Page 41 of I Hope This Finds You Well

And I realize that he’s been looking straight into my eyes through this whole conversation, and normally that would make me feel uncomfortable, but I forgot to be insecure. Maybe things are easier with him because I know what the point of this friendship is. Maybe it’s easy because I know it will be over soon anyway.

My stomach churns at all the things I’m hiding from him. It would be different if he wasn’t so genuine, so open with me.

“So,” I say, to drown out my thoughts, “tell me, why are you so against leaving stall doors open in bathrooms?”

He shakes his head. “Please, I want to be able to eat.”

We do eat, and I continue badgering him about his choice, and as the evening progresses and our conversation flows, I forget to worry about Caitlin, the grid, the meeting, any of it.

I forget to worry about what’s going on in his head.

Or mine.

Missedcakes

I stare down the scratched-up door to our office floor, willing myself to open it. Each dent tells the story of someone knocking it with the paper cart on a different version of the same old day. My hand is heavy as I pull the handle and drag myself into the sterile air that hasn’t seen the light of day.

As I make my way to my desk, nobody looks up. The drone of the computer fans matches the blank stares the humans give the machines in return. I’m invisible, until Rhonda’s gaze drifts to me—it’s just a small nod, but that’s more than I usually get.

I give her a small grin in return.

Armin is zoning out, presumably still working on the same accounting grids he’s been staring at but hasn’t altered in a significant way for days. If you don’t look too closely, he appears to be the busiest unconscious guy around.

Caitlin marches out of the copy room to her desk. She’s in high-rise tailored pants with iron-pressed lines my mom would be impressed by. I suppose she wanted to look good for her big meeting with Cliff today.

I tried really hard on the drive in with him this morning, hoping to keep up our vibe from last night. I asked him about some trading cards he had in his car’s console, and it was like setting off a firework, how animated he got. I nodded in all the right places, enthusiastic as a clam this time. But the damage Caitlin will do today is out of my control. All I can do is deal with the shrapnel.

I conduct some quick email audits, but it’s clear nothing new or notable has happened. Rhonda doesn’t even have a single new match on her dating site.

I expand my reading into other departments. It’s kind of addicting to read work-related emails about tasks I know nothing about. It’s like a bizarro-world version of my department, a puzzle made of several different shapes. And it’s also mad how the same tasks get volleyedaround departments, going nowhere or being repeated unnecessarily. If I ever suspected my work was pointless, I now can provide evidence.

The wildest part of it all is that it doesn’t have to be this way. I follow a trail into some supply chain memo and open some shared documents to track how it’s being implemented and—

“Quick question for you, my dear.”

A startled gasp escapes me as I register life away from my screen. Holy crap—I somehow missed Rhonda approaching my workspace from behind. I rush to click the window closed.

Her gaze jumps to my monitor, clumps of eyeshadow already gathering in the wrinkles of her eyelids.

She crouches closer. “Is now a good time?”

“Now is great!” I reply, while Caitlin’s posture perks toward us in my peripheral vision.

“Great.” Her voice lowers. “The digital grid... there are a few things I’m not sure how to...”

A pang tightens in my chest at her timid stance, her fiddling hands. “Let me come to your desk and we’ll go through it together.”

As we make our way to her workstation, Caitlin’s eyes bulge, somehow still on her screen yet watching us.

I walk Rhonda through navigating the document, and I can tell she’s really trying to learn. She asks good questions, does things twice to be sure she gets it. I’m going over the formatting tool when I feel it. Rhonda has rested her hand on my arm, warm and kind. Both our eyes dart to her hand as she says, “I think I have it from here, dear.” Her voice is quiet, like she’s afraid to really speak the words out loud. “Thank you.” It’s the faintest smile, barely even there, but every crumb of it genuine—enough to make me forget why I started helping her, for just a second.

“Of course,” I croak.

Predictably, as I sit down again, a new message from Caitlin pops up.

Caitlin:What’s happening? Is Jolene giving you computer lessons?

Rhonda:She’s helping with that project I’m doing for Gregory. Nothing exciting, dear, mostly account archiving.