The drive in to work with Cliff the following morning feels like it could be another skit from that HR video about how to be friendly with colleagues. Cliff begins with some light conversation about wildfire smoke starting earlier than usual this year, although he doesn’t remember previous years. Then we pass a shuttered storefront, and he gets sad about the record shop he liked closing forever. I ask him when the last time he went was, and he realizes it’s been two years. Then we both get quiet for a bit—all fairly nice. And by the time we arrive downtown, my angst over his prior meeting with Caitlin has withered.
Only to return when I swipe into the office and head to my desk.
Armin’s workstation is empty, while Rhonda sits staring at her screen, joylessly dipping a tea bag in a steaming cup. Caitlin marches in from the kitchenette, smirking in a way I don’t like. We both make our ways to our seats, Caitlin just in front of me—and is there an extra bounce in her step?
Rhonda turns to greet us. “Good morning. Did you have a good day off, Caitlin?”
Caitlin’s smile is too bright as she flips her hair, in the process waving her hand far too hard. “It was the best.”
She looks toward me but doesn’t elaborate, and her smile doesn’t seem right. Her smile is never a good sign.
But nothing notable appears in anyone’s emails.
I’m alone in the copy room, dealing with a scanner that can’t get its life together enough to know when it should beam the light across the glass, when I hear tentative footsteps approaching behind me. I turn and it’s Armin, looking sheepish as he leans against the threshold, crossing his arms.
“So,” he says, “studying anatomy for your computer science degree?”
My mouth twitches. “Sorry I wasn’t as educated in the lie as you hoped.”
He moves past me to grab a mug from the corner coffee station and turns it over in his hands, not looking at me. “I’m just . . . thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply. “But if you’d like to book me for more events—birthdays, weddings, and all—that comes at a price. Especially if I’m to be the bride.”
His lips form a thin line. “I’m their only child, and my mom . . . she’s not good.”
The crack in his voice grates through the room.
He focuses on filling the mug with coffee as he continues. “She’s been wanting me to settle down forever, and we were on the phone this one time and I just panicked and said a bunch of crap to make her feel better.” His lips draw down. “My life isn’t what she wanted at all.”
I nod. “Say no more. I haven’t lived up to my parents’ expectations either. Whenever they audit my life, it takes me hours to recover.”
I wince at my words—the truth of them.
“That’s exactly it!” He chuckles. “I know what they want for me, but I don’t know if that’s what I want. Faking it just seemed . . . easier, while I figure it out.”
I bob my head in solidarity. He has no idea how deeply I can empathize.
“But I’m sorry to rope you in. I swear, it was such a small lie at first. I’d been telling my parents I was seeing someone for a while just to keep them off my back, and they kept insisting on a photo, and then they sent that picture of us winning the door prizes at the Christmas lunch . . .”
I press my lips together evenly. “Ah, right, the day I got my Supershops lunch bag. The zipper didn’t even work. I stuffed it in the freezer on five.”
He chuckles again, and although it’s soft, it fills the entire room. “Better than the monocular I got. Like, what kind of freaky person would want that? And why were they so certain that person works here?”
I can’t hold back my laugh, and Armin grins too, but it’s tinged with that weary, tense look he’s been wearing as of late. Another wave of sympathy roils through my chest. “Honestly, it’s fine,” I say. “It’s none of my business. If we hadn’t run into each other at the bakery, I never would’ve known.” I try not to flinch at my own lie.
Armin keeps a steady gaze on me for a long moment, and I wonder if he can tell there’s more I’m not saying. Finally, he shifts to stare at the overflowing recycling bin and softly mutters, “It’s been tough lately. She’s had so much chemo, and it’s on me to help, since my dad can’t drive anymore . . .”
I pick up my uncopied paper from the printer and clutch it to my chest. “I’m sorry.”
His lips press tighter. “It’s looking more like we’ll have to shift to comfort care. I guess I just wanted her to have some peace of mind about me.” Under the fluorescent lighting, the bags under his eyes are stark. A wave of understanding seeps in: University Location—the U of C medical center.
“Hey, Armin. Yesterday, when I tried to warn you—you’ve been taking time off and stuff lately . . . Maybe you could say something about helping your mom to Gregory, so he knows, or even Rhonda—she might be a good ally?”
He groans under his breath and presses his hands to his temples. “Nah, Rhonda’s never going to be on my team. And this isn’t my mom’s first bout. Last time, Gregory knew; he even sponsored my Bike for Cancer.” Our eyes connect before Armin quickly averts his. The guilt of my indifference when he was looking for Bike for Cancer sponsors grates through me. Armin continues. “But you know how it is. I could tell he was annoyed about the extra PTO. And then things got better with my mom for a while, but now . . .” He sips his coffee and his Adam’s apple rolls. “With all the rumors going around about layoffs, I don’t want to risk it.”
