Page 2 of Worth the Try
Erica’s head pops over the top of the cubicle, her big brown eyes growing increasingly round as she takes in the scene unfolding right before her. “Oh, hell no!” she says, her eyebrows furrowing as she glares at Dan. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s okay, Erica.” Lies. All lies. It’s not okay. It’s not remotely okay. But what is Erica going to do about it? What amIgoing to do about it?
I know exactly what I’m going to do: Pack up eight years of dedication to an events team where I wasn’t appreciated, was regularly treated as an entry-level employee, and where I went absolutely nowhere.That’swhat I’m going to do about it.
“Uh, no, it’snotokay,” she shoots back, echoing my thoughts as she rounds the corner. “What in the fresh hell is this, Dan?”
He looks at her helplessly. “It’s not my fault.”
Erica sucks her teeth. “Damn, Dan. I knew you were spineless, but I thought you’d at least have our backs when it came down to it.”
Dan straightens. “Ido.”
“Then what’s this?” Erica gestures at me.
I ignore them, dropping my bags of Blow Pops and sour gummy worms into the box.
Next are the framed pictures: me and my parents at my college graduation. Me and my best friend Kari on our girls’ trip to the Bahamas, both of us grinning like fools while we pose with the pigs on Big Major Cay. A picture of Fenian, my old German Shepherd, tongue lolling as he looked out from the top of a mountain we’d hiked up in East Tennessee when I was in undergrad.
Then the other detritus of office life: a congratulatory handwritten note on hitting my five-year anniversary. A pair of Fore Gone logo’d sunglasses from last year’s senior marketing retreat. The little microphone statuette commemorating the time I won my team’s “Communicating in the Moment” award.An Atlanta Granite bobblehead from when Kari got us front row seats to one of the professional rugby team’s game last year.
It doesn’t even take five minutes. Eight years, packed up in five minutes. Something warm and spiky bubbles in my chest as I grab my purse, pick up the box, and look at Erica and Dan. “I’m ready.”
Erica stops mid-rant. “Oh.Oh.”
I smile, the gesture automatic and fake, trained into me until I could hold it for an hour straight. “I’ll be fine. Erica, you have my number. Let’s grab those margaritas we talked about next week. Dan? I suppose you have to walk me out?”
He nods stiffly, turning and leading the way.
Erica pulls me into a side hug, the smell of her vanilla perfume wafting over me. “I’ll miss you, Elodie.”
I smile back and blink away the tears that threaten. “I’ll miss you too, Erica.”
“E-squared forever!” she calls out as I turn to go. “And fuck that bitch Carolyn,” she mutters.
I snort out a laugh, and my voice is watery when I respond, “E-squared forever.”
Dan waits downstairs in the lobby, the bright Atlanta sun shining through the tinted glass and giving him a bluish hue. “Despite what Erica said back there,” he starts.
I cut him off, still holding that smile. All I’m missing is the petroleum jelly on my teeth. “It’s fine. Really.” Again, lies. All lies.It’s fine! I’m fine! Everything is fine!“It’s been great, Dan. Maybe I’ll see you around!” I chirp, then back into the door to open it.
Dan hustles to hold it for me, his hand smacking the glass pane above me with athwackas the muggy heat settles around me.
I duck beneath him. As I straighten back to my not-insubstantial height, I catch a beat of hesitation on his face.
“Sorry,” he says, his eyes darting to my waist before returning to mine. “But I—erm, well…” he stammers. “Your card.”
I blink. “My key card? Seriously?” It’s got a really good picture of me on it, and besides, I thought I’d get to keep at least one thing from this godforsaken place.
It’s not like I kept those cheap sunglasses.
“I know. It’s just…” He sighs. “It’s procedure.”
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.Tell him to fuck off, Elodie.I nearly laugh at myself. I wouldneversay those words out loud, let alone actually say them to someone’s face. “Okay, Dan. Hang on.” I set the box down, unclipping the key card from my skirt as I straighten—a skirt, I evendressednice for this place!—before handing it over.
He pockets it. “Thanks.”
I don’t bother saying anything as I bend to grab my box.
