Page 48 of I Hope This Finds You Well

I grin extra hard toward Rhonda. “Always happy to help. So nice Caitlin’s taking a long weekend. Did she say what she was up to?”

Armin’s shoulders square just a touch as Rhonda purses her lips and says, “She said she wanted to spend the day with her boyfriend. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Lovely.” I smile and lock eyes with Armin, who is now staring directly at me. I try to look pleasantly unweird, but the guy keeps his expression neutral.

He’s a tough egg to crack.

It’s not until Rhonda gets up to head for lunch, once again announcing to nobody in particular that she’s going to buy a Greek salad, that I decide to log off and head to the kitchenette in the copy room to grab the Tupperware of ashe reshteh I actually remembered to bring. I do my best to ignore the disturbing sights and smells of the other lunch boxes and long-orphaned containers that nobody will take liability for.

As I’m walking back toward my desk for my key card, I spot Armin heading toward our pods with a blue Gatorade—fresh from the hallway vending machine—in hand. And the idea trickles into my brain sudden and sharp. I’ve only ever seen this man do one thing with Cool Blue Thirst Quencher.

I round the corner and it’s almost too perfect. I skulk toward Rhonda’s cubicle just as Armin finishes pouring around three tablespoons of Gatorade into Joey’s dirt, before he pulls a pen from her holder on her desk. He’s so absorbed in his plant assault, he doesn’t notice me as I approach the threshold of her cubicle. It’s when he’s stabbing the dirt repeatedly with the pen that his gaze crawls upward.

He jolts as soon as he clocks me staring at him, cross-armed. His expression falls with a thud. “Shit, Jolene. This isn’t what it looks like.”

I grin at him. “Oh, come on, Armin. You’re talking to the girl who sent whited-out emails to colleagues. I know exactly what this is.” His face pales, but I keep my smile on. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to say shit. I prefer to mind my business.”

The crease in his forehead smooths. “Thanks,” he says meekly.

But to drive the point home, I add, “Ratting on colleagues over silly things. I’dneverdo that.” I make certain we lock eyes. “Pretend I’m not even here. That’s what I’m doing.”

His shoulders ease some. “That’s a great policy,” he says, but he doesn’t hide the puzzled expression on his face.

I lower myself into my seat, cool and casual, but I’m starting to doubt my ability to pretend anymore.

I sneak into the big lunchroom that is for parties only. I use this place only when I need to heat up ashe reshteh or any other food, as it’s got the microwave that’s far from everyone’s desks, and I’m not a menace to society like Caitlin. If she’d just used this microwave like a normal person, all the email/Cliff mess could’ve been avoided.

The card reader for the lunchroom door beeps, and instant dread hits. I chose this remote lunchroom on purpose. My earliest anxious memories trace back to this meal—the era when having ethnic food wasn’t cool, but an easy target. Laughter and gibes that I was eating a thermos of slime still ring in my ears.

But as Armin’s glossy hair and frown appear, a wave of relief floods me so much that a smile falls on my lips.

The microwave beeps, and when I take out the steaming container, he eyes it curiously and says, “Ashe?” I nod, and he claps once. “It’s been so long since I’ve smelled it. My mom hasn’t cooked in forever. I didn’t realize I was missing it.”

I turn to face him. “I get it, it hits different than restaurant versions.”

“Right!” He claps again and pulls from the fridge a doogh—a minty yogurt soda that a lot of people find off-putting, but if you’re most Persians, you’d crime-spree for it.

He holds it up. “This is the sink I use to open over.”

I flash a grin in understanding. The thing about doogh is, no matter how calm you try to keep the thing, the bottle will explode all over you and your children’s children.

He slowly releases the lid and lets the bubbles pool down to the sink. When he finally gets it open and drained, he turns toward me. “Would you like some?”

“No thanks.”

“Of course you do.” He takes a cup from the cupboard and pours a glass, then slides it across the island like a bartender.

“You have to have my ashe then.” And I can’t help the twitch in my lips.

He shakes his head. “No, I can’t—I’m supposed to save my appetite. I’m grabbing a giant burrito from Tacos Mexico after I meet a guy about a rare record, but thanks so much for the offer.”

There’s still a universe where Armin and I could’ve been friends. And maybe he and I should have an alliance, at least out there. Maybe, after everything this job has put us through, he and I should be the last ones standing. “Hey, Armin.” I lean a touch closer and lower my voice. “Try not to be late after lunch. With everything going on with the HR assessments, it’s best to just be good.”

“True.” He nods, but it’s too quick, and his expression is too casual, too placating. He’s thinking I’m a paranoid Larry Goodwin type.

“I mean it. You never know who’s watching you or who you can trust.” And before my brain even realizes what I’m doing, I fucking wink.

His eyes flash as he backs away. There’s no universe where I’m not a weirdo. My entire being is about to dissolve. Every time I think to speak or do anything, I should find the nearest stock art on the wall and stare at it until I lose all inspiration.