Sororization

I’m slumped on my desk, one hand around my piping hot cup of coffee, when the elevator doors open and Lane steps out onto the office floor. She stands fully upright, showcasing all her height, and takes wide strides as she walks. Unconsciously, almost to try and mimic her composure, I sit up straighter. She wears her usual half top knot and inscrutable expression which, combined with her muscular frame, are the reasons why my co-worker Christina and I refer to her as the Samurai. And we refer to her often, as my crush on her is a recurrent topic in our conversations. I’m obsessed with figuring out how someone with such broad shoulders can move with such grace, and Christina is obsessed with making fun of me for it. Lane is halfway to her desk when our boss hurriedly walks in and stops in the center of the room. He looks out of breath.

“Good morning folks, I have an announcement I was supposed to make last week”, he says. We all turn to look at him. “I apologize for the short notice, but our PR team is expected to go on a retreat this weekend with a few members of our eastern branch. It’s BYOC, bring your own car, but everything else is provided! I’ll send the details by email.”

I beam. That’s me! And the Samurai! A few other people in our team huff, probably because they had weekend plans, but Lane calmly turns and makes a beeline for my desk. I sit up even straighter. She doesn’t talk to me very often. My mouth goes a little dry.

“Hey Elle, you don’t have a car right?”

It takes me a full five seconds before I am able to react.

“Uuuuh no, I don’t have one here.”

“Right, I thought so. You live near Clearview Park though, right? That’s not far from my place. I could take you if you want.”

Her tone is nice, but she is perfectly expressionless. Regardless, my mouth is now a desert, and I feel like my eyes are coming out of their orbits.

“Uh, yeah, that’d be great, thanks!” I say too fast, adding what I hope came across as a smile. She smiles back and immediately turns to leave. I all but drool on myself as I watch her walk away, then I catch Christina looking at me with an amused spark in her eyes and I blush violently.

Later, Christina and I are in the family-owned bar near the office that serves 5€ spritzes during happy hour. We sat down about fifteen minutes ago, and yet Christina has already finished her drink and is now making aggressive eye-contact with me. Without breaking her gaze, she shuffles the ice in her glass around with her straw to make it melt quicker.

“So, you’re driving out there together, huh? Is this the weekend you finally make a move on the Samurai?” She starts, her dark eyebrows wiggling.

I chuckle awkwardly, gripping my straw like a lifeline. “Oh, I don’t know… You heard her, she only asked me because we live so close together. I don’t even know if she’s gay.”

Christina scoffs. “Come on, Elle, I’ve actually seen her walking around with a carabiner tied to her belt loop. How much more obvious could she be?”

I lean back in my chair. “I guess…”

“I’m telling you, work retreats only exist to give co-workers a context to hook up outside the workplace,” she proclaims, then sucks loudly through her straw, catching whatever spritz-flavored water she can.

I let this sink in. What if Chris is right? What if the gods are really smiling upon me, deciding to grant me this one wish? After all, this is a very rom-com-worthy situation; two co-workers forced into proximity by a work event that’s still informal enough to allow for some sparks to fly. Maybe we’ll even have to share a room.

On my walk home, I dare to dream.

On Friday, the Samurai and I carpool to the hotel in painful silence. I spent most of the ride trying not to stare in awe at the way she drives, leaned back into her seat with her right arm fully extended towards the wheel and the left resting on the rolled-down window. I blame the ungodly hour at which we had to wake up, but the fact remains that we have barely exchanged a word by the time we park. I get out of the car and walk to the trunk Lane has opened, where I try and fail to haul my suitcase out. Amused, she reaches for it. I watch as her biceps contract and the suitcase lifts, drawing a rainbow across the air to land softly on the ground. I blush, half because I’m ashamed of my spaghetti arms and half because I’m still thinking about the curve of hers.

“Thank you… And thanks for driving, too” I say. The Samurai smiles but doesn’t reply. I hope we will later remember this as the comically awkward start of our great romance.

At the front desk, a short man with orange hair and truly humongous glasses greets us with a cheerful nod.

“Good morning ladies, welcome! Did you want to check in?” He asks.

“Yes, we’re here for a business retreat.” The Samurai replies. I love how she just took charge and spoke for the both of us. She exudes such confidence.

“Ah, yes, of course! We have quite the buffet planned for you this evening.” He winks. Whatever he lacks in height, he makes up for in enthusiasm. “May I see your IDs?”

