Page 20 of The Weight Of It All

Nine

Monday morning dragged its sorry self through a tide of meetings, deadlines, and reports.

The highlight was the morning tea, which Diana from Projections had brought in for her contribution to the cook and share thing that I had apparently started.

She’d made some thin pastry-type tart topped with roasted beetroot, feta cheese, and balsamic glaze, which, according to her, she’d bastardised from her grandmother’s traditional Turkish recipe.

And oh my God. It was so good. I took a quick photo on my phone, claiming it was so I could replicate the recipe later.

“You’re sending it to Reed, aren’t you?” Melinda asked.

I attached it to a message, hit send, and looked up from my phone. “Of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “How is it possible that you’re losing weight with all this food you do?”

Before I could answer, my phone beeped. It was Reed.

Looks good. When are you making that for me?

When you make me that lamb salad you keep promising but fail to deliver.

Ouch. What about this Saturday?

Aren’t you doing that trainer’s challenge on Saturday?

Yes. In the afternoon. Last I heard, dinner is usually in the evening.

Ouch. Your place? Or mine?

Yours.

Melinda interrupted my texting. “If you keep smiling like that, people will think you’re watching porn on your phone.”

“I’m not smiling at my phone.” I had to physically make myself pout so I wasn’t smiling. “I’m doing lip stretches.”

“Mmhm,” Melinda deadpanned.

I leaned across our lunch table and whispered, “And who smiles when they’re watching porn?”

“Happy people, and virgins.”

I considered that and conceded with a nod. “Good point.”

Melinda secured the lid on her lunch container and laid her fork precisely at twelve and six. “Don’t forget your meeting at two with the boss,” she said without missing a beat. “Any clue what that’s about?”

I shook my head. “None. I assume it’s the usual data analytics.”

Melinda made a face that told me she didn’t believe that. “If it were, then Lillian would’ve requested a statistics report.”

“And she hasn’t?”

Melinda shook her head. “No.”

“Oh. ”

Melinda twisted her lips, and her eyes flashed with uncertainty. “Are we expecting corporate downsizing? Because the Melbourne office has.”

Well, shit. “I hope not.”

“You don’t have to worry,” she said quietly.

“And neither do you. Because we’re a team, Melinda. I couldn’t do this without you, and I’ll tell them that.”

In a rare moment of vulnerability, she gave me a timid smile. It was a far cry from her usual fierce and sarcastic self. “Thanks.”

I reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “I mean it.”

As our lunch break drew to a close, Lena, Rihanti, and Kadin walked past our table toward the door. “Hi, Henry,” Lena said. “How was your weekend? Do anything exciting?”

Oh God. Conversation. Don’t say something stupid, Henry .

“Good, thanks. Just the usual… drunk singing on tables on Friday night, and just so you know, schnapps has a lot to answer for. Spent all of Saturday dying because of schnapps. Again, not my fault, and Sunday was a mix of incredible and horrifying. So yeah, just the usual.”

They all blinked in unison, and I mentally congratulated myself for not saying something too stupid. Melinda covered a laugh with a cough.

“Sounds fun,” Rihanti said slowly.

“How was yours?” I asked. See? I could do conversation. I preened a little at my adulting skills.

“Quiet, by comparison to yours. Just family stuff, you know how that is.”

I nodded, because yes, yes I did know.

“I hate schnapps,” Kadin said. “Had a terrible experience with it back in university and haven’t been able to drink it since.”

“I can’t do tequila,” Lena offered, making a face. “Ever again.”

I chuckled at that. “Oh, I remember this one time at university, my best friend and I got so drunk on ouzo we―” Then I remembered how that ended.

“Never mind. That story isn’t appropriate for work.

Actually that story isn’t appropriate at all, though I’m sure the police and Surry Hills Fire Department still talk about it. ”

Now they all stared at me, Melinda included. “Fire Department?” she asked.

“Oh, we didn’t start a fire,” I clarified. “It was more of a rescue…” I cleared my throat. “I was young and impressionable. That was a long time ago. You know, Anika really is a bad influence on me.”

“Anika says the same thing about you,” Melinda said, standing up. “Just be grateful it was pre-Internet days.”

I stood up too and picked up my salad container. “Are you kidding? I’d be an Internet sensation. Apparently my schnapps-induced rendition of Les Mis on Friday night was worthy of Broadway.”

Melinda fought a smile. “Did anyone get it on video?”

I blanched. “God, I hope not.” I looked at the others then leaned in towards Melinda. “Do me a favour? Search YouTube for ‘gay man singing “Drink With Me” on a table at the London Hotel,’ and if you find any, send a takedown notice, effective immediately.”

