Chapter 31
Chapter
And I think about helping Greg and his mom as they carried boxes to their car, a foreclosure sign on the lawn. Tita Wendy tearing up and Greg putting a hand on her back, telling her it was going to be okay.
I think about the heat that crept into Greg’s voice when he said we’re not exactly in control and things don’t make sense. And about the answers he might have been searching for in high school, when he’d stay up late reading and sleepwalk through his classes.
On Thursday afternoon, I come back from lunch to find a strawberry fruit tea (no boba) sitting on my desk with a note underneath it:
Sorry I’ll have to miss you this weekend—work is crazy. I’ll be thinking about you the whole time.
I slump down in my seat, half relieved. At least I don’t have to ask Mark Winterson to come to San Diego. He’s busy anyway.
Erica raps her knuckles on the wall of my cubicle, reminding me it’s time for the all-hands meeting.
The auditorium on the corporate campus is packed with people milling around, finding their seats.
I spot Greg in the distance with Sarah and Morgan and Al, and shoulder my way through the crowd to catch up with them.
They’re all sitting in a row together, but there’s one open seat at the end, next to Sarah.
“Can I…?” I ask, pointing to it.
“Oh, uh—” Sarah gives me a stiff little glance. “Sure.”
Do I smell, or something? I think as I settle into the folding theater seat.
Mark Winterson appears onstage, wearing one of those microphones that hovers in front of his mouth. “What’s up, TKCORP!” he shouts with real wedding DJ energy.
Sarah snorts quietly, and I slide down deeper in my seat.
He didn’t mention he was going to be leading this. Though maybe I should have assumed?
And as charming as he is, somehow it does not translate well onstage, in front of a big crowd of people. His energy is ratcheted way up, but he’s not really bringing anyone along with him. The room is silent, and his jokes are falling flat.
Mark Winterson is talking about TKCORP’s future, trying to get everyone amped, but I can’t make sense of what he’s saying. It’s that dense thicket of buzzwords again, and the words I do know seem vaguely sinister. Transformation, new efficiencies, streamlining.
“We’re going to be growthmaxxing around here,” he says with a sly smile, and that gets a murmur of laughter.
And the realization dawns on me: Oh yeah, he’s not just the person he is with me in private. He’s got this whole other side to him. And maybe he’s more that person than the one I’ve gotten to banter and fool around with so far.
“You know what’s bad for growth, by the way?” Mark Winterson says, grinning like a motivational speaker. “Unions!” He points at people in the crowd at random. His expression seems to say, Ah ah ah, don’t you go starting one!
“A union would mean less money for all of you, believe me. Good thing we don’t have one around here, right?” He actually winks.
It makes me cringe. What even is this speech?
I always vaguely thought well of unions. Tita Wendy was a proud member of the nurses’ union, before her pivot. On the wall of the common room in my college dorm, someone had slapped a bumper sticker: UNIONS—THEY GAVE US THE WEEKEND!
When I glance down the row of my co-workers, they’re all on their phones, messaging.
Greg’s name pops up on Sarah’s screen. There’s Morgan’s, and Al’s, and Carol’s, then Greg’s again. They’re all in a group chat together, without me?
Sarah seems to sense me looking, because she flips her phone face down.
I could really use some air. I slip into the aisle and power-walk to the exit in the back, straight out of the building and into the grassy courtyard.
“Ruby!” Greg calls, and I turn to see him jogging toward me, work lanyard bouncing on his chest. “Wait up.”
My heart rate spikes but I pretend not to hear him, and he trails after me as I cut a quick path to the parking lot.
Right before I reach my car, I spin to face him. “What do you want?” I demand.
Greg holds his hands up, palms out. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. About what I said at the bar. I was out of line.” He takes a deep breath in, lets it out in a quick huff. “Obviously you’d know better than me what makes you happy.”
“Took you two whole weeks to work that out?”
“Yeah, I’m not the sharpest.” He squints at me in the bright sun, shading his eyes with one hand to see me better. “A bit slow.”
His self-deprecating grin makes me soften a little.
It’s like the Greg I know is back, the one I was friends with when we were sixteen and things between us were simple.
A strange affection swells up inside me like a balloon, and it scares me—I need to puncture it—so I ask in a rush: “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Sarah? ”
Greg takes a sharp breath in and blinks at me a few times. All of his muscles seem to tense.
“Don’t look so shocked I figured it out! You guys are always sneaking around together. Kind of hurt my feelings that you didn’t mention it.”
“Oh, um—” His brow furrows, and he seems way more nervous than I would have expected. “Sorry. Yeah, it’s…complicated.”
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.” I try to smile gamely. “Here for your girl trouble.”
“Oh, uh, sure. Yeah.” He nods again. “For sure.”
Damn, why is this so awkward?
“How’s your mom?” Greg asks abruptly, leaning against my beat-up Honda.
“She’s…still here.” I chew on my lower lip. “I’m at the end of my rope, honestly.”
Relief surges through me, and I realize how much I’ve missed being able to talk to him about this.
“Did you try everything on the list?”
I let out a long breath that puffs my cheeks. “There’s being closer to my family. I’m going down to San Diego this weekend.”
“Oh man, your Tita Rina’s lumpia? Legendary.” Greg sounds relaxed again, like normal. “Say hi to her for me.” He met her a few times, years ago, when they came up to see us on holidays.
“Would you…want to say hi to her yourself? Maybe have some lumpia?”
Greg gives me a weary smile. “How can I say no?”