Open Season Page 5

  Even for a Pixiso like Juli, who lives outside the refugee community, it would create a toxic environment for her to live in. It would lay the groundwork for other laws that would restrict not only where she can live, but where she can work or shop or go. There are already governmental grumblings about restricting access to hospitals for Pixisos because of fear-mongering about potential contamination and epidemic panic. How does anyone expect her to build a life in the midst of that?

  How will he? Because she can't stay if her family leaves, and he wouldn't want to stay in a state that would make her family leave. But where would they both go? Where would feel safe? Where could they go where they wouldn't have to worry about this happening again? And again? And again?

  So, even though his sticker-wearing coworker wants a gold star for exhibiting basic human decency, Kyle thanks Dan for his vote. They need every one they can get. Even if Dan doesn't understand. Even if he's only doing it so he can pretend he knows anything about Pixiso culture besides what Kyle's girlfriend looks like in an office-party cocktail dress.

  Dan winks at him, shooting a finger gun his way. "Tell your lady you're welcome."

  Kyle forces a laugh, clenching his fist in his lap.

  He excuses himself and gets up. He needs some air. Needs some damned space.

  He weaves through cubicles and coworkers, pushing his way outside. He should get some coffee. That's what he needs. Caffeine, sugar, and a break. He walks into the chain coffee shop around the corner from his office, bypassing some young guys too busy playing Hot-or-Not on some dating app to see him, and inhales deeply. Yes, this is what he needs.

  But, just as he gets in line, he sees his ex-girlfriend, Rachel Leeds, an old office romance that quickly died, waiting for her drink.

  He bends low behind the display of coffee beans and prays she doesn't see him.

  God, she looks good. Happier than he remembers her being in a long time. The corners of her dark eyes crinkle as she laughs at something the barista said, instead of being etched with deep stress lines or weighed down by dark bags. Her brown hair looks shiny and neat rather than dull and hand-tossed. And she looks fit, still soft and curvaceous but healthy and full of life.

  She looks more like what she'd looked like when they first started dating. The fun, flirty girl from another department who caught his attention. Kyle remembers the touch of her, the taste and feel of her against him. Remembers the scent of them together, sweaty and earthy and hot. There was a time when he thought he would never—could never—want anyone as much as he wanted her.

  He peeks over the edge of the display, his heart pounding in his throat.

  It's not that the relationship had been bad; it just hadn't been good either. He really liked her and he liked to think that, in the beginning, she'd liked him too. In the end, they just weren't a good fit. While the chemistry had been electric, neither of them could find much beyond that. So, when life had become hectic for them both, with work and friends and family and life, trying to carve out time for each other had become a chore. Yet another thing to check off on both their to-do lists. Eventually, the effort stopped being worth it.

  Kyle snorts. He hadn't known effort back then. Not if he thought busy schedules and sleepless nights were more than he was willing to deal with.

  Straightening, a thought occurs to him. He wanted Rachel, longed for her touch and her body in a way only horny, young love can. But it hadn't been enough. It wasn't worth working on. Hadn't made him want to be a better man.

  But for Juli…

  In the years that he's known her, he's done a lot. Learned and lived by new rules. Questioned things—like attraction, sex, and consent—that, before, he'd taken for granted as obvious. He's had to deal with knowing the way other men—other people—look at his girlfriend. At the way he looks at her. He's had to get used to being in an open relationship. He's made mistakes and has forgiven her for doing so too. He's laughed with her, like the time the three of them road tripped to Roswell because Dona thought it'd be hilarious, and cried with her, when his mother died and he felt her absence more keenly than almost anything else in his life except for Juli's arms holding him together. Whatever he—they—had to learn or adjust to over the years, it was worth it in a way he never experienced before Juli. And that he doesn't think he could or would want to without her.

  As the line slowly moves along, he realizes he was right; this is exactly what he needed.