I fish my wallet from the bottom of my purse and struggle to pull my ID out from a compartment meant to store one card, which instead holds four. Lane, on the other hand, had hers conveniently placed in an easily accessible inside pocket. I linger on her ability to plan ahead as ginger Edna Mode types a few things on his computer, then drops a single key on the counter.

“Where’s the other one?” She asks. God, such direct phrasing, not a single word wasted. She’s so smart.

“Oh no, you’ll be sharing” he grins.

I’m so absorbed in my adoration for the Samurai that I almost miss it, but when the words of Dexter from Dexter’s Laboratory finally register, I pause. My eyes widen. It actually happened. I feel like I can fly. This is catholic boarding school all over again. Leaving women amongst themselves to avoid fraternization, while forgetting —or rather, refusing to admit— that sororization is a possibility too. I float to the elevator. Inside, I turn to look at Lane and try to read her expression, but her face is stony as ever. With her gaze fixed forward, she says: “I don’t know if there will be one or two beds, but if we only get one and it’s as big as his glasses, we won’t have a problem”.

Emboldened by the universe’s clear scheme to bring us together, I venture: “I wouldn’t mind sharing if it was a small one, either…”.

She doesn’t react, but I brush it off. We have all weekend.

As we approach our bedroom (our bedroom!) door, I can barely contain my excitement. It builds and builds while she places the key in the lock. One, two, three perfect turns until it finally yields. Then, the door opens with a creaking sound, and I am suddenly horrified.

There are not two, not even three, but eight, nightmarish, bunk beds. Not in the sense that they aren’t nice. The frames are made of dark wood, the sheets are a crisp white and the pillows look incredibly fluffy. But there are eight of them. Eight. Just like catholic boarding school indeed.

“Umm…” I start, unable to go on.

“Wow, they really splurged, huh?” She says, unmoved. Then, turning towards me, she adds: “No sharing, I guess”. I notice a half-smile on the corner of her mouth. I have no idea what it means. There are already a couple people in the room, and a man pulling a shirt on over his khakis notices us standing at the door.

“Hey-ya! Welcome! Are you here for business or for pleasure?” He asks with too much energy.

Pleasure? I may never feel that again. The once-shirtless man and the Samurai begin a conversation, none of which I can catch over my internal spiraling. I cannot believe I thought even for a second that this could go like it does in the movies. This is real life. And real life sucks. My little line from earlier probably sold me out, she didn’t seem to reciprocate, and I certainly cannot count on the setting to work in my favor anymore. This thing is dead in the water before it even started. I am crushed. All that is left to do is try to play it cool. I drop my stuff onto a random bed and I am out the door before I can see where she dropped hers.

I manage to ignore Lane for most of the day, keeping busy with work and avoiding eye contact. The meetings even go well, and I join the others for the evening refreshment in a gleeful mood. There’s a lot more alcohol than I would have expected from a work event, and I chug one glass of wine after another. By 9pm, I’ve lost count. I feel tipsy and off-balance, so I scan the room for an available chair and find one near the back wall. I sit and close my eyes to stop the spinning. After a few seconds, I sense someone moving next to me. It’s the Samurai. She took the chair beside mine. My heart starts racing. I sit up straighter and thumb nervously along the hem of my shirt. Lane is perfectly still.

“So, the dormitory sucks.” She says without looking at me.

“Yeah, I didn’t know adults over 25 could still sleep in bunk beds.”

“I wasn’t referring to the slight humiliation of sleeping in beds meant for kids”. She turns and gives me a long, meaningful look. I don’t understand what is happening, but I know better than to make conjectures by now, so I go:

“Right, I hear lower bunks are an asthma risk.”

She laughs, and that’s the end of the conversation.

Back in our overcrowded room, I try to figure out how I will change without giving a bunch of strangers a free show. I finally settle to change in the bathroom, which we also share but at least has a lock on the door. My eyelids are heavy as I wipe my make-up off, and I hope this means that I’ll be too tired to lie awake marinating in my disappointment. When I slip under the covers, most of my roommates are already asleep and the lights are off. I lie on my side and will darkness to take me. I spend about 20 minutes like this before I hear the covers shifting. Someone has gotten into bed behind me. A pair of muscular but graceful arms suddenly wrap me.

Tonight, I don’t need to dream.