Page 39 of I Hope This Finds You Well

I shake my head quickly. “I think I’m just thirsty.”

He stands to get me a cup of water, and I use the opportunity to stare at my hands and will myself to hold things together. This is getting old. I should be able to do this. I can be a person.

Cliff comes back with my water and I take a grateful sip. “So,” I begin, “you grew up here? Are your parents still in town?” I can ask friendly, nonthreatening questions.

He shifts, though, like I’ve asked something hard. “I mean, maybe. I don’t really know much about them.”

“Oh,” I say, unsure what to do with this information.

Cliff shrugs, an attempt to brush away the tension, but it’s not convincing. “My grandma raised me. She actually worked at the gas station right over there.” He gestures out the window toward the Fas Gas across the street. “I’d get free hot dogs when they were on the spinners too long to sell, so it wasn’t too shabby, as long as you don’t care about meat temperature danger zones.”

I try to imagine a child-sized Cliff with messy golden-honey hair and skinned knees, sitting across the street with his grandma eating expired hot dogs. My chest swells, pressing against a space that’s typically hollow.

“What?” Cliff kicks the edge of his foot against mine.

I force a smile. “Just picturing child HR Cliff telling people at the playground they need to display positive communication cues and drawing org charts in chalk.”

“Wow, that’s exactly accurate. How were you able to do that?”

“Just a hunch.” I take another sip of water. “Did you go to college here?”

He nods, and I wait for him to elaborate, but he just taps idly at the table with his pointer finger.

“So have you ever lived anywhere else?” I try again.

“Yes. Vancouver.” It’s not rude, exactly, but he still doesn’t offer more, and I get the sense I’m prying where he doesn’t want me.

And this is starting to feel like a bad date, even though neither of us wants it to be. It feels like I won’t know what to say ever again. How can anyone be comfortable with another person when their brains are alsoalways working? I rack my mind for something safe. “So, tell me more about Warhammer stuff.”

His eyelids droop. “Jolene, you can stop the fake Warhammer routine. I know you zone out when I talk about it.” Then his expression turns cheeky. “This morning, I slipped in that we should plot to murder someone, and you nodded aggressively.”

“That’s not fair.” I put my palm to my chest. “Iwaslistening, but I didn’t want to make you feel weird for having a murder plan, since you’re new and all.” Our eyes lock, and I can see the silent laughter in his. I internally breathe a sigh of relieve that we are on safe ground again. “Anyway, now we’re talking. Who of the people at work would you kill?”

He coughs, eyes going wide. “What the hell?”

“I know, I know, you’re new—hardly know us. But just go with your gut. Might be fun to compare answers after a while working there.”

“I just—” He swallows hard. “I don’t want to kill anyone?”

I point a finger at him. “Okay, but say it was for a billion dollars. And you don’t have to do the killing. You just pick the person who needs to go.”

He leans closer, flattening his hands on the table to look right at me. His bar soap scent wraps around me like a hug.

“I don’t care that much about money,” he says. “I have what I need.”

I can’t help the disappointed sigh I let out. “Oh. You’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

“People who are full of shit.”

A sharp bark of laughter escapes him. “No, it’s true. If I were to kill someone, it wouldn’t be for money.”

“Okay, be boring,” I declare, leaning back into the booth seat. “But I think we need to normalize being comfortable roasting people. Everyone is way worse than they pretend to be. We should start discussing it openly—it might be a good way to connect people.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think I can add that idea to any team-bonding flyers.”

“Coward.”