Page 51 of I Hope This Finds You Well

I clock Armin’s look, but that tells me nothing, which means I have to say, “Human anatomy.”

His dad’s eyebrows weave together. “Why are you studying that if your degree is computer engineering?”

Shit. I nod, somehow maintaining composure. “Ah, yes, this confuses so many people, but it’s because we are... the original computer system. We’re basically living hard drives.”

They both giggle uncertainly and stare at me, assessing.

His mom’s eyes glint. “So you’re Persian too? That’s so wonderful...” She finishes her statement in Farsi. I only understand every second word; she could be asking either where my parents live or if I’m going to move. I’m going to have to come clean that I’m an imposter.

“Well, I am Persian, but unfortunately I only know the bad words and insul—”

“Jolene doesn’t have a lot of time for her break.” Armin puts his hand over his mother’s gently. Then he shoots me the most wild, wide-eyed expression.

It’s time to put him out of his misery.

“Bye, guys—hopefully will see you soon. Excited to join the family.”

Armin shakes his head infinitesimally, like he can’t believe I said this. Frankly, I can’t either. My anxiety is spiraling from lying to a Persian aunty so hard. A sick Persian aunty.

I turn and rush toward the door. As soon as I’m out, I round the corner to a playground, find the nearest bench, sit ugly, and stuff a danmarki into my face, ignoring the parents who are pulling their children protectively closer at the sight of me.

And the creamy comforting treat pairs terribly with my racing mind as the realization hits: Armin has a bigger house of cards to protect than me.

The Prior Engagement

The drive in to work with Cliff the following morning feels like it could be another skit from that HR video about how to be friendly with colleagues. Cliff begins with some light conversation about wildfire smoke starting earlier than usual this year, although he doesn’t remember previous years. Then we pass a shuttered storefront, and he gets sad about the record shop he liked closing forever. I ask him when the last time he went was, and he realizes it’s been two years. Then we both get quiet for a bit—all fairly nice. And by the time we arrive downtown, my angst over his prior meeting with Caitlin has withered.

Only to return when I swipe into the office and head to my desk.

Armin’s workstation is empty, while Rhonda sits staring at her screen, joylessly dipping a tea bag in a steaming cup. Caitlin marches in from the kitchenette, smirking in a way I don’t like. We both make our ways to our seats, Caitlin just in front of me—and is there an extra bounce in her step?

Rhonda turns to greet us. “Good morning. Did you have a good day off, Caitlin?”

Caitlin’s smile is too bright as she flips her hair, in the process waving her hand far too hard. “It was thebest.”

She looks toward me but doesn’t elaborate, and her smile doesn’t seem right. Her smile is never a good sign.

But nothing notable appears in anyone’s emails.

I’m alone in the copy room, dealing with a scanner that can’t get its life together enough to know when it should beam the light across the glass, when I hear tentative footsteps approaching behind me. I turn and it’s Armin, looking sheepish as he leans against the threshold, crossing his arms.

“So,” he says, “studying anatomy for your computer science degree?”

My mouth twitches. “Sorry I wasn’t as educated in the lie as you hoped.”

He moves past me to grab a mug from the corner coffee station and turns it over in his hands, not looking at me. “I’m just... thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply. “But if you’d like to book me for more events—birthdays, weddings, and all—that comes at a price. Especially if I’m to be the bride.”

His lips form a thin line. “I’m their only child, and my mom... she’s not good.”

The crack in his voice grates through the room.

He focuses on filling the mug with coffee as he continues. “She’s been wanting me to settle down forever, and we were on the phone this one time and I just panicked and said a bunch of crap to make her feel better.” His lips draw down. “My life isn’t what she wanted at all.”

I nod. “Say no more. I haven’t lived up to my parents’ expectations either. Whenever they audit my life, it takes me hours to recover.”

I wince at my words—the truth of them.