Page 28 of I Hope This Finds You Well

“Fair.” I nod and stare straight ahead. “I’m working on that too.”

He restarts the video. We spend about eight minutes facing the monitor, but all I can hear is the hum of the VCR and the sound of his every breath.

Kissing ass shouldn’t be this difficult. I need to focus on the goal here.

But then the video shifts to a scene of two colleagues pointing at someone who spilled coffee on themselves. And it’s funny the things that seem like they should be nothing. It’s just a subpar production with bad acting. But all the air in the room turns heavy. Then my hands close in on themselves and I realize I’m not breathing. It’s their laughter—when it’s at someone’s expense, it always sounds the same. The fuzzy outline of another scene, one I’ve replayed a million times in my mind, takes shape: Ellie, running farther into the woods, stumbling and angry.

This room is too small and much too hot.

“Stop,” I croak. I grab the remote from the arm of Cliff’s chair and jab at the pause button.

Cliff’s eyebrows draw together. “Everything okay?”

“Sorry,” I mutter, immediately aware that I am not being normal. But the intensity of his stare is not helping me control the heartbeat pounding against my eardrums. “I just—it’s fine—sorry.” The second apology feels like too much.

Cliff creaks out of his seat and makes his way to an actual minifridge I hadn’t noticed before. From it he pulls a Supershops brand water.

I crack the cap and let the liquid flow into me and cool me from within before resting the bottle on my overheating forehead. I shouldn’t have actually focused. I should have just zoned out and not have been thinking thoughts and feeling things all the time. That’s the life hack everyone else has tapped in to.

“Was it something in the video?” His eyes are still darting across my face with concern.

This can’t be how this is going. I’m trying to get him to like me, not pity me. I shake my head too hard. “I’d like to challenge the test now. As fun as it is to see this company’s productions, I have quite a bit of work I’d like to get to.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I have to sign off on you watching the video.” He smiles sheepishly. “This isn’t high school.”

And those words hit something deep inside me too. I don’t think I physically respond to it, but somehow he must sense my reaction, because he stops what he’s writing—literally puts down his pen—and leans closer to me.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is soft. It makes me feel like I’m one of those butterflies museums pin under glass.

“Yes,” I tell him. “I think I’m just... This week is not me at my best, and I’m feeling guilty about everything. I just want to do well.” I can’t quite look him in the eye.

Cliff’s mouth forms a line. Then he goes to his desk and shuffles some papers until he produces a pamphlet. He holds it out for me so I can read the title:Anxiety and the Workplace.

I cross my arms so the pamphlet has no place to land. “I don’t need that.”

“I’m just trying to help.” His voice is gentle. I remind myself that this is fake corporate concern, which can so easily be turned against me.

“If you’re implying I have some masked issues, everyone in this office does. I mean, you have a pretty high toy-to-adult ratio going on in your office here, but I was polite enough not to point it out.”

“Until now.” He raises a brow, but a smirk starts at the corner of his mouth. It gives me hope that we can brush this off as a joke.

“Right. I’m just saying, one might think you have a Peter Pan issue or something, but I doubt you have any pamphlets about that.”

Redness spreads from under Cliff’s beard, moving to his temples, and his gaze falls to the floor.

It’s so odd to regret words the moment you’ve spoken them. There’s just something he brings out in me. It feels too comfortable.

“Sorry,” I say, and I try to convey just how sincere I am. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant... Let me put it this way: If you were seeking mental health advice, would you really source that information from Supershops Incorporated? I mean, would any employee want their employer helping them with their mental health when they’ve done so much to harm it?”

A single chuckle escapes him. “As a representative of Supershops Incorporated, of course I believe this is the best company in the world. But let’s say, theoretically, I agreed with you that it’s not the greatest with benefits.” He’s still trying to meet my eyes, but I avoid him by staring at the Lego Bowser on his desk. “I get it if Supershops has let you down in the past, but you’ve never worked with me before.”

His words hang between us, simple and true. He’s asking me to trust him.

Trust can be dangerous.

But, I remind myself, it will only be for four weeks. For now, I need to focus on doing whatever it takes to keep my job.

“That’s fair,” I say. And then I force a smile. “Thanks. Could you, uh, not tell anyone about this—”