“What is it you do here exactly?”
“Jack-of-all-trades,” he said, rubbing his hands together. It seemed to be more an affectation of cold than an actual expression of it. She didn’t understand how he was still in only his shirtsleeves.
“Master of none?”
It came out sounding a lot nastier than she’d meant it. This was why she hated spending time with Asa—he brought out the worst in her. They’d be going along, conversing normally, maybe almost with something approaching friendliness, and then she’d take a jab, or he’d make one of his teasing comments and ruin it.
“Why aren’t you in management by now?” she asked, suddenly curious. He’d been there so long. Clearly Dolores thought highly of him, or she wouldn’t have included him as one of her chosen three to make a presentation about how to make over Cold World. And yet he still spent his days doing relatively entry-level tasks. Pumping frothed milk into spiced lattes. Helping a kid tie his skate laces tighter. Changing lightbulbs.
“Because I don’t want to be in management.”
“You’d make more money.”
“Oh, man,” he said. “My financial advisor really fucked me over on that one.”
Lauren glanced around, automatically nervous about profanity when they were on the clock, working in a contained space with children around. But Asa’s voice had been low, and no one seemed to be paying attention to them. The one family in the Snow Globe with young children were busy trying to all cram together to take a selfie in front of a drooping snowman they’d tried to build.
“It looks like they need help with their photo,” Lauren said.
Asa followed her gaze, shaking his head. “It’s a trap. They all want to do selfies now. If you offer to take the picture for them, they look at you like you’re definitely, one hundred percent planning to steal their phone.”
“But I work here.”
“You’re not wearing an official Cold World shirt or a name tag.”
She could point out that this whole thing had been his idea, so if she wasn’t dressed appropriately with her usual office attire, that was on him. She could also point out that he was wearing a Cold World T-shirt and a name tag, so he could go over himself and offer to help. The mom’s arm was shaking from trying to hold up the phone for so long, and the kids’ smiles were starting to look rictus and unnatural.
Throwing Asa an exasperated glance, Lauren crunched through the snow to approach the family. “Excuse me,” she said. “Would you like me to take a picture for you?”
Sure enough, the expression on the mom’s face was dismissive, bordering on distrustful. “It’s okay,” she said. “I got it!”
That was ridiculous. Clearly, she didn’t have it. “Are you sure? I could frame it really nice. It’d make a great holiday card.”
Lauren could tell from the way the mom’s lips pinched together that she was about to refuse again, this time more forcefully, but then the dad reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone.
“Would you mind?” he asked.
“Of course,” Lauren said, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder and make sure Asa was watching this moment of triumph. “Gather in close.”
The family huddled together around their snowman, and Lauren snapped a couple quick vertical photos before she realized that the perspective was all wrong. They were already starting to come out of the pose, the dad reaching for his phone, but Lauren gestured them back together. “A few more,” she said, kneeling down in the snow so she could get a horizontal shot of them with the snowman, their faces filling the frame better. Immediately, the cold wetness from the snow soaked into the knees of her tights.
“Everyone smile!” she said, snapping a few more pictures before, satisfied, she got back to her feet.
“Thank you so much!” the dad said as she handed him back his phone. She hoped his voice carried enough that Asa could hear it.
“See?” she said once she was back at his side. “Your laziness almost resigned that poor family to an off-center, blurry picture to remember their time here.”
“I didn’t know you took your photo shoots so seriously.” He was looking at her legs, which had two damp patches on both knees and rivulets of melting snow running down into her ballet flats. There was nothing really to see, the bare skin covered by sheer black tights, and yet something about the way he was looking made her shiver all the same.
“Pictures are important,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to warm up. “They’re memories.”