And what must he think of you now? That you’re some kind ofweirdo playing dress-up?
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the negative questions before they adhere to my brain. The whole point of the cosplay theory is that the character gets hit with the perceived thoughts of others, not me.
But I’m also not going to a convention where everyone dresses up and not doing so will make me stick out. I don’t want to be a laughingstock at work, and showing up in a full Wookiee costume would definitely bring unwanted attention. I need something subtle. Something that will make me blend in with everyone else but is different enough that I can look down, see my clothes, and remember that I’m personifying the character. Borrowing her confidence and swagger. Whoever she is.
Maybe Keri will let me borrow pieces from her closet. I know she has a pair of vintage slacks in the style of the forties or fifties. I could pretend to be Agent Carter fromCaptain America. I roll that idea around in my mind, but it doesn’t feel right. Who else can I glean a fighter spirit from?
My gaze lands on my light brown faux leather jacket. If I pair it with a plain black V-neck top and my hunter-green dress pants tucked into lace-up boots and then French braid my hair at a diagonal, I can assimilate myself into the character of Katniss Everdeen. She’s resourceful and adaptable. Clever and sure of herself. And she sacrifices for her family. All things I want to be.
An hour later, Keri and I ride the elevator up to the ninth floor.I have the containers of gingerbread in my hands, while the bags of candy are slung over her arm. The elevator doors slide open, and we step out.
“Whatcha got there?” Lincoln looks at all the containers with interest.
Frank stands off to the side, both hands around his coffee cup. He brings the mug up to his lips, but he is unsuccessful at hiding his own interest. Too bad he isn’t also looking at the Tupperware housing the gingerbread. No, his gaze trails down my legs and back up. While no part of my skin shows, I still feel exposed. Creep.
By now, more people are crowding around. Keri sets the bags on the break area table, and Derek pokes his hand in and pulls out a bag of mini candy canes. Everyone stares at me, expectation on their faces.
My mouth starts to dry. My breath shallows.
You offer yourself as tribute, Mackenzie. For Annabelle’s sake. For Mom’s.
I swallow and push back my shoulders, setting the containers on the table. I pop off the lids. Spices billow into the air. Ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, and cloves.
“Is that ... ?” Annabelle looks up at me. Her eyes glisten. “Are we making gingerbread houses?”
“Kind of puts your cookies from yesterday to shame, man.” Lincoln elbows Jeremy standing beside him.
My eyes lock with Jeremy’s. I hope he doesn’t think I chose to bring in baked goods today to make him look bad. Keri thought so. Lincoln seems to think so. I almost want to mouthI’m sorrybut stop myself. Katniss wouldn’t apologize for a holiday tradition with a grandparent, and neither will I.
But I still hope he doesn’t think I did it to show him up.
He gives me a small smile, and I exhale.
“Do you think Sofiya will mind if we decorate these now?” Annabelle bounces on her toes.
“What’s this? I’m paying you all to stand around and chitchat?” Sofiya exits her office. Her voice is stern, but she gives herself away by the turn of her lips and the twinkle in her eyes.
She stops next to me as she looks over everything I’ve brought. Her smile grows.
“Did you know that I lived in Asheville, North Carolina, for a few years? They host an annual national gingerbread house competition. It’s beyond amazing the works of edible architecture those craftsmen bakers can create.”
“My Nana and I used to make houses together every year. It was our tradition,” Annabelle tells Sofiya.
Sofiya looks at me. No, she studies me. “And Mackenzie has made it so we can all celebrate that memory with you.” I’m not sure what the older woman sees when she looks at me, but she blinks, and the expression on her face changes. “Well, let’s get these houses built, shall we?”
The immediate vicinity alights with activity, but instead of bees around a hive, it’s adults acting like children around the makings of a home constructed from sugar. Hansel and Gretel would be proud.
Because I know Katniss would do it, I step in and create some order among the chaos. After divvying up all the supplies, I step back and take a deep breath.
Normally after so much time working with others, I need to sneak off and have a few moments by myself to regroup and recharge. Collaborative projects in college were a nightmare. But surprisingly, I don’t feel that drained right now. In fact, there’s a small hum of energy, a smidgen of satisfaction, and I find I’m actually a teeny tiny bit proud of myself. Especially when I hear Annabelle laugh as she pelts Derek with a green gumdrop.
Clank.
I whirl around and find Jeremy marching up a ladder, lengths of pine branches in his hands. That’s right. He was going tospruce upthe place. What a dad joke. Laughter plays at my lips.
He struggles with the green boughs, the branches tangling with the ladder rungs. A branch falls from his hands when he tries to maneuver it on to a Command Strip. His head tilts back, and I can feel the frustration radiating from him. After a moment, he climbs down, picks up the bough, and mounts the ladder once more.
I press my lips between my teeth, wondering if I should go over and help him but also not wanting to get in his way.
