past two weeks. His supervisor filed a safety violation, and I’m trying to understand what’s happening. Think you can help?”
I’m mid-sip.
Rather than wait, she walks her fingers over the rack of file folders propped on my desk, then plucks the red one out. “Oh… goody. Here they are.”
“Daniels is in Warehouse Two. Those forms should be toward the back.”
“Thanks, hon.” She scrutinizes my face and pinches her brows. “Maybe some grub would help you wake up. Go grab a donut.”
“I really should wade through some emails before I take a break.” I stifle another yawn into my cup.
“You have sawdust in your hair.” She leans in to pluck it out.
I groan. “I think I need to start today over.”
“What you need is a donut. There’s a box in the break room. And grab a second one for me, too, will you? Red-filled. Whatever that is, it’s good. Cherry-flavored jelly?”
“Raspberry jelly, I think.”
“Party-on-my-tongue flavor.”
“That blazer is a party.”
“What, this?” She gives me a mischievous grin, flips the lapels up, and pouts her lips as if posing for a camera. The cut is outdated, and the shoulder pads give it a boxy look.
I smile at her antics and slurp down more life-saving brew. “Where did you get it?”
“It was my mom’s from when she worked the front desk at the news station. I borrowed it for Halloween last year and never gave it back.”
“It’s flashy.”
“If I have to get up and out of the house each morning in office-casual, I’m going to at least have fun with it.” She plucks at the sleeve of my baggy, brown sweater. “Speaking of… You could use a little ‘flashy’ in your repertoire. This thing looks like something a grandfather would wear for an afternoon of gardening.”
She’s scarily on-point with her assessment. “Get out of my head!” I quip. “My mom hand-knit this sweater, and I swear, the name of the pattern was Garden Cardigan.”
“No way!”
“Way.”
She laughs. “Are we becoming telepathically joined, Gwen Temple?”
“Six years of working with a person may do that.”
She taps the side of her head of blond curls. “Getting the message now?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Er… donut. You’re thinking about one.”
“Not lemon-filled, ‘kay? ”
I slide my fingertips over my wavy locks as I walk toward the break room, searching for any more sawdust flakes. I need to fight off the Monday slump today, and having Lizzy at my desk for a little while this morning will help.
I’ll help her sort through the shipping forms, then answer the usual gazillion emails, make it to lunch, and then the afternoon will slip by with the routine tasks: phone calls, invoices, the Monday three p.m. Shipping Department meeting.
