“Okay,” Lauren said, “but right now she’s engaging, and I think more visits could only benefit Eddie.”
“Until she bails and he’s disappointed,” the supervisor said. “It’s better to manage expectations early.”
That seemed like a really bleak approach, but Lauren didn’t know how much authority she had to push back. She was relieved when the caseworker spoke up. “The department can supervise two visits a week instead of one,” she said, and Lauren pumped her fist at her desk like she’d just won a huge victory. She spun in her chair, and was surprised to see Asa leaning against her doorway, quirking an eyebrow at her.
How long had he been standing there?
Dimly, she was aware that they were confirming the date for the next staffing, and she murmured her agreement into the phone, knowing she’d need to wait for the email invite to even know what date they’d chosen.
“Let me guess,” Asa said once she’d hung up. “They’ve released a software update to extend your battery life.”
He had his arms crossed over his chest, and Lauren couldn’t help but notice one tattoo that she’d wondered about before—a tree, ripped out at its roots, which dangled down Asa’s forearm as the rest of the tree stretched up and disappeared under the short sleeve of his shirt. She wanted to see the whole thing, wanted to know the story behind it.
She realized the longer she sat there, just blinking at him, the more she played into this running joke that she was some kind of cyborg. She scowled at him instead.
“Stay out of my office,” she said. “Don’t write stuff on my to-do list, don’t lurk in my doorway. Just don’t.”
“Sorry. Guess I’m being a real ass.”
Lauren was taken aback by his apology, until she saw that his eyes were glittering. The refrigerator note. She’d almost forgotten about that.
“Why are you here?”
“Dolores told me you agreed to work the Snow Globe this afternoon,” he said. “I thought I’d come by to make sure you didn’t forget.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Okay,” he said. “In that case, let’s go.”
He explained the rules of the Snow Globe as they headed over, and she almost interrupted him twice, saying she had worked here for a couple years, thank you very much. But the truth was, as much as she hated to admit it, some of this information was new to her. Like how to tell if a snowball fight was escalating. That the limit was no more than twenty guests total inside at any given time. The time that someone had decided to test the whole “yellow snow” thing.
“Ew,” Lauren said. “That’s disgusting.”
“You have no idea. And it was actually more like orange snow, which was very concerning from a hydration standpoint. Before I kicked him off the premises, I sold the guy a couple bottled waters from the gift shop.”
Asa was walking ahead, which had to be the only reason why he held the door open for her to pass through into the Snow Globe. There was an unexpected chivalry to the gesture that surprised her, and she wasn’t even someone who noticed that kind of thing. Just like she wasn’t normally the type to obsess over the way a person smelled, but there she was, taking in such a big breath as she walked by Asa that she ended up coughing from the impact of the cold air hitting her sinuses.
“You good?”
She gave a thumbs-up, wishing the ground could open up and swallow her whole. Luckily, he seemed oblivious to her embarrassment, telling the kid on duty that he could take his break or see if help was needed in another section, that they had this for a bit. Lauren hadn’t thought she’d be working directly with Asa. She’d assumed he’d drop her off and then head back to whatever else it was that he was doing today.
“What is it you do here exactly?”
“Jack-of-all-trades,” he said, rubbing his hands together. It seemed to be more an affectation of cold than an actual expression of it. She didn’t understand how he was still in only his shirtsleeves.
“Master of none?”
It came out sounding a lot nastier than she’d meant it. This was why she hated spending time with Asa—he brought out the worst in her. They’d be going along, conversing normally, maybe almost with something approaching friendliness, and then she’d take a jab, or he’d make one of his teasing comments and ruin it.
“Why aren’t you in management by now?” she asked, suddenly curious. He’d been there so long. Clearly Dolores thought highly of him, or she wouldn’t have included him as one of her chosen three to make a presentation about how to make over Cold World. And yet he still spent his days doing relatively entry-level tasks. Pumping frothed milk into spiced lattes. Helping a kid tie his skate laces tighter. Changing lightbulbs.
“Because I don’t want to be in management.”
“You’d make more money.”
“Oh, man,” he said. “My financial advisor really fucked me over on that one.”
Lauren glanced around, automatically nervous about profanity when they were on the clock, working in a contained space with children around. But Asa’s voice had been low, and no one seemed to be paying attention to them. The one family in the Snow Globe with young children were busy trying to all cram together to take a selfie in front of a drooping snowman they’d tried to build.
“It looks like they need help with their photo,” Lauren said.
Asa followed her gaze, shaking his head. “It’s a trap. They all want to do selfies now. If you offer to take the picture for them, they look at you like you’re definitely, one hundred percent planning to steal their phone.”
“But I work here.”
“You’re not wearing an official Cold World shirt or a name tag.”
She could point out that this whole thing had been his idea, so if she wasn’t dressed appropriately with her usual office attire, that was on him. She could also point out that he was wearing a Cold World T-shirt and a name tag, so he could go over himself and offer to help. The mom’s arm was shaking from trying to hold up the phone for so long, and the kids’ smiles were starting to look rictus and unnatural.
Throwing Asa an exasperated glance, Lauren crunched through the snow to approach the family. “Excuse me,” she said. “Would you like me to take a picture for you?”
Sure enough, the expression on the mom’s face was dismissive, bordering on distrustful. “It’s okay,” she said. “I got it!”
That was ridiculous. Clearly, she didn’t have it. “Are you sure? I could frame it really nice. It’d make a great holiday card.”
Lauren could tell from the way the mom’s lips pinched together that she was about to refuse again, this time more forcefully, but then the dad reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone.
“Would you mind?” he asked.
“Of course,” Lauren said, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder and make sure Asa was watching this moment of triumph. “Gather in close.”
The family huddled together around their snowman, and Lauren snapped a couple quick vertical photos before she realized that the perspective was all wrong. They were already starting to come out of the pose, the dad reaching for his phone, but Lauren gestured them back together. “A few more,” she said, kneeling down in the snow so she could get a horizontal shot of them with the snowman, their faces filling the frame better. Immediately, the cold wetness from the snow soaked into the knees of her tights.
“Everyone smile!” she said, snapping a few more pictures before, satisfied, she got back to her feet.
“Thank you so much!” the dad said as she handed him back his phone. She hoped his voice carried enough that Asa could hear it.
“See?” she said once she was back at his side. “Your laziness almost resigned that poor family to an off-center, blurry picture to remember their time here.”