Cliff’s already got his coat on when I meet him at his office, and he’s shutting his computer down. “Ready?” he asks with a strained smile as he marches up to where I’m lingering just outside the threshold.
I nod and force a smile back, stiff and unnatural on my lips. We make our way to the parkade wordlessly, our footsteps echoing off the concrete that encompasses the stairwell.
Great. This awkward-as-shit vibe wasn’t exactly the point of my agreeing to carpool.
Inside his car, the scent of dog has been replaced by something tropical. The tree that was hanging on the mirror last time I was in here has been replaced with a bright yellow one. But more important, the console doesn’t have the dust or trash it did on Monday either. Oh my god, Cliff tidied his car for me—my throat thickens, and I try to swallow around it—and I was a whole asshole to him today.
The car starts in a swift churn. “Off we go.” His forced brightness hollows me out. It takes him three frustrated grunts as he taps his corporate card against the gate pass before the barrier finally opens.
As it pulls upward, a honk sounds behind us. I glance over my shoulder and see Rhonda staring back from above her fuzzy zebra-print steering wheel.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes. It’s like she’s a satire of herself in a parkade.
Cliff’s mouth twists. “I’ve only been here for eight days, and she’s already honked at me twice. I love her consistency.”
I raise a hand to my chest and clutch my fake pearls. “Are you giving out HR secrets? I’m honored.”
Finally, he flashes the first real grin I’ve seen since the donut incident. “Au contraire. Rhonda’s horn trigger is no secret.”
I chuckle again, and the air loosens between us. “All right,” I say. “More shop talk. I’ve always wanted to know—and this is probably going back to your HR schooldays—how often does the average employee spend moaning about the thermostat?”
“It’s like you knew that thermostat moaning was the topic of my grad school thesis.” His hands shift on the steering wheel as he flashes a grin.
“I mean it was sort of obvious,” I reply.
“But, hey—while we’re still talking shop . . . I wanted to bring this up. I’m sorry if I acted too familiar in front of everyone today. I know it’s sort of weird, me being HR. Especially since you’re also trying to work things through with your colleagues.” His arm flexes as he changes gears, but he keeps he gaze on the road. “I guess I was thinking it would be good if more people in the office knew it’s okay to be friendly with me, like you are. But I should’ve thought about how that would affect you.”
“Oh.” I look at him sincerely. Sure, I was short with him, but it’s that he saw how uncomfy I was—understood why. This guy may be more perceptive than the average bear. “Cliff. Thank you for saying that. But I also didn’t need to be such a dong about it. I mean, you’re doing me a favor, reducing my exposure to bus-bound fecal matter.”
“Even still . . .” He shakes his head. “I guess, I worked for a long time in a job where I was really close with my coworkers. It’s weird, suddenly feeling like Freddy Krueger whenever I walk into a room.” His brows fold together. “Not a fair excuse, I know. So I was at least a partial dong today. A weenie.” His flashes me an entreating grin, and I accept it. It seeps through my warming skin. “Being colleagues and carpool buddies is a little trickier than imagined.”
“True,” I agree.
“Maybe we need some ground rules,” he offers. “Like, nothing we discuss here should influence how we do our jobs there.”
“So in here I’m allowed to be myself, raw and uncut?”
“That’s encouraged.”
“Thank fuck,” I say, and he chuckles. “Just making sure. I’m big on following rules to a T, so if there are any exceptions, beyond the normal ones, let me know now.”
“Fair enough,” he smirks. “Maybe we should make a list?”
I break eye contact as I remember the list I already have stashed in my desk drawer, particularly the last item on it: Get Cliff to like me. My plan seems so obvious now.
I clear my throat to stifle down the guilt. “By the way, I haven’t met too many HR people, but you seem like the very best one in the world—insert other miscellaneous compliments here.”
He laughs again.
I put my hand to my chest, even though he’s watching the road. “Cliff, that was super genuine. Did you always know this was your life’s calling, or was it a fallback career if you didn’t make it as a professional Warhammer guy?”
The car comes to a stop in front of a traffic light, and he looks directly at me, lids narrowing into a probing stare. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking, so I lean back an inch and raise a questioning eyebrow. His mouth curls as he draws his gaze back to the road.
“What exactly do you think Warhammer is?”
“Something that involves pelts?”
He shrugs. “Actually, that’s not totally wrong.”
I nod once. “I glanced into a mall store once that had the Warhammer sign above some figurines, so I’m basically an expert.”
“It’s really hard to tell if you’re making fun of me or being sincere.”
I grin. “I actually mean it. It’s cool how you’re into things. So many people don’t have anything they like and they just walk around making life miserable.” I stare out the window.
“How about you? What’s your dream?”
“I stopped dreaming,” I blurt out, too quickly—too honestly. He doesn’t respond right away, and I internally wince. How can someone just casually ask that kind of question to someone? Why did my answer have to sound so heavy? So specific.
