Page 73 of I Hope This Finds You Well

He pulls away suddenly, pushing himself back against the driver’s-side door. “Wait. Jolene, I’m so sorry. You’re upset and I...”

I reach for his hand again, but he pulls it back against his side. I cringe at the rejection, my stomach bottoming. I can’t even kiss someone properly.

“We can’t do this,” he says, sighing. “Not in our positions. It can be perceived as... one of us using the other.”

I shake my head. Everyone in Supershops is using each other. But this wasn’t about our jobs. For once, I wasn’t thinking about emails or paychecks or layoffs oranythingexcept how it felt. HowIfelt.

This was real. I want it to be real.

“I really like you” is what I manage to say, my voice tiny.

He drops his forehead into his hands and shakes his head against them. “This is my fault. You need to pass the course and I can’t fuck that up for you.”

My whole chest tightens. Every pocket of silence in the world pulls into the car with us.

It’s too much. I turn and scramble for the passenger-door handle, but his hand suddenly touches my arm. Not grabbing me, just a gentle press—a silent plea for me to stop. I hold myself still and wait.

“Can we...” he begins awkwardly, then cuts himself off and starts again. “I’m hoping we can write this off as a momentary lapse.”

Another anvil. Guilt seeps into me as I nod. “Right,” I whisper. “I get it. It’s okay.”

“Jolene,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

The softness in his eyes hollows me out. I want to curl back into his chest. I want to live there.

“No, Cliff. It’s not you.” I need the right words. Before it can end, I need to at least try to salvage some of whatever this was. “I was upset, and I wasn’t thinking. Let’s forget it happened. Please.”

His hand drops from my arm, and the emptiness from where it was drains through me.

I open the door, catching a glimpse of his face as I turn to close it. He looks wrecked, guilt etched across his face. He shouldn’t be the one to feel guilty. He doesn’t know all the bad in me.

I get inside my apartment and go straight for the kitchen, grabbing one of the two Supershops mugs I own. There’s a bottle of gin in the back of the cabinet, and my stomach gurgles at the sight of it. The first sip flows down my throat, hot and welcoming. My hands loosen, as do my thoughts.

Next week I’ll quit drinking. It’s becoming a problem, I know. But it’s not mybiggestproblem right now.

Kyle probably went straight back into that bar and told Caitlin who I am. And if Caitlin knows, she’ll tell everyone. Even if I still manage to keep my job, all my coworkers will see is the very worst version of me.

My phone lights up on the kitchen counter beside the gin bottle.

Cliff:I’m sorry.

I take another sip, and the thought pushes in, cruel and from deep inside my head since he found me sitting on the curb:Cliff’s going to see through me one day. And he’ll look at me just like the last time Ellie did.

Getting Mugged

Monday morning wraps up a weekend of spiraling—just me, my wine, and my ever uniquely anxious thoughts.

It’s still dark outside when I board the first bus—the hardest bus ride because my stomach is still churning from my not-so-happy hour last night. I’d texted Cliff that I didn’t need a ride. There’s no way I’m going back into his car.

When I arrive at the office, I have to switch on the floor lights. My footsteps echo through the barren room. As I brew the first pot of coffee for the club, I mourn the bitter scent, the gurgle of the machine. I mourn it all because it may well be the last.

I sit down at my desk and bring my monitor to life. All the regular programs open, sitting uselessly on the screen. Cliff’s little icon indicates he’s online; he came in early too. We’re probably the only two people in this building. I wonder if he’s also looking at my icon.

Eventually, Rhonda trudges into the unit first, her big, embroidered bag heaving against her chest. I follow her movements as she walks toward her seat. All the questions I’ve been obsessing over all weekend scream inside my head: Does she know anything? Did Kyle return to the bar and tell them everything?

Rhonda pauses next to my desk and grins at me. “Hope everything’s okay, dear. I didn’t see you leave on Friday.”

My smile wobbles. “Yes, thank you. I was feeling a little ill.”