Again, they all stared at me, and I realised what I’d just said. Gay man . Fuck.

Like she could see the panic bubbling inside me, Melinda straightened her back. “Right, lunch is over. Back to work.” She used her scary voice, and even though she was tiny, most people jumped when she spoke like it was possible she was vying for world domination in her spare time.

I didn’t really notice where the others went, but Melinda led me to my office. When the doors closed behind me, I pointed to the now obscured hallway. “This is why I don’t speak to people at work!”

“Henry, take a deep breath,” Melinda ordered. She put her hands on my shoulders. “Everything’s fine. I know it’s scary, but I like that you’re speaking to our colleagues more. They like you. I wish you could see that.” She waited for me to exhale. “I’m pretty sure they already knew you were gay.”

“What? How?”

She clicked her tongue. “Well, there was that time you told David from the mailroom that he shouldn’t wear tweed with polyester.”

“Because it’s the truth,” I whispered.

“I know it is.” Melinda nodded sympathetically. “Then there was that time you gave colour palette lessons to Eliza from Admin because her lipstick was too fuchsia for her complexion. Remember?”

I nodded slowly. “I was just helping. But it reinforces why I shouldn’t speak to the people I work with.”

“No. It reinforces who you are. And they like you, Henry. You’re good at your job, you’re just a little direct. Because there was also that time when you told the national director that Idrina’s report on the influence of globalization on China’s economy was brilliant.”

“Because it was.”

“Idrina smiled for a week. And her report was then read and implemented on your recommendation.”

“She deserved recognition for that.”

Melinda smiled at me. “People like you, Henry. And they’ve known you were gay for years. Don’t be afraid to show them the real you.”

I sighed long and loud, trying to believe what she was saying, trying not to panic.

“Do you think there is a YouTube video of me drunk and singing on a table from last Friday night and Lillian saw it? And that’s why she wants to see me?

Because I’m pretty sure a boss can fire me for that.

” I put my hand to my forehead. “Oh God, what if it’s trending on Twitter? ”

Melinda laughed. “No Henry. I’m sure there’s no footage.”

“Can you check?”

She channelled her inner Google-fu, typed in a bunch of different keywords, and thirty seconds later said, “I can’t find anything.”

I sighed the mother of all sighs. “Thank God.”

She checked the time. “Ooh, Henry, you need to go.”

Crap. It was almost two. I combed my fingers through my hair and straightened my tie. “Look okay?”

“Perfect. Now go.”

Meetings with Lillian Caldwell always made me nervous.

She was a great boss and one of the most intelligent people I’d had the privilege of knowing.

She had brains, common sense, used logic and reason, and wore Prada like it was designed for her.

She also had eyes like a hawk and missed nothing, called a spade a spade, and had no tolerance for bullshit.

I liked her.

Her assistant buzzed me through and I made my way into her office, certain she could smell my curiosity and dread. She looked up from her desk and smiled. Okay, so smiling was good. “Come in, Henry. Take a seat.”

I did as she said, sitting with my hands clasped on my lap, squeezing my fingertips nervously.

“Talk to me, Henry.”

“About what?”

“I’ve been watching you these last few weeks.”

Well, that was weird. “Oh?”

“With the exception of my time in Singapore and Melbourne, of course. Stepping up into this role isn’t easy.” She nodded slowly. “Though your analysis of the ACX reports was good.”

Why was she bringing this up? “Was something amiss?”

“No, Henry, of course not.”

I relaxed immediately. “Oh, I was worried there for a moment.”

She smiled at me, keeping eye contact, and I realised this wasn’t her professional face.

Was she about to dip her toe into personal waters?

My heart rate started to spike… I think I’d prefer to be fired.

“In all your years here, you’ve been a closed book,” she said coolly.

“Nothing short of proficient, courteous, and impeccably professional.”

Oh God. This wasn’t going to be personal at all. This was sounding a lot like Graham’s ‘it’s not me, it’s you’ speech… “Am I being fired?”

She blinked in surprise then laughed. “Good heavens, no Henry.” Her smile softened, and she straightened the pen on her desk. “I wanted to talk to you today about some changes I’ve noticed. Something has changed for you in recent weeks, and I’m not the only one to notice it.”

I swallowed hard. “I’ve had some changes in my personal life. I thought I kept a distinct line between work and home, but clearly not as good as I thought. I apologise if it’s had a negative impact on my performance, and if any colleagues―”