My stomach burns. I look down at my feet. “What if you tell the new HR guy? He seems nice.”
He huffs. “Yeah, sure, HR people always act like they’re in your corner. But they’re just company spies. If I tell him what’s going on, he’ll probably just tell Gregory.”
Of course Armin’s right. Cliff might seem genuine, but Supershops hired him to advise about layoffs first and foremost. It’s impossible to really know how sympathetic he’d be when it comes down to it.
He shakes his head. “Corporations hate this kind of shit. They feed us all this sap about being a family, but at the end of the day productivity is all that matters. No one cares what’s going on in your life.”
“I understand.” And normally I’d completely agree with him. But my mind jumps to Rhonda, to her problems with her son. “You’d be surprised, though. Everyone has their own shit going on.”
He rubs his stubbly chin, the noise scratching through the room. “Anyway, thanks again for last night. It was so cool how you figured out the situation and knew what to say, more or less.” But his brow rises just so. “How did you do it? It was . . . You didn’t seem all that shocked.”
My skin tightens. I hold the paper even closer against my chest, and I can feel my grip wrinkling it. “I, uh, just kind of went along as it happened.” I try and fail to stop my eyes from shifting. “And, you know, I get how it is with parents.”
“Right . . .” Armin’s heavy gaze pins me in place. I stop breathing, certain he can smell the bullshit on me. He opens his mouth, then closes it, his lips thinning into a straight line. I stand very still.
Finally, he sucks in a breath and says, “Would it be crazy to ask you to pretend to be my fiancée one more time? Maybe a dinner or something? My mom won’t stop asking me, and it’d make her really happy.”
My head shake is so automatic and aggressive, it makes me dizzy. “Last night was honestly a fluke. I can’t pull that off again.”
“I could talk you through what to say!” he insists, eyes giant and pleading. “Or I’ll handle most of the talking, and you can enjoy a free meal. The hardest part would be pretending to like me for a bit,” he adds with a small, teasing smile.
No way. I try to imagine myself sitting in front of Armin’s parents for an entire evening, smiling and making small talk and digging myself even deeper into this bonkers hole I’ve fallen into. It’s a terrible idea; Armin must be truly desperate. But I’ve got plenty of my own to deal with as is.
“I’m sorry, Armin. I can’t. Even last night was too much angst for me. I’m stressed right now and really need to be focused on my job.”
His eyes glint at my words. “I could help you with that! I know you and Caitlin are kind of in a battle here. She’s pretty sure she’s going to crush you in the multi-unit meeting tomorrow. I could find out what she’s going to say and tell you.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think that’ll help me. I’m not planning on talking in the meeting.”
His eyes shift toward the doorway, then back to me. He takes a tiny step closer. “Okay then, between you and me, she asked me to confirm some really negative stuff about you at my HR meeting.” He shakes his head quickly, holding his palms up. “I wasn’t going to. That’s just not my style. But I could deny everything, and I could say you’re the best colleague to work with—mention how you’ve been helping me with stuff. Mention that she’s been bullying you, even.”
My jaw almost unhinges. It’s almost too perfect, this deal. I should take it, I think. What’s one more lie at this point? Except I can’t stop thinking about Armin’s mom—her kind, frail smile. Lies aren’t all the same, and lying to a sick Persian aunty, on top of everything else, might finally be enough to make me explode. This was only supposed to be about keeping my job. I can’t let this get any bigger than the walls of this office.
“Sorry, but no. I can’t do the dinner.” I take a step around him and head toward the threshold.
He nods, his entire body deflating as he stares at his feet. “Worth a shot.”
I hate how miserable he looks. I hate how much I understand the feeling—the pressure to live up to someone’s expectations, to make them believe you’re doing okay.
I should walk away now. But his shoulders are so low, so I say, “Trust me, we don’t want to push our luck. I’d definitely screw up and forget to call you the executive or something.”
His eyes flash up to mine sharply. Shit. My heart drops into my stomach as I realize just how thoroughly I’ve put my foot in my mouth.
“Did anything about my job come up yesterday?” His brow furrows.
I shake my head. “No, no. I was just making up a random example. I mean, of the lies we tell our parents. About our love lives, and our jobs, and stuff.”
“Ah.” He nods. His face is completely blank. Fuck. “Got it.”
He leaves the copy room first, his eyes flashing toward me one last time as he turns the corner.
I keep glancing toward Armin’s desk for the rest of the morning, but he stays silent behind the cube divider. When I get up under the pretense of filling my water bottle, I spot him slumped in his chair scrolling around on his phone. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.
