Attachments(19)
Author: Rainbow Rowell

They both chewed in silence. Lincoln didn’t trust himself to make more small talk. He hadn’t meant to ask such a personal question.

“My mom made carrot cake this morning,” he said, “and she gave me way too much. Do you want to split it?”

“Sure, if you’re offering.”

They were just finishing their cake when a young woman walked into the break room. Lincoln sat up extra straight until he recognized her as one of the copy editors, the small girl who’d offered him banana bread. She smiled nervously at him.

“You’re the IT guy, right?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner. We tried calling your office, but you weren’t there. A couple of us can’t get on the server. We’re sort of on deadline. I’m sorry”—the girl looked at Doris—“I know you’re on break.”

“Don’t apologize to me, honey,” Doris said. “It won’t be the first time a man has left me for a younger woman.”

Lincoln was already standing. “That’s okay, let me see if I can help.”

“I really am sorry,” the girl said as they walked to the newsroom.

“It’s okay,” he said, “really. It’s my job.”

“I’m sorry I called you the IT guy. I didn’t—nobody on the desk knows your name.”

“I answer to IT guy, don’t worry about it.”

She nodded, uncomfortably.

“But my name is Lincoln,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, relieved, taking his hand. “I’m Emilie.”

They were at her computer now. “Can you show me what it’s doing?” he asked. She sat down and tried to log on to the server. An error message popped up.

“That happens every time,” she said.

“That’s an easy fix,” he said, leaning over to take her mouse. Her hand was still there. Both of their hands jumped, and he felt himself blushing. If this was how he acted around a girl he wasn’t at all attracted to, how would he act if he ever had to fix Beth’s computer? He might throw up on her.

“Maybe I should sit down,” he said.

Emilie stood up, and he sat in her chair. It was set so high, her feet must not touch the ground. She was standing behind him now, and they were practically the same height. Against his will, Lincoln thought of Sam. Sam, so small he could pick her up with one arm. Sam, curled up next to him at the drive-in. Sam, slow dancing with her cheek on the third button of his shirt.

“There,” he said to Emilie, “you’re in. That shouldn’t happen again. But give me a call if it does.

Or …I guess you know where to find me. Did you say someone else was having problems?”

Lincoln helped two more copy editors get on the network. When he walked away, Emilie was standing by a printer. She was pretty, in a pale, unassuming way.

“Hey,” she said, “Lincoln.”

He stopped.

“We usually eat around now,” she said, “at our desks. On Fridays, we order pizza. You should come up and hang out. I mean, not that you wouldn’t want to eat with Doris. She’s really nice.”

“Sure,” Lincoln said, imagining himself hanging out upstairs, then glancing nervously at the back of the newsroom. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER 46

From: Beth Fremont

To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder

Sent: Fri, 12/03/1999 1:35 PM

Subject: Short people got no reason to live.

Why are tall guys always attracted to short women? Not just moderately short women, either …

Tiny women. Polly Pockets. The tallest guys always-always-always go for the shortest girls. Always.

It’s like they’re so infatuated with their own height that they want to be with someone who makes them feel even taller. Someone they can tower over. A little doll that will make them feel even bigger and stronger.

Whenever I see a really tall guy with a really short girl, I always want to take him aside and say, “You realize your sons will never play basketball, right?”

It wouldn’t be so bad if short guys were incredibly attracted to tall women. But they’re not. They don’t want anything to do with us.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Is this about Chris? Is he two-timing you with Holly Hunter?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Holly Hunter?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> That’s the only short woman I could think of. How about Rhea Perlman?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> “Two-timing”? Who says “two-timing”?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Don’t turn on me. I’m not the one who’s seeing Crystal Gayle on the side.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Crystal Gayle isn’t short.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Isn’t that why her hair looks so long?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> I’m not talking about Chris. Chris isn’t interested in anyone, including me.

I’m talking about My Cute Guy.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> The Brawny Man? He’s cheating on you with Mary Lou Retton?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Worse. I saw him talking to that Emilie on the nightside desk.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> The little blond one?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> That’s her, all right.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> She’s not just short. She’s like a normal-size person who’s been miniaturized so that everything about her is still in perfect proportion. She’s like something you’d find in an elaborate dollhouse, so tiny and yet so lifelike.

Have you ever noticed her waist? It’s infinitesimal.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> I could put my hands around her waist. If standing next to her makes me feel strong and masculine, she must make My Cute Guy feel like a god.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> She’s Lilliputian.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> They wouldn’t let her ride Splash Mountain.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> You know what I don’t like about her? The way she spells her name with an “ie.” Everyone knows that Emily is spelled “Emily.” It’s not cute to spell it with an “ie.” It doesn’t make you unique. It doesn’t set you apart from all the other Emilys in the world. It’s pointlessly confusing.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Her parents probably thought it was cute. That’s not really her fault.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Oh, right, not like her tiny, little, perfect body.

When did you see them together?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Last night. I finished up a review, and I went over to the copy desk to tell the editors to have at it. And there they were. Talking. In front of God and everyone.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Maybe they were talking about work.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> What work? He’s not on the copy desk. What the hell does he do? I don’t think it’s advertising—he wears cargo pants. Who else has to work at night? Maybe he’s security. Or a janitor.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Maybe he works on the presses. Those guys are here at night.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> He’s a not a pressman. They wear blue jumpsuits, and they all have mustaches. Besides, he wasn’t talking to Emilie about work. She was laughing. And twirling that yellow ponytail of hers like a schoolgirl.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Was he laughing?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Not exactly. He was mostly just towering. And smiling.

