Water From Mud

Five.

Typically there was a lull before lunch, and George had no issues taking advantage of the vacant time. She carried her sketchbook to and from work and was adding touches to a character illustration for the animation she was currently working on. Though in the beginning stages, she was pleased with how Raven, the protagonist, was coming together: her long, dark hair was the perfect combination of tousled and matted and contrasted the hardness in her expression, which had been, George thought, the most difficult aspect of this character design. As she peered into the eyes she'd redrawn multiple times, she found they held an intensity appropriate for someone surviving in a zombie apocalypse, but also found it was the inhibition disguised inside of them that held her attention.

George pried her eyes from her character's and began adding more strands to frame Raven's face, envisioning how she would come to life on her computer. When commotion sounded behind her, George assumed it was the mail lady dropping off their daily delivery; however, she turned around when she heard a male voice and recognized it.

Sam was speaking with Clara, who was nodding and agreeing raptly. George internally rolled her eyes at remembering the customer service training last week, but then her thoughts traveled to how close she'd been to Sam, recalling that she hadn't minded. The memory made her swallow, and as she watched him explain to Clara—smiling and using his hands to amplify his speech and noting how his warm voice matched his overall appearance—that he'd be sitting in on employee evaluations this quarter, George swallowed again.

His eyes met hers. There was a smile tucked away that George knew was meant for her—subtle but intent. It reminded her of Elise, who'd given George the same smile many times over the last several years. Quickly, George dashed her attention to her side to find Elise was watching her, also wearing a smile, and George suddenly wanted to disappear.

She returned to her illustration but listened to the remaining conversation:

"Oh, you don't have to do anything different," Sam said. "It's meant as more of a learning opportunity for me. I just need to sit in."

"Of course. Happy to have you," Clara assured and added in what George knew as her tone reserved for fake niceties, "But you will let me know if there's anything I need to work on, too. It can be a learning opportunity for both of us."

"Oh. Yeah, sure." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, just wanted to step in and let you know so you're not blindsided."

"I appreciate it. When do you think you'll start?"

"With whoever is scheduled to have their evaluation first."

"That'll be your mom," Clara said, and George could hear the tightness in her smile, as if she was privy to a dirty joke.

"Right. Yeah." Sam breathed a laugh. "Actually, I'll skip that one for obvious reasons."

"Well, I guess that means you'll be starting with Georgia. It'll be early July."

Sam cleared his throat again but made no comment, though Clara's pause provided the room to hear her intent desire for him to make one.

"Alright, well, I guess I'll see you then. Thanks again." He paused. "Actually, do you mind if I talk to my mom for a second? I've got something I need to give her."

"No, of course not."

Obviously having been eavesdropping on the conversation as George was, Elise swiveled around in her chair. George decided to withdraw her attention again and held her pencil above her sketchbook as if preparing to return to her illustration, though she instead paid very close attention to the encounter next to her.

"You brought me a gift? How thoughtful."

George heard Sam walking behind her and couldn't help but tense. He laughed dryly when he approached Elise's desk.

"You're the one who wanted to go," he said, handing her an envelope.

"Ellis'll love it. You remember when I took you kids there, don't you?"

"How could I forget it? Lauren dragged me on the tilt-a-whirl after I'd downed a bunch of cotton candy," Sam said. "You don't forget purple vomit."

"Hopefully Ellis doesn't share the same fate."

"She takes after Lauren. Stomach of steel—she can eat anything. Remember Uncle Roland's party? She sliced up a hotdog and put it into that homemade macaroni, stuck a pickle on top, and then washed it down with his famous moonshine."

"Like those goats in Africa," Elise commented.

"What?"

"Those goats in Africa—they can eat tin cans and digest them. That's Lauren."

Obviously used to his mother's random comparisons—what George referred to as an Elise-ism and which had taken her a while to get used to, as George, while she liked learning facts, wasn't used to having them thrown at her out of nowhere, often pertaining little to the conversation being had—Sam exhaled amusement and shifted so that the heel of his shoe clicked against the plastic mat.

"I'm sure Lauren would love being referred to as a goat."

"Thanks for getting the tickets. I know Ellis'll have a great time. They have that bee ride there. She's gonna die of happiness." Elise stowed what George was surmising were theme park tickets. "Did you bring your lunch? How about a lunch date with your mom? You're not too old for that, are you?"

"Probably, but it's not like you'll let me say no."

Elise stood up and locked her computer. George was still listening intently as she hovered over her sketchbook, noticing that her pencil needed sharpening.

"Come on, George. We're eating in the lunchroom today."

Slightly ruffled by the sudden attention, as George often believed herself invisible in certain situations, she spun her chair around but didn't respond to Elise. Sam caught her eyes.

"The lunch room," Elise repeated, switching off her desk light. "You know, the room where you eat lunch?"

George glanced between mother and son. "You want me to eat lunch with you?"

"Well, yeah. You and I eat it together every day."

"In the office," George said.

Elise hummed. "Consider this a special occasion then. Come on, let's go. It fills up quickly in there, and I'm starving."

As she contemplated her options, which were either to join Elise in the packed, noisy cafeteria and eat lunch with her and her son, who, at present, was scratching his tight jaw while seemingly avoiding eye contact, or spend thirty minutes inside the office while Pete blasted a video on how to best skin a deer, George arrived at an easy conclusion.

"I hate the lunch room," she said, standing up, and Sam took a step back to allow her room. George appreciated the gesture.

"I know, George. It'll be okay," Elise mocked. "Sam's survived it a time or two, haven't you?"

"What? Oh, yeah. It's fine. Just a normal lunch room. Uh, yeah, been in much worse."

Sam was scratching his jaw again when George sidled between him and his chair, and then, as she normally did, she headed towards the back of the office and withdrew her and Elise's lunch bags from the fridge. When the three departed the office, George noticed Elise was wearing a smile she hadn't before seen.