Rhonda spends the morning focusing on the archive project. She makes her daily unanswered call to Carl and checks her Silver Timings daily summary email.
I spend the hour using Caitlin’s password to log in to her private server folder, download the documents she prepared for the upcoming presentation, and slowly freak out. Armin was right, she could crush me. When she presents this thorough, well-researched plan and I don’t present anything at all—well, I don’t know if anything else I’ve done so far will matter.
My fingers hover over Armin’s name in the chat app, tingling to message him that I’ll take his deal. But even if I do, would a good word from him in an HR meeting still be enough to save me after Caitlin kicks my ass in this meeting? It’s like watching myself drown through a window.
After the ten a.m. coffee break, Caitlin returns from the boardroom behind me. The chemical scent of her fresh nail polish tinges my nostrils. Deep sigh. Only Caitlin would be selfish enough to paint her nails in here. I’m about to send her a glare to mark the completion of her manicure, when I catch something glinting on her finger as she waves her hands to speed up the drying process. Is that a diamond freaking ring?
Is Caitlin engaged? Why didn’t she make a giant announcement for all her 1,264 followers? She posts when Kyle makes her unseasoned chicken breast with boiled frozen vegetables, #menwhocook.
But of course, just as I am thinking this, Caitlin props her hand against the neutral wall and snaps a picture with her phone. The post appears on her feed shortly after, #4evaisnotlongenough.
Joy screeches first—from across the unit, yet loud enough to startle my internal organs. She trots toward Caitlin’s cubicle, snatches up her hand, and calls, “Oh, girl! You’re engaged! Why didn’t you tell us?”
Caitlin’s cheeks pinken. “It literally happened yesterday! Kyle booked a last-minute trip to Banff, and we had a no-phone rule!”
The office erupts in claps as more people rush toward her. Garret swats everyone away to pull Caitlin’s wrist up. “Is this white gold?” he asks. She nods sheepishly while Rhonda curls both her hands together against her chest and says, “We’ve got a wedding to help plan!”
I try to force a smile. I should probably join the group and mutter some fake words of congratulations. But it’s like I’m glued to my chair. It’s like I’m stuck in place.
Armin stands up. “Congratulations, Caitlin,” he says. His gaze drifts to me.
Gregory joins the throng and pulls Caitlin in for a non-consensual hug. Stu does the fingers-in-mouth type of whistle, for some reason.
“Who knew, when you started, we’d be celebrating your engagement at this very desk?” Rhonda squeaks.
Caitlin’s tinkling laugh pushes through the room. “I mean, it’s not that surprising. Years have passed and life happens.” Her gaze drifts over my desk, but not at me.
More laughter and cheery congratulatory remarks all blur into a muddle. She has a whole life outside of here. They all do.
Something cold tickles my cheek, sending a shock through me: a single tear. I wipe the confusing offender away before anyone has the chance to see. But another wet mark pulls down, as intrusive as the last.
I must just be happy for her. I focus all my willpower on forcing my lips to smile. So happy.
I’m wiping the third and final tear with my sleeve when I catch Armin staring. He quickly diverts his eyes and turns his chair toward his screen before I can say anything to brush it off.
A message appears a few moments later.
Armin: Hey, I was thinking. You did me a pretty big solid last night when you didn’t have to. So, at my meeting tomorrow, I’m going to still say only nice things about you.
He must be pitying me again. It’s crushing, but also relieving in the same measure.
Jolene: Thanks. I really appreciate that.
Armin: Of course.
How could I forget: this job is all I have. And if there’s still a chance to save it, I need to give it everything.
So I spend the lunch hour working on a plan for the conference tomorrow. Because if I can just speak, I could beat her. I have enough information sitting on my lap in these emails. I could come up with something even better if I dig through it all.
When Caitlin returns from her celebratory lunch with Marla, Garret, and Joy, I don’t look up. I’ll need the whole afternoon to pull something together this quickly. Maybe the whole night.
I don’t pay much attention when Rhonda sends Gregory a complaint that Caitlin and Armin are on their phones too much this afternoon.
Or note that my own phone sits silent as a paperweight.
Cliff drives me home again, but I mostly just hum in agreement as he speaks, because my mind is flooding with all the information I’ve consumed. As soon as I get inside my apartment, I pull out my laptop and continue to prepare the presentation. I even figure out how to use a custom template to make it look nice. I read it over and over to check the spelling. Then I practice speaking in front of the mirror like I have nothing better to do. When I’m too tired to function anymore, I drop onto my bed and watch comedy skits on my phone. And I laugh without actually laughing. There’s no point when you’re all alone.
Throughout the night, I have several panicked nightmares about the conference. I hope I don’t forget to wear clothes tomorrow. I need it to go perfect.