  *~*~*

  The moment Juli gets to work, she heads to the employee restroom, not stopping to say hi. Or to check her email. Or to grab coffee. She doesn't even pause at the side-eye sneer her boss, Lorraine, sends her as she passes her desk.

  After locking the bathroom door behind her, she strips down. She spritzes a cloud of perfume on her clothes before hanging them up to dry. At the sink, she turns on the water and rinses off. She scrubs herself with paper towels, rubbing the rough sheets against treasonous skin that feels filth-covered and gross, punishing it.

  Until she realizes that self-hatred won't help, will in fact just make everything worse. She forces herself to calm down. To breathe. She looks into the mirror and reminds herself that she always has options.

  She could go home. She just got here, but she could tell her boss that she's not feeling well. Kyle keeps telling her that Lorraine's a woman, that she'll understand.

  But Juli knows her. Any sympathy Lorraine felt over Juli's situation has long since ceased after two years' worth of cycles. Two years of her coming in late. Two years of her dodging certain coworkers and clients. Two years of her having awkward, inappropriate interactions that HR has to settle. Lorraine understands Juli's situation, she does; she just wishes she didn't have to.

  Juli's surprised that Lorraine has kept her for this long. Most employers would have let her go long ago. After all, while employers couldn't discriminate against her for being Pixiso so long as she can perform the job, her cycle disrupts her ability to perform most jobs enough to get her fired before the initial ninety-day trial period is up. Even after thirty years, the world is still trying to figure out what to do with her people. Places like Sweden and Norway offer Pixiso women—and even some of their male partners—paid leave during their cycles. Other places like France or Queensland offer unpaid leave, for which Pixiso employees cannot be terminated or censured over. But the US leaves it up to the individual employer to decide what accommodations, if any, make sense. However, a week's leave every sixty days is not protected against US discrimination laws. A precedent-setting trial a decade ago decided that the law doesn't consider that kind of leave a "reasonable accommodation" that doesn't cause an employer "undue hardship," so it isn't protected under any Supreme Court workplace rights ruling.

  As a Pixiso, as a US worker, Juli shows up for work or she gets fired. She should be grateful that Lorraine is more forgiving than most.

  Juli gets dressed again, fixes her hair, and goes to her desk. She boots up her computer after setting down her coat and purse. While she waits, she plugs in her room fragrance diffuser, even though her coworkers hate it, thinking it too strong, especially on top of her perfume. Last year, some of them even circulated a petition to make her get rid of it. Wincing at the hassle-filled memory of her boss and HR having to intervene yet again, Juli sighs.

  But what other choice does she have?

  So she ignores the dirty looks and turned-up noses.

  Instead, she nods at her grateful coworker who stays away from her desk, the memory of his first encounter with Juli's scent haunting his eyes. He'd had her pressed against the copy machine before she could turn on her gloves. It only took one shock to stop him—to remind him where he was, who he was—but knowing how little stood between him and his basest self had shaken him to his core.

  On second thought, Juli gives him an apologetic wave before sorting and answering her emails. Looking at her calendar, she schedules phone meetings with the clients that she can and reschedules those she can't. Today is a good day to lay l
ow.

  She does well all morning. It's amazing, with all the technology available now, how she can go an entire day without seeing a single person. Marveling at her potential for productivity in the face of limitations, Juli feels proud and a little defiant.

  Just when her mood lifts, lunch hour lays her low. She thinks she's so smart, grazing on snacks she has at her desk instead of going out to lunch with her coworkers.

  Except, with them away, there are fewer hands on deck. So, when a teller has to go home because of a family issue, there's no one else left to fill in. So, even though Juli sees reservation squint through in Lorraine's narrowed gaze, sure that it must reflect her own, she goes to the front and logs in.

  Trying not to panic, she looks at the long line of people waiting. Remember, she tells herself, anxiety just makes everything worse. So breathe. Smile. And reapply your perfume.

