Page 41 of You'll Love it Here

I grin at this. “Me too. How has it been at the office, anyway? I know Corbin and Lisa can’t match my mojo.”

As Olivia dives into all the goings-on, like Corbin’s fight with the bicycle courier who didn’t deliver flyers in time for his client’s conference, so he’d started scootering all the marketing materials himself until he ran into a stop sign pole and bruised his knee—hearing it all—it’s like I’ve taken a sip of Kool-Aid and need more.

After a break from our giggles, I mutter, “I can’t wait to come back.”

As I look into Alice’s tank, I know it’s true.Thatis the life I want. This undercover mission I’m about to do—and the fact thatI’ve been actually looking forward to it—just proves how tragic my life has become.

“God, you’re a much better person than me,” Olivia says. “There’s no way I’d step away this long, no matter what my mom needed. I mean, to press pause on your career like that—that’s really selfless.”

Olivia doesn’t know the truth, but it’s still grating to hear. Of course, it’s torture to leave this long. The truth is I wouldn’t—didn’t—put family first, even for my dying father. It makes me want to scream thinking about waiting another three weeks until I can return. Already, it’s clear my colleagues have begun to dismiss me as an afterthought. I’m off the group chat. I’m irrelevant.

And maybe that’s why I blurt my next words. “Well, my career isn’t totally on pause here. I’m still working on some leads.”

“Oh? Now that’s the Mona I know.” Her voice has pepped up a full degree. “Care to share more?”

“I may be bringing in a big client. A huge one,” I blurt out before thinking too hard.

“Seriously? I adore how even on leave you’re chasing leads.”

The excitement in her voice is palpable. It’s exactly the kind of hype I wanted. “So, who is it?”

I swallow. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I’ll say she’s in real estate.”

“Oh my god! If you return with a big new client, the directors are going to lose it. You realize that?”

I’m smiling so hard now, Alice is practically rolling her eyes (if she could move them).

“Monaaaa!Please! I need to know who!” Her voice is oozing with giddiness, and my mood is so buoyed that I just have to say, “I don’t want to jinx it, but let’s just say her name, were you to spell it backward, would be... anal.”

I didn’t think that clue through when I started.

Olivia’s chiming laugh bursts through my phone so loudly I need to hold it away from my ear, just for it to stop with a suddengasp. “Wait! Lana! Lana Winston? Are you kidding me? I love this so much for you! How did you recruit Lana while taking time off?”

I’m so pleased by her reaction it doesn’t even bother me that parts of my story are a lie. Ididrecruit Lana for a pitch meeting with my own wiles.

I’m tempted to keep divulging, just to coax a few more scraps of Olivia’s praise, which are soothing my bruised ego, but then I catch the time on my microwave clock. 9:17 p.m. I was supposed to be at Jane’s seventeen minutes ago. “Sorry, I gotta run!”

“Of course! We’ll talk later.”

“And Olivia,” I say, “I really appreciate you reaching out.”

I’d almost forgotten how much I need my work friends. We can all be a little ruthless sometimes, but that’s because our eyes are on the prize. They drive me to be better.

I give a goodbye nod to Alice and slowly open and shut my apartment door, being careful not to let the sound of my footsteps reach Divorced Dad’s place as I make my way to Jane’s.

She must’ve been waiting by the peephole, because as soon as I reach her door, it clicks open.

“About time,” she whispers. Her hair is slicked back into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing black leggings too—but the purple sweatshirt, embroidered with bees in certain areas, definitely breaks the undercover dress code. “Come in.”

We make our way into the silence of her living room—when I let Jamie in earlier today, I hadn’t come this far. Our unit’s layouts are identical, but even though Jane has only lived in this place for a year, she’s actually hung art on the walls, filled shelves of books, and laid out pots of leafy plants and flowers—even a giant palm tree–looking thing in the corner! Her couch is one of those emerald-green velvet deals, and it’s covered in fuzzy blankets and throw pillows. Covering her rustic trunk coffee table is a clutter of ornaments, and what seem to be random art projects: a half-completed embroidery, next to a crochet kit, next to what looks to be a deconstructed model ship. There’s one chair in the corner that seems dedicated to random items of clothing. Everything smells fruity, which I suppose is the work of the gigantic pink candle burning on her countertop. All the colors and clutter create an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. It feels like she might be going through some kind of identity crisis. The room feels mismatched, like it’s clashing with itself and unsure of its direction.

“So, there’s about twenty minutes left until I move things into the dryer.” She plops onto the couch, sending all the pillows bouncing. “May as well wait it out here.”

I look for a suitable place to sit, but her cat now sits on the pink armchair across from the couch, eyeing me with the disdain of a creature who’d prefer to be the only tenant.

I move aside a throw pillow and join Jane on the couch, as I try to ignore the cat hair that may be sticking to my leggings.

Jane’s eyes follow my gaze to the broken tiles on her coffee table. “Sorry, I only had a chance to do a little bit of tidying.”