Page 56 of I Hope This Finds You Well

Jean: nailed it

The meeting draws to a close, and as people shuffle out of their seats they shoot me grins and nods and call out short affirmations like “nice job.”

A lightness takes over.

I want to see Cliff smile at me again, but he’s too busy talking with Gregory and Larry in the corner. The poor guy.

Caitlin marches in front of me with dropped shoulders as she stabs her phone. She frowns, red-faced, like she might burst.

I take a breath. I can relax now.

I spend the lunch hour walking to the mall, something I’ve done countless times before, only this time isn’t as isolated or dire as my usual ganders. Joy and Marla even wave to me from a jewelry kiosk as I pass. Aritzia is having a rare sale, so I pop in and find a perfect blazer. It looks good on me, and the discount is steep enough that I can manage it—an investment in my future at Supershops, if I can just get in a bit more mirror practicing. If I can control my thoughts enough to not freak out when I’m in front of a crowd, or sometimes alone. If I can continue being okay enough, I might just be able to enjoy this.

My size is out of stock, so the store clerk offers to ship it to me for arrival next week. That’s for the best. Walking back into the office with a shopping bag is such a catastrophe. People always want to see whatyou bought and then have you show it off with a song and dance for our capitalist lords.

When I return, the afternoon office is mostly silent, apart from the hum of the health hazard of a fan on Jean’s desk that’s smudged grey with caked-on dust and human debris after years of slowly dying in this place. Water leaks from the cooler in torturously unpredictable drips, yet nobody is willing to simply stop it, myself included.

Only Caitlin isn’t taking this time of rest seriously. She’s been zombie-focused on her screen since the meeting, frantically pulling out folders and notebooks and clicking her mouse faster and more often than usual. As she marches toward the copy room with a document in hand, I dare a peep her way. Her jaw is set and her eyes look tired.

Rhonda marches around to my cubicle as soon as Caitlin’s out of sight. “Can I come in?” she whispers.

I nod, and she sidles even closer than her visit here last week.

“So, as you know, Caitlin’s engaged.”

“Yes.” I force myself to smile as brightly as Sir Sunny D, even as dread spins up my spine. I know exactly where this is going.

“So, us Morale Boosters should plan a surprise engagement party on Friday, when she normally goes for drinks. Just a small one with us friends at work and the happy couple.”

I don’t mean for my expression to shift—I really try—but Rhonda’s eyes droop a bit as she notices my reaction. “It’ll be small,” she continues. “Nothing to outshine Gregory’s work anniversary in two weeks. You won’t have to do much, but could you help me on the day of with decorations? Your first assignment?”

FFS.

At face value, it’s such a small ask, decorations. Only the idea of going to a party to celebrate Caitlin may make me break out in hives. But if I say no, it’ll mean Rhonda has to do everything alone, yet again.

I nod and force out, “Happy to.”

Her whole face brightens. “Thank you, dear. We now have two parties to plan—so fun!” She lowers her voice as Caitlin rounds the corner. “I’ll go make a call in the boardroom to book the table.”

My mouth twitches; I can’t help the smile as Rhonda marches off. Because her steps are bouncier.

Caitlin squeaks back into her chair, and I sneak another glance her way. She’s typing rapidly, yet the bags under her eyes rest heavy like flags of defeat.

Caitlin deserves a party before I beat her out for this job, at the very least.

Kidstreet

Cliff’s desk is coated in paperwork and bright morning sunlight. In the middle of the chaos sit two fluffy donuts from the mall bakery. A printer on the side desk chugs out the last of its job as I tentatively take my seat across from him.

“Jolene!” His grin buzzes through me. “Apologies for the mess. I’m hoping you like the honey crullers to make up for it.”

He grabs the freshly printed docs, shoves them in the stapler, and plops them on the desk in front of me. Then he tilts his screen toward me, revealing the first slide of a PowerPoint. “So you can follow along.”

I slide the papers toward me and read the headline: “Communication in Business.” “Can I keep this? It looks unputdownable. Maybe you should send this to a publisher, turn it into a bestseller.”

He nods evenly. “In that case, I’ll need to sign the first edition.” He leans over me and a cloud of warmth floats between us. He bites the cap of a Sharpie off, signs the paper, and holds my gaze. “Is that bullshit out of our systems then?”

I nod. “I’m good.”