  Her first few clients don't seem affected by her, more concerned with getting back to work before their lunch break ends. She assists one woman who has tears in her eyes, closing her late husband's account. She also helps a father with his daughter as they open up her first checking account before she goes off to college. But mostly, Juli makes deposits and withdrawals by rote, waiting for her coworkers to come back.

  Until her eye catches on a man, tall but hunched with his coat collar turned up to hide his face, hanging by the bank slips table. At first, she can't tell why he bothers her, only that he does.

  It dawns on her: she saw him in line earlier. He fumbled and flustered with his papers in line, looking nervous. Fidgety as he scanned the space, he studied everyone in line and behind the counter. She thought that he was just understandably impatient to get out of the seemingly endless line.

  But then why is he still staring at her from behind the slips?

  Then she remembers the double-take he gave her when he passed her station. She thought it was odd at the time and braced herself for an uncomfortable encounter. But then he kept walking, so she forgot it.

  He beams at her, giving her a small, hopeful wave.

  Juli looks away. Sharply. Pointedly.

  She checks to see if her coworkers have come back yet. Seeing one, Juli logs out quickly and trades places with her, before heading back to her desk.

  Seeing him try to intercept her, Juli walks faster.

  Only to wish like hell she'd worn quicker shoes.

  "Hi."

  Juli groans—swears and screams—inside before turning to him. Remember, she tells herself, smile. Not too big, but still enough to be professional. "Hello, how can I help you?" She inches toward the back, where all her coworkers are, and away from the secluded corridor with the customer restrooms.

  He counters with his own body, using it to herd her toward the lonely hallway.

  Panic rises like bile in her throat. She looks around, but she's just out of sight, right between the front area with all the tellers, and the back where all her lunch-languid coworkers are leaning back in their desk chairs and checking their emails. No one is looking at her. No one is looking for her.

  Except for him.

  "I was just wondering when you get off work." He looks at her with wide, eager eyes, a courtly innocence shining in them. But she also sees the fire of desire burning behind that. She sees him breathe deeply, his nostrils flaring and his hands reaching for her.

  Shaking her head, she wants to tell him never, that the idea of never leaving the office suddenly doesn't seem like a terrible idea compared to the alternative.

  Instead, she tells him that she already has a boyfriend. A girlfriend. That she's romantically unavailable. Maybe it'll make a difference.

  But, no, that doesn't matter.

  "We could just grab coffee or something." He touches her hair, rubbing the silver strands between his fingers. "Just see what happens."

  She tells him she has to get back to work.

  He steps closer. "Then just tell me when you get off work and I'll leave." Only to come back.

  She thinks about telling him a time—any time—just to make him go. But she realizes that he'll just keep coming back, looking for her. Possibly angry at the lie. She knows this kind of guy. She's met countless just like him. She looks at him. Sees the life he's already built for the two of them in his mind. Sees their inevitable wedding and honeymoon. Their two-point-five kids. Sees his promotion at work and him signing the deed to his dream house. Sees all his jealous friends and proud parents. Sees the solution and answer to his every problem or struggle in his entire life centered in this dream he has of her. And she knows that he won't let her—the possibility of her—go.

  Juli steps back and tells him that she's flattered, but that she can't.

  He strokes her arm, leaving the threat of grabbing her against her skin, even through her sleeves. "Why not?"

  Because she can't. She doesn't want to. She doesn't want him.

  But she doesn't tell him any of that. Not while his body blocks her way. Not while he steps closer, forcing her back.

  Feeling the wall against her back, she wants to scream. Thinks about doing so. But imagining what her coworkers would think, what her boss would think, imagining the hassle she'd make for HR and the gristle she'd generate for the office gossips, she stays silent.

  She can smell her scent fill the hallway, mixing with and swiftly overpowering her perfume.

  She wonders if it will lead someone her way.

  And whether that would be a good or a bad thing.

  She's had enough. Looking him in the eye, she straightens her spine so she stands as tall as his collarbones. Her tone is clear, crisp, and unarguable. "I have to go back to work. If there's not a banking need I can help you with, please let me go."