I dare a glance at him, and he’s looking at me with the same soft expression from his office, and no—no way are we repeating my meeting breakdown. “Jolene—”
“When I was a little girl in a small mountain town,” I interrupt loudly, “my father and maman took me to the most wonderful place on Earth. It had just opened up in our area, and people lined up from miles away. There were sandwiches made to everyone’s specifications. Candy in bulk. A makeup counter filled with possibility and reinvention.” I sigh wistfully, for maximum effect. “If that little girl had known that one day she’d work in that very place’s western regional office, she would’ve shed tears of joy to fill a river.”
“Okay.” Cliff sighs. “That was quite the display.”
“Thank you.” I nod once. “Feel free to report my dedication back to headquarters.”
His grin falls flat like a stack of cards, and he shoots me an exasperated stare. “Another rule: there will be no favoritism for my carpool buddy. No matter how hard you ass kiss.”
I nod silently as a new wave of guilt hits. Cliff might be too honest for me—certainly too honest to be successful. And here I am, just as full of shit. It should be perfect.
“On that note . . .” He grabs his phone off the console between us and hands it to me. “As passenger, you get to pick the music.”
I dutifully take it, even as dread begins to bubble in my gut. I don’t know enough for this task. These days, I tend to avoid music altogether. Even if there’s just one song in the world you can’t listen to in public without panic taking over, it’s surprising how much it can sneak into your life. Malls, bars, even offices, play music, and the odds of that one song playing go up every time I leave the house. I’m aware people judge you for what sounds you like to hear, but I’d rather jump out the window than have Cliff know this specific weakness of mine.
I scroll through a random playlist and pick an album cover that looks neutral and socially acceptable. Hold my breath as I hit play and hope for the best.
A high voice screeches, “I need you to come deep into me.”
. . . I’ve made a terrible judgment call.
Cliff’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, and I’m pretty sure he’s looking at me but can’t confirm since I refuse to look at anything other than my hands.
The lyrics reach: “Make it deep and messy.”
My insides dissolve. I fully believe in my heart that I’ve lost the will to go on and my body has turned to ash.
Cliff belts out a deep roaring laugh that shocks the dust pile formerly known as me. “Okay, you almost had me. Nice HR test. But again—not going to rattle me.”
I chuckle, but it’s obviously forced. Thankfully, he’s laughing too hard to notice. “Just keeping you on your toes.” I look out the window and see we’ve reached my road. “Oh, by the way, could you pick me up at seven tomorrow? I have to make coffee for everyone.”
Cliff’s gaze lands on me. “Yes, that’s nice of you.”
“It’s no biggie, just joined the Coffee Club.”
I gather my purse and lunch bag. He eyes my laptop. I pretend I need it for paperwork, but really, I’ve been using it to watch Netflix. Another thing HR guys shouldn’t know, off duty or not. “Can I help with your stuff?”
“Oh god, no. I have, like, two things. Plus, we should probably draw the line at going into each other’s apartments.”
Cliff nods. “Good point. I’ll add it to the list.”
I slide out the door. “Thanks again.” I wave.
Miley spots me as soon as I’m through the building door. I give her a head shake—not having it today. Futile.
The tap on my back causes instant dread. “Is that man your boyfriend?”
I sigh as I turn around. I’m about to kindly tell her to mind her business, when I notice her fisted hands and how messy her hair is. But worst of all is her face. Her eyes are wide, and it’s like nobody has properly looked at her at all today.
“He’s sort of a coworker,” I say, and immediately regret placing such an elusive answer in Miley’s hands.
“What’s his job? Do you like him? Is he your boss?”
The stairwell door shuts and rushed high-heeled steps click toward us. Miley’s face drops in a flash.
Miley’s mother rounds the stairwell and doesn’t look up from the phone she’s stabbing with pointed-nail clicks. Her outfit is entirely black: leggings, thigh-high boots, and an oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder. Her makeup would make my mom proud with its drama, and it smells like she just applied an intense coat of hair spray to keep her dark bun in place.
Miley watches her but doesn’t speak. She walks halfway past us—and is she not going to acknowledge her daughter? But then she turns toward Miley and says, “I have to head out. Please don’t spend the night bothering the neighbors with your problems again. I got you a phone.” She then smiles at me apologetically before continuing onward. At the same time, Miley’s chest drops, like she’s a deflating balloon.
I have no idea what to say or do, so I end up blurting out, “Hey, Miley, the other day you asked my favorite animal. I thought about it, and I’m going with zebra.”
“That’s a weird choice, Jolene.” She steps toward the stairs. “I’m going to watch TikToks on the stoop.” She pauses to give me a cheeky grin. “You can fill me in on this work man another day.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t hold back the huff of laughter. “Night, Miley.”