Chapter 31
I walk longer than I normally would, and deep down I know it’s because I’m waiting for Gramps to go to bed. If he’s asleep when I return to the condo, that will be one more night that I don’t have to tell him the truth.
When I get back upstairs, I hear snores rumbling from behind his bedroom door.
It takes me a long time to fall asleep; I toss and turn, my mind going over every possible way that I can prolong my stay here, or at least put off telling Gramps for a bit longer.
But there aren’t a lot of options, really.
I can’t quit my job when I worked so hard to get it.
I already used up most of my vacation time.
I could take a leave of absence. But when I open my laptop at two A.M. to check the leave-of-absence policy, I learn that I would be forfeiting my health insurance, and my job would not be guaranteed to be waiting for me upon my return. That’s too risky for me.
I finally fall asleep, promising myself that I’ll tell Gramps before the end of the week.
The next morning, I’m barely online long enough to check my calendar and respond to a couple of Slack messages when an ominous email lands in my inbox.
It’s from someone I’ve never heard of named Chelsea. My eyes jump down to her signature: She’s from the HR team. My first thought is that it’s something generic that was sent to everyone—but from the first sentence, I can see that it’s not. It’s just for me.
Hello Mallory,
As we prepare for our employees to return to the office, we are gathering data about who may or may not have trouble complying with the policy.
It has come to our attention that, although you have a home address and an assigned office in Seattle, your recent VPN logins have occurred from an IP address in the State of Florida.
This flagged our attention, so we took a look and found that you have been logging in from Florida for several weeks now.
Your manager is CC’d on this email. She will schedule a time to discuss this with you.
Please be aware that you are still assigned to a Seattle office and will be required to meet the in-office requirements starting next week.
Also, please note that working from an unauthorized location can be grounds for termination.
Thank you for your cooperation.
Chelsea Hudgeons
HR Connections Team
This is my nightmare. It’s like I’m reliving what happened with my first remote job. How could I let it get to this point? I’m going to be fired… again .
I pace my bedroom, my hands shaking. The abruptness with which Kat schedules a one-on-one meeting only adds to my anxiety.
I’m certain she’s going to fire me over Zoom.
And then what? Then I won’t have to leave , a small voice in my brain says.
But this tiny voice is quickly shut down by the louder voice, the one that’s always been there, shouting, I need this job .
I somehow got this job after being fired from my last one.
There’s no way I could pull off the same trick twice.
The good thing about Kat scheduling such a last-minute meeting is that I don’t have to dread it for long.
The bad thing is that it’s as uncomfortable as I could have imagined.
Kat’s tone is terse, disappointed, as she expresses her dismay that I could lie about something like this for so long.
I desperately want to point out that I didn’t lie, I just didn’t explicitly tell her the truth.
Instead, I opt for the pity angle, telling her all about Gramps and how he needed family support after Lottie’s death.
I don’t know if she had been planning on firing me before, but my little sob story softens her a bit.
She ends the meeting by saying that as long as I’m there in the office next week, and I don’t pull something like this again, it will all be water under the bridge.
So that’s it, then. I got away with it. But now it’s over.
Now I am really, truly leaving Reina Beach.
Because coming this close to losing my job has firmly squashed any dreams I had of staying here.
The concept of staying here, unemployed, with no idea where my next paycheck will come from? It’s terrifying.
As soon as work wraps up, I meander into the living room, where Gramps is watching TV in the dark, Wally curled up on the couch beside him. I’m surprised to see it’s not the news, but a baseball game.
“Whatcha watching?” I ask, sitting in the armchair beside the couch.
“Rays game,” he replies.
“So…” I scan the game happening on TV, looking for a conversation topic, but all I can come up with is, “Are we winning?”
“Mm.” Gramps nods, his eyes glued to the screen.
“I didn’t know you were a baseball fan.”
“I’m a fair-weather fan,” he says, uncrossing his legs and glancing over at me.
“The Rays have been known to be terrible. But right now they’re all right.
It’ll be nice to see them win.” Gramps scratches behind Wally’s ear, then continues, “My parents took us kids to see a baseball game about once a year. The Reds were pretty good. Some of the time.”
