Page 67 of I Hope This Finds You Well

My smile is wobbly. I like her, and—another rush piles through my abdomen, heavier than the last—I like Cliff.

Cliff returns with a giant tray piled high with steaming food that’s been through every kind of processing invented. “There’s three more trays, so hold tight,” he says as he heads back to the counter.

He leaves me alone with a giant pile of French fries. I start to dig in as I look around at the other groups of bowlers. There’s a teen birthday party at the far lane, with everyone singing a different part of “Happy Birthday.” In the corner by the jukebox, there’s a young couple looking at songs and laughing and finding little ways to touch each other. This place is so wholesome and lively.

A piercing dinging noise suddenly rips through me, sending my skin shivering with goose bumps like an ice cube landed on the back of my neck. I whip around and realize it’s coming from a pinball machine, where a dad is playing with his toddler.

Reality washes over me, sharp and unbidden.

The last time I went bowling was with Ellie.

The memory pushes in, as crystalline as if it happened yesterday instead of over a decade ago. We didn’t get invited to some party, so we decided to go bowling instead. We spent more time making different dirty names for ourselves in the decades-old computer system than actually playing. We were painfully uncool together, but in the best way. Eventually we gave up on the lanes altogether and ended up challenging each other to several rounds of pinball. That was only a few months before she died.

Nowthiswill be the last time I bowled. A tumbling feeling hits, likesand sifting away inside me. It’s like I’m writing over that memory, erasing it. I wrap my arms around my chest, looking for something to distract myself, but everyone here is moving far too fast. They’re all talking, and it’s so loud. Everyone in the world is thinking right now, and there’s far too much thought floating in the air.

I spot Cliff turning back from the food counter, another tray full of hot dogs in hand. He grins at me from across the room. He has no idea what’s in my brain, and I’ll never know his. Today has proven that much, at least. These people, his family, they’re all kind people. They’ve been through hard times, yet they manage to be calm and normal about basic things. They don’t spy or send emails out of pettiness.

How would it be to lead a nice, small life with someone? To be okay?

Cliff holds a hot dog in front of my face, jolting me out of my trance. “I brought you ketchup, mustard, and, just in case, relish.” He tilts his head, assessing my face. “Is everything okay? I know the hot dogs aren’t—”

“I love hot dogs. Thanks.” I take the silver-foiled package from him. It’s warm in my hand. “Was just remembering a time I bowled with an old friend... one I haven’t spoken to in a while.”

Cliff shifts closer to me. “Ah, it’s tough being away from people you care about, eh? I wish we could just force everyone we love to live in the same city as us. Like,actuallyforce.”

I let out a chuckle, one that’s real. My mind drifts to Vancouver as I reply, “Same.”

It feels like I’m on solid ground again. I open my mustard packet, and Cliff says, “I knew you’d go for mustard. I had a feeling you had taste.”

I look directly at him. “Of course I have taste.”

We eat our hot dogs as Cliff tells me about the Disco Dads and his granny’s theories on their cheating ways. And the whole time, I’m too aware of the distance between us. When we’re done, I inch a little closer to grab a napkin.

It’s Her Party, I Can Hide If I Want To

The second Caitlin slinks out with Garret at five p.m., Rhonda marches into my cubicle guns blazing—and by guns, I mean the two giant Party City bags hanging from her arms.

“You’re my only decorator tonight,” she announces, all business. “Garret’s busy delaying Caitlin, and Marla’s out sick with the stomach flu. Who gets the stomach flu this time of year? It’s just a hangover or laziness.”

Damn it, the stomach flu was going to be my excuse to leave the party early tonight.

Rhonda actually grabs the back of my chair and pulls it out so I’m forced to stand up. “We have so much to do. I’ve told Garret to give us one hour. I got these spirals at Party Plus during lunch to put up in the bar.”

Part of me wonders what Rhonda would do if I just turned around and ran for the hills now, without any explanation. But her bright gaze, the lilt in her voice... her desolate Silver Timings profile she checks as often as she calls her son. She lives for this. And it’s not like I can judge her for not having other things to do.

Her frosty peach lipstick that has surely been discontinued is different from her normal shade. She’s paired her nylon tights with heeled sandals, and her big toenail looks on the verge of cutting itself free. She dressed up for tonight...

But it’s not only that. I think of her smile when I was presenting in the multi-unit meeting. Her shy thank-you when I taught her how to use the online archive. I’ve always suspected that Rhonda was part evil, but maybe that part isn’t as big as I thought.

I take one of her bags and say, “Just let me know what you’d like me to do.”

The way she grins makes it feel like an act of mercy.

I can be the bigger person here. And it may be best to give Caitlin a nice send-off, after all.

The bar sits down the street from our building. As it’s located in a corporate section of downtown, it’s mostly frequented for office functions like ours. I’ve never been inside, but perhaps this is another thing I should start getting used to. If I’m going to be the new document lead in a few weeks’ time, I may have to socialize with my team more.

We climb down the creaky wooden staircase into the dimly lit basement room that boasts hardwood floor and walls and a lot of brass items throughout. The stale liquor scent roils my tummy. I try to imagine being a regular here—one of the few who go for Friday drinks. Except the place has got all the workings of a bad time. The lighting is too bright to hide from, and there are too many standing tables so people can stare at you from all angles. Still, maybe with enough practice, it wouldn’t be bad either. It could even be fun.