  He grabs her. The chivalry in his eyes hardens into hurt anger, even as that determined desire stokes hotter. "I'm being nice. No need to be rude."

  She wants to insist that she's not. Her tone is pleasant but firm, her statement work-appropriate and true. Not that he cares. No, that doesn't matter.

  "Is there something bank-related that I can help you with, sir?" Keep cool, she tells herself. Stay businesslike.

  "I was just asking you a simple question. Why can't you just answer me?" His grip tightens. She forces herself not to wince; her weakness will only feed his strength.

  Trying to wrench her arm back, she leans away as he leans in. "It's not bank-related."

  "You work at the bank. I want to know when you get off. That's related."

  It's not. No, she knows that doesn't matter. "I have to go." She shouldn't have come into work today. She shouldn't come in tomorrow or the rest of the week.

  "Why?" The look he gives her, as he takes her in, is full of confidence and knowledge. "I know you don't really want to." His eyes narrow, looking her up and down. "I can tell." He leans in and smells her neck. "I know."

  He knows nothing. Juli shoves him back, but only so much, his grip not loosening its hold. She struggles. "Let. Me. Go." She should have stayed home. Stayed safe. Stayed out of the world.

  "No."

  But she has to work. Even if no one likes it—least of all her—she doesn't have any other option. She has to live in this world. Whatever it takes. Her fists clench, her elbow bending as her arm tightens and notches back like a ready bow.

  "Here you are."

  Juli's knees weaken in relief when she hears Lorraine's sharp voice.

  Knowing irritation is clear in her boss's eyes as she taps her toe impatiently. "If this isn't work-related, you need to get back to your desk."

  The man's grip loosens. Juli seizes the moment to scurry past him.

  Hiding against the wall just outside the mouth of the hallway, she half-listens to her boss handle the man politely, professionally. She wishes she could have done that herself. It doesn't seem that hard—for Lorraine. For Juli, it seems impossible. With a hand over her pounding heart, Juli catches her breath.

  She opens her eyes when she hears Lorraine cough. Her boss scrutinizes her from he
ad to toe. "You don't look okay." There's no sympathy in her voice. There's even less in her eyes. "You should go home." It's not a suggestion.

  Juli nods. It'll use up the last of her PTO, but she knows that she can't argue with her boss.

  She goes to her desk and ignores all the stares and the sudden quiet. Don't cry, she tells herself. After closing all her programs, she shuts down her computer. She unplugs her diffuser and tries not to let this feel like a loss. Don't cry. Her hands shake while she puts on her coat and picks up her purse. Do not cry.

  FOREIGN POLICY

  Kyle's been staring at his phone for five minutes. He thinks about calling Juli. Just because. Just to make sure that she's okay. Just to put his mind at ease.

  He puts his phone away. She's fine. He's sure of it.

  Let her live her life while he lives his own. That's their agreement.

  He buckles down to work, knocking things off his to-do list. He makes phone calls, returns emails, and meets deadlines. He gets everything he needs to do done before telling his boss that he's leaving work early to vote. Maybe he'd make dinner, something special, for Juli.

  "Skipping out early, huh? Even after showing up late. Ballsy, Cross."

  Kyle looks up and smiles, the first genuine one since he stepped foot in the office. Dona leans on his desk. The pretty, perky Pixiso woman looks amused. He nods. "Gotta vote before the polls close. How about you?"

  She shrugs, undecided, even though she, like Juli, is a legal citizen. "I don't know. What's the point?"

  Kyle raises an eyebrow. "Of voting?"

  She shakes her head. "It's not like the bill's going to be decided by my vote."

  Frowning, he shrugs. "Maybe not yours specifically. But the combined votes of people who think like you do?" He shrugs again. "That's kind of exactly how voting works, isn't it?"

  She rolls her eyes, but sighs resignedly.

  He nudges her as he grabs his jacket. "Go. Vote. Then come over for dinner."

  Her brows lift curiously. "You cooking?"