Oh, curse you, Miniature Emilie, you petite seductress.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Does this mean we have to start calling him Emilie’s Cute Guy?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Never!

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Lucky for you, you already have an extremely tall man in your life who doesn’t have Thumbelina syndrome.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Are you trying to make me feel guilty? You don’t even like Chris.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Sorry. I get that from my mom. I just can’t resist an opportunity to make someone feel guilty. On the other hand, Chris is your boyfriend.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Come on. It’s not like I’m two-timing him.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I think it would hurt my feelings if I found out that Mitch thought of someone at work as “My Cute Girl.”

<<Beth to Jennifer>> That’s different. Mitch works at a high school. With actual girls.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> You know what I mean.

CHAPTER 47

“WHAT ARE YOU grinning about?” Doris asked, digging into her manicotti. She was thrilled when Lincoln told her he’d brought enough for them both.

“I’m not grinning,” Lincoln said. “I’m smiling. Like a normal person.”

“I think this has something to do with a girl.”

Lincoln grinned and took a bite.

“I don’t blame you. That Emilie’s a hot little number. I could tell she liked you.”

“Not Emilie,” Lincoln said with his mouth full.

“It’s not?” Doris asked. “Then who is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sort of honestly.

“Well, you could do a lot worse than Emilie. She’s a smart girl. And healthy. She eats a lot of carrot sticks.”

“She’s not my type,” Lincoln said, feeling gleeful. Stupidly gleeful. What did it really mean in the big scheme of things that Beth had seen him, that she’d been jealous …

It meant that the girl he thought about most and liked the best thought about him, too.

“Oh, she’s not?” Doris asked.

“She’s a little short.” Lincoln laughed.

“Well, aren’t we picky. Say, what kind of cheese does your mom put in this?”

“Romano,” Lincoln said.

“Hmm. It smells terrible, but it tastes delicious.”

THE NEXT DAY was Saturday, and Lincoln had the gym to himself. He had his choice of treadmills and men’s fitness magazines. Not that he could read right now, he couldn’t focus on anything. He couldn’t stop thinking about Beth’s message.

Beth.

She liked him.

She didn’t know him, but she liked him. She thought about him in a physical way. She thought about how much space he took up in the world.

And she was jealous. When had a girl ever been jealous over him? Not Sam, he thought, shaking his head at the thought of her, trying to shake the thought away.

Beth didn’t know him. It wasn’t real jealousy. It wasn’t real anything.

But maybe it could be. He liked her so much, and she liked him. Well, she liked the look of him, and that was a good start. There must be a way he could make something happen, arrange to be near her, try to catch her eye or meet her.

He was getting ahead of himself on the treadmill. He turned up the speed to keep from stumbling.

Beth had a boyfriend; that was a problem. But clearly theirs wasn’t a healthy relationship. (Lincoln and Justin spent more weekend nights with her boyfriend than she did.) He could walk by Beth’s desk when he knew she was there …

What if it worked? What if she liked him? Really liked him?

He couldn’t ever tell her about the e-mails. He’d have to keep that a secret. Even if they got married and had kids. Didn’t people keep secrets like that all the time? One of Lincoln’s uncles hadn’t known his wife had been married before until her funeral, when all three of her ex-husbands showed up …

Lincoln would have to tell Beth.

But he couldn’t tell her. This wouldn’t work. This was stupid.

But still …she thought about him. She was jealous.

Lincoln had so much energy left after the treadmill that he walked over to the weight room. There was no one lifting, and the attendant was reading a magazine.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Do I have to make an appointment to learn how to use the free weights?”

She set down her magazine. “Usually,” she said, looking around the empty room. “But not today.”

Her name was Becca, and she was a nutrition major. Lincoln didn’t know you could major in nutrition. She was a little too muscular and a little too tan. But she was extremely patient. And she kept assuring Lincoln that he didn’t look like an idiot.

She helped him set up a lifting program, and she wrote everything down in a special folder. “Once you get the hang of this, you should totally try to add some mass,” Becca said. “You could get really big. You can tell by the size of your elbows.”

“My elbows?”

“There’s no fat on the elbow,” she said, “so it’s a good way to assess bone structure, how big your body can get. I’ve got small-to-medium elbows, so I’m really limited. I’ll never be competitive.”

Lincoln thanked Becca sincerely when they were done, and she told him to track her down if he got bored with his program.

He felt sore all over when he walked to his car. He kept trying to look at his elbows, but it was kind of hopeless without a mirror.

THAT NIGHT, WHEN he got to Dave and Christine’s house, Christine met him at the door. He could hear people arguing in the living room.

“Has the game started already?”

“No, we’re waiting for Teddy to get off work. Dave and Larry are playing Star Wars CCG while we wait. Do you play?”

“No, is it fun?’ “Yeah, if you want to spend your kids’ college money on a collectible card game.”

“Our kids will get scholarships!” Dave shouted from the living room. “Lincoln, come watch. I’m crushing the Rebellion under my heel.”

“No,” Christine said, smiling, “come keep me company. I’m making pizza.”

“Sure,” Lincoln said, following her into the kitchen.

“You can cut the onions,” she said. “I hate cutting onions. They make me cry, and once I’m crying, I start thinking about sad things, and then I can’t stop. Here, give me your jacket.”