I nod encouragingly. I would rather keep talking about this than broach the subject of my departure.
“I enjoyed the game, but it wasn’t so much about that, really. It was about the atmosphere. Enjoying something that my father was enjoying at the same time. Also, the Cracker Jacks.”
“Have you been to a game recently?”
He lets out a short laugh that makes Wally look up curiously. “Not in recent decades.”
We both watch the game in silence for a minute or two. When a commercial comes on, I take a deep breath and mentally put on my big-girl pants.
“Gramps…” The commercial for an erectile dysfunction medication blares. I reach for the remote and turn the volume down. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“Oh?” He turns to me. Wally sighs sleepily and curls up even more, like a little croissant.
“It’s… about…” I’m finding it nearly impossible to get the words out. But I have to. “Actually, my work just told us that everyone is required to return to the office. Like, the office-office in downtown Seattle.”
There’s a long pause. “Oh my. That does sound serious. No more remote Zooms for you, then?”
I shake my head. “No more remote Zooms.”
An even longer pause. I’m about to open my mouth to say that I have to leave this weekend, but Gramps beats me to it.
“When will you be flying home?”
Home. The word feels incongruous with how I’m feeling right now.
Because I’m feeling like this small living room with the humongous TV, the white noise of the gulf rising up through the glass balcony doors, and Gramps and Wally cuddled on the couch—this feels more like home than the apartment I’ve lived in for years.
“This weekend,” I say. “I think Sunday.”
Gramps looks down at Wally with a sad smile. “Well, we knew this couldn’t last forever.” His voice becomes more robust as he continues, “It’s been lovely having you here, Mallory. I feel as though I’ve really gotten to know you.”
I just nod, my head bobbing as I try to think of something to say. “Me too,” I finally choke out.
“Don’t worry about us. You’ve got your own life to go back to. You’re leaving me in good hands with Wally and Dr. Mellors.”
“And Ellie will be around if you need anything… And Daniel McKinnon, too, he said he—”
“Yes, yes. Don’t worry about a thing, all right?”
“Okay, Gramps.”
He stands. Wally jumps up to follow him.
“Well, good night.”
“What about the baseball game?” I ask.
He looks around at the TV like he’d forgotten it was on.
“I’m a bit tired now. I’ll read the highlights in the morning paper.”
“Oh. Okay.” I watch as Gramps and Wally disappear down the hall, the triangle of light spilling from the bedroom shrinking into nothingness as the door closes behind them.
“Good night,” I whisper.
I’m not going to cry. I’m not. I’m going to take a shower and watch Outlander in bed. Except I feel so jittery with emotion that I don’t know if even Outlander will calm me down. Maybe a dip in the Jacuzzi downstairs.
No. I need to move my body, to breathe fresh air. I hop on the yellow bike, even though it’s dark outside. The headlight is strong and bright, because of course Daniel would optimize for safety when outfitting his bicycles. That’s how he is.
I ride fast, with no destination in mind.
There’s a bike path off the main road that I never noticed from my car.
I pedal so hard my thighs burn, the humid evening air like hot breath on my face.
The pounding of my heart distracts me from the racing thoughts in my head, until all I’m thinking about is breathing in and out. So this is why people exercise.
Without warning, the sky breaks open. At first, the rain pounding against my cheeks and my bare arms is exhilarating.
But it quickly becomes too much. The rainwater thuds deafeningly against my helmet and streams into my eyes too fast for me to blink it away.
The path in front of me is blurred and filling up with puddles quicker than I would’ve thought possible.
My bike tires splash through puddles that soak through my sneakers and socks—within minutes, I’m completely drenched from head to toe.
Another biker passes me in the other direction, his headlight glaring into my eyes, and I have to swerve to avoid a collision.
I pull over to the far side of the trail and steer my bike under a tree.
This doesn’t do much to protect me from the rain, but I can’t keep riding in this.
A huge clap of thunder makes my teeth vibrate, and I know I made the right decision to pull over—although I can’t remember if it’s a good or a bad thing to stand under a tree